Chapter 25

Trembling as if she really had been lost at sea, drenched by icy waves, Lydia obeyed William's command. She came to him, her gaze darting between his eyes and the book he still held in his hand.

For a moment, he wondered if it was a trick to steal back what he had discovered beneath the cushion. But as she stood in front of him, she made no move to snatch the book from his hand. It seemed she really did want to find out what a real-life Captain Kildare could do.

"You are shaking," he whispered, setting the saucy novel down. He had already memorized the important parts, grateful for his impeccable retention.

She gulped. "It is nothing that the fireplace cannot chase away."

"There are other ways to heat a body up," he told her, watching her eyes light up, delighting in the small smile that played on her lips. She was lapping it up, and so was he—he could not deny it.

"Blankets, you mean?" she replied.

He shook his head and closed the gap between them.

"Like this," he purred, turning her around.

A mirror hung above the fireplace, and though it was cracked and tarnished after years of disuse, it reflected just enough to stir William's desire into a frenzy. He savored the blissful, nervous expression on Lydia's face and the way her bosom rose and fell in heaving breaths and the way she grazed her teeth across her lower lip in anticipation.

She caught his gaze in the mirror, and as he gazed back, his eyes burning with need, he slowly began to unfasten the Dorset buttons that ran from the nape of her neck to the middle of her back.

As more of her soft, smooth skin became exposed, he could resist no longer. He dipped his head, chasing the undone buttons downward with grazing, searing lips. She gasped at each touch of his mouth, her neck arching back as his other hand slid around the curve of her waist and upward, over the flat of her stomach.

When he undid the last button, he returned his gaze to her reflection in the mirror, his blood pounding as her eyes widened. Slowly, he eased her capped sleeves off her shoulders and teased the fabric down her arms, bringing the bodice of the dress down with it. And as it broke free of her arms, the rest of the gown descended of its own accord, pooling at her feet.

"Step out," he told her, sinking down onto one knee.

She did as he asked, and he pushed the dress away, feasting his hungry eyes on glimpses of her bare skin. She wore a petticoat and stays, stockings tied at her knees with ribbons, and nothing more.

"Turn to me," he said.

Breathing hard, she slowly turned to face him, peering down with bright eyes and pink cheeks. He gazed back up at her as he reached for the ribbon at her waist, untying it with ease. The petticoat whispered as it fell to the floor, and she stepped out of it without any need for instruction.

Licking his lips, he took her foot and rested it on his bent knee. He teased the ribbon apart and rolled the stocking down, caressing her calf all the way to the ankle as he removed the stocking. He did the same with the other stocking, but as he freed her from it, he suddenly grasped her leg and hooked it over his shoulder.

She gasped as his mouth found what it so desperately sought, his hand gripping the back of her thigh to steady her.

"I do… not remember… this part," she panted.

He grinned and flicked his tongue against her swollen bud, his loins throbbing as a strangled cry escaped her throat. He had been dreaming of this since he left London, and the taste of her was far greater than he had remembered, so satisfying, so intoxicating that he could not help but feast to his heart's desire.

As he rolled his tongue against that pulsing pearl of pleasure, he listened to the language of her body. He felt the judders and shakes, heard the shift in every sawing breath, noted the change in her moans and gasps, using every small part of her bliss to piece together what she favored. Indeed, he wanted to give her a night she would never forget, for breaking her rule demanded nothing less than paradise for them both.

And as her breaths grew ever more rapid, her bosom heaving frantically in the constraints of her stays, her thigh trembling on his shoulder, he eased his fingertips along the warmth of her folds. His own breath caught as he felt how hot and ready she was, liquid desire coating his fingers as he paused at her entrance.

Curling his tongue around her secret pearl, he gently sucked as he eased his finger inside her.

She bucked and stifled a cry of bliss, whimpering in the most enticing way as he curled his finger and applied a pulsing pressure to match the fresh strokes of his tongue.

"Yes, Will!" she murmured, bracing her hand against his shoulder as if she did not trust herself to stay upright. "Yes!"

He eased another finger inside her, and the symphony of bliss that he had been building toward suddenly turned into a crescendo. She moaned and gasped and bucked and writhed, entirely lost in an ocean of pleasure that he had set her adrift upon. He relished every moment, still listening to the language of her body as he guided her toward that final, crashing wave of utter euphoria.

"Oh… Oh… Yes, husband! Yes, my wolf!" she half-screamed, her entire being rocked as her bliss finally struck. It was the sweetest sound he had ever heard.

She shivered from head to toe, her fingernails digging into his shoulder as she jolted and shuddered, overcome by her conclusion. Yet, he did not pause in his attentions, waiting until he felt her begin to relax, letting his tongue and his touch chase the residual sparks of pleasure that would undoubtedly be smoldering within her.

