Chapter 18

CHAPTER 18

Charlotte had ridden through Hyde Park that afternoon, then read some, and had a quiet dinner by herself.

And as furious as she was with Ian for behaving as he had at the modiste, she couldn’t shake the feeling that had washed over her as he cupped her face and asked who had hurt her. There had been those in the shop today, and countless others over the years. It wasn’t a new experience, but to see him realize her hurt, she thought maybe the ice in her husband’s heart was finally cracking.

And that was the part she couldn’t reconcile.

But it didn’t explain the way her body had been set on fire for the rest of the day. Or why, in her bath, she had closed her eyes and dreamed how he had climbed in there beside her not long ago.

Could she desire her husband without loving him?

Clearly, her body did, and her poor mind was helpless to wage such a battle.

She was desperate for his touch, need pooling between her legs as her pulse thrummed, and she tossed and turned in her bed later that evening. He hadn’t returned, hadn’t sent a note.

Just. left.

Her breasts were tender as her chemise brushed across her nipples. She sighed, pressing her hips into the mattress, thinking of him moving above her, driving into her. Bringing about her pleasure.

In all their years apart, she had never allowed another man to touch her. She was his, faithfully.

Charlotte pulled her chemise higher, her fingers brushing against her upper thigh as her hand settled to that spot between her legs. She parted herself with a slip of her finger, stroking the small pearl.

It was as if she set fire to herself.

She moaned softly, her left hand clutching the bedsheets as she gently explored herself with her right hand. Her fingers were slick from her need, and she bucked her hips, thinking only of Ian and that low growl he made whenever they kissed.

His lips against hers, traveling slowly down the length of her neck, sucking at the hollow of her throat before his hand cupped her breasts, his thumbs circling her nipples until they both were taut.

She whimpered.

Ian would bend down, and with a wicked, sinful slip of his tongue, he would lick her nipple, drawing it into his mouth and biting until the pleasure bordered on the sweetest pain.

“Ian,” she sighed again, the tension climbing in her body.

What did it mean that she wanted her husband but couldn’t allow herself to love him? Could she share pleasure with him without needing to do so?

She thought of him in the sun, how the light reflected off his dark hair and how, when showed kindness, his eyes held only warmth and longing for her. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t noticed during the past several weeks.

Then his lips, warm and tasting sweet, perhaps from eating strawberry, would press against hers and kiss her slowly, ever so slowly as if he meant to memorize every small detail of her.

“Hmm,” she moaned. “Ian.”

His mouth, chasing his hungry hands until it placed a kiss on her quim.

Warmth flooded her body, her pleasure close.

“Are you thinking of me, Honeybee? ”

She stilled, her hand between her legs as Ian stood in the doorway. In the dark room, only the moonlight shone around his silhouette, hiding his face. Maybe she would have cared about being caught one or two glasses of brandy ago, but even after