At last, as her breathing returned to some semblance of evenness, and her muscles loosened, he slowly withdrew his fingers and turned his head to kiss the inside of her thigh.

He kissed his way over the peak of her hips and along the flat of her stomach, skimming over the fabric of her stays before he reached her plump breasts. He continued up, kissing and tasting the column of her throat until, at last, he found her lips again. That sacred place that would be the unraveling of him.

She crushed her mouth to his with a hunger more ravenous than any he had experienced before, and as he pulled her close, his hand made quick work of the laces of her stays, tugging them free.

With one urgent pull, he rid her of her stays and tossed the undergarment onto the settee.

That done, he stepped back to admire the naked, flushed beauty of her. He doubted he had ever seen anything more exquisite, more perfect, more divine in his entire life. She resembled a goddess, her pale skin glowing in the romantic light of the library, her figure a tortuous hourglass, her breasts pert and tempting, her hips curved in a way that demanded the grip of his hands.

But to his surprise, it was not merely the sight of her that made him dizzy with desire. Every part of him wanted every part of her, beyond the physical, beyond the usual, beyond anything he had ever craved before. He wanted to drown himself in her until there was no telling where one began and the other ended. And he knew that if he were to indulge in her, it would be like an intoxicant, and he would never be able to get enough.

Just to be near her was putting himself in a dangerous predicament, yet the thought of being away, of leaving that room, was impossible.

"What are you doing?" she whispered shyly, covering her breasts with her arm while her other hand covered the apex of her thighs.

He tutted. "Do not hide yourself from me. Let me savor you with my eyes while I am still savoring the taste of you."

Biting her lip, she let her hands fall away, revealing herself once more.

"Perfection," he growled. "And all mine."

He peeled away his shirt and swooped her up in his arms.

Lydia wondered if she had fallen asleep on the settee, and all of this was just a vivid dream conjured from the pages that were likely still open in her slumbering hand. Her body, her very being, had never experienced such a wealth of sensations, of such intensity that there had been moments where breath and thought had abandoned her.

She ran her hands over Will's smooth, still slightly damp chest, reveling in the hard muscle and the detail of every line and contour and dip. His abdomen was like a mountain range with a deep valley running down the middle, and two deep lines cut diagonally from his hips, disappearing into the top edge of his trousers. His shoulders were broad and powerful, making her feel delicate and safe in his embrace.

In truth, she could not stop touching him, could not stop savoring the warmth of his skin and the overwhelming closeness of him. Just as she could not stop kissing him, her lips following his example by grazing his exposed flesh. She smiled against his neck as she tasted that sensitive skin with her tongue and heard him gasp softly.

But it was his throaty chuckle as she nipped his earlobe that sent her over the edge, understanding that they were long past the point of no return.

"You did not remain true to the original," she murmured, tracing her fingertips down his muscled abdomen.

He smirked. "It required some elaborate editing. Call it poetic license."

His smile darkened, his eyes clouded with longing as she fumbled with the fastening of his trousers. His hand came up to cradle her cheek, his lips pressing against hers in a soft, slow kiss as she pushed downward and peeled away his trousers.

"Oh…" she gasped, pulling back from the kiss to admire him.

She understood now why he had done the same thing, for there was something so very… beautiful about being stripped bare, hiding nothing, being entirely vulnerable with another person.

And he was unfairly proportioned, possessed of the sort of masculine beauty that she imagined most men would have given their souls to have.

"Do not be afraid," he told her, sliding his hands around hers, interlacing their fingers. "I will be as gentle with you as you want me to be."

She blinked. "Why would I not want you to be gentle?"

"That might be a discovery for another day," he said, laughing huskily. "Now, which part of your secret novel were we up to? I believe there was something about a barrel, and Lady Ursula being bent over it, but I have something better in mind."

She met his gaze. "I trust you."

His eyes pinched slightly, as if those words had struck a chord in him. And as he dipped his head to kiss her, his arms enveloping her in a tight embrace, she had never meant anything more—she did trust him.

After all, he had come back, and he had apologized. Perhaps that meant things were about to change. It certainly felt as if there was a change in the air as he kissed her more deeply and walked her back to the settee where this had all begun.

There, he sat down on the brocade upholstery and pulled her down into his lap. His hands caressed the curve of her back, his fingertips slipping into her hair as he drew away the silver slides that held her hair in place. Strawberry-blonde locks cascaded downward, and he twirled wavy strands of it around his fingers as he kissed her neck, her throat, her collarbone, her chest, and trailed his lips lower to catch a stiff nipple in his mouth.

She moaned as he gently sucked, her hips bucking against him almost involuntarily, startled by the fierce heat and hardness of his manhood as the most sensitive part of herself brushed against it. And as she did, he groaned in the back of his throat, the vibration teasing her nipple.

It was the strangest thing to realize how connected every part of herself was. If his fingertips stroked the curve of her waist, a spark burst into life in her chest; if he gripped her thigh, her throat tightened; if he tasted her throat with his tongue, her entire body shivered with delight; if he kissed her fiercely, molten heat pooled between her thighs. It was as if he was reforming her into the woman that she had always dreamed of being—confident and seductive and admired.

"I will let you guide us," he growled, "so you know what you can bear."

She swallowed, her head swimming. "What do you mean?"

"It is easier if I show you," he replied, taking himself in his hand.

Her breath caught in her throat as he eased his manhood between her red-hot folds and paused at the entrance to her sex. Her thighs flanked his, kneeling on the settee, and if she were to just lower herself, she knew she would take him inside her.

"Take your time," he said, holding her gaze.

He had one hand on her hip, the other cradling the side of her neck, his thumb stroking her jaw. His breathing was ragged, his eyes shining with desire, and though he could have plunged into her as Captain Kildare might have done, he did not. He waited for her to make the first move in her own time. An act of generosity and compassion that she had not expected.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, she lowered herself onto him. His breath hitched as he pierced her for the first time while her breath faltered altogether, biting her lip to endure the initial strangeness. There was a slight sting but no pain, and as she paused there for a moment, growing accustomed to the sensation, the discomfort soon passed. And as it did, it gave way to a sharp gasp of exhilaration, slipping past her lips.

She sank down until he was buried in her to the hilt and stopped there, closer to him than she had ever been to anyone. Nothing separated them, and her heart yearned for more, beyond the physical. It was as if they were taking vows again, promising to be more to one another than they had ever been to anyone, promising their souls to one another. At least, that was how she felt as she breathed through the overwhelming sensation of him filling her entirely.

"Are you in any pain?" he asked, his voice gravelly.

She shook her head.

"Good."

He smiled and pressed his lips to hers in a ferocious, desperate kiss that chased away any lingering doubts she might have had about breaking her rule. Indeed, it chased away any thoughts of what she was supposed to be demanding, for if she were to ask for an annulment now, she would never get to experience this again.

Clinging to him, kissing him hard, running her hands through his hair, she paused to whisper, "What do I do?"

"Enjoy yourself," he purred as he grasped her hips and began to move her backward and forward.

Every time she rocked toward him, he lifted his hips, grinding himself against that secret bud of hers. Fireworks detonated, the friction more potent than anything that had come before, making her hungry for more of that same feeling.

Soon enough, she understood what to do, moving up and down in a swaying undulation that had him breathing hard and moaning with satisfaction. The sound of his pleasure was fuel to her own, spurring her onward, her fingernails raking across his back to get him to cry out, her hips moving faster and faster. Not gentle at all, but eager and frenzied and necessary, as if she would fall to pieces if she did not keep feeling the sliding pressure of him inside her.

But he was not finished with his surprises, his fingertips seeking out her pulsing bud as she rode him. The first touch was electric, sending up a bolt of lightning that splintered through her chest, every limb trembling with the delicious crackle of it.

He strummed her until she was so delirious with pleasure, her bliss mounting to untold heights, that it took everything she had to maintain the rhythm of her swaying hips. She clung to him, his free arm wrapped tightly around her, urging her onward until that wave of ecstasy finally hit her.

"Oh, my wolf… my husband… Oh… oh, yes!" she screamed, her entire body transformed into a glowing, fiery conduit for pleasure itself.

It pummeled through her veins, seizing every muscle, holding her rigid in his embrace as the sensation climbed and climbed. Her back arched, her eyes squeezing shut, her breath lodged in her throat as it washed over her, bliss taking complete control.

As the peak of it crested and began to recede, she gulped down a breath, moaning his name and gasping as she collapsed into him. He withdrew his fingers and, in one swift motion, lay her down on the settee.

There, he paused for a moment, gazing down into her eyes. She gazed back up, still catching her breath, admiring the sheen of sweat that had turned his skin to bronze.

And just when she thought she could endure no more pleasure, he slowly drew his hips back, withdrawing from her. Instinctively, her hands grasped the satisfying muscle of his backside, urging him to sink back into her.

With a smile, he did so, grinding himself against her most sensitive spot, stoking up the fires of her ecstasy once more. Indeed, her beloved book, and her beloved Captain Kildare, could not hold a candle to her husband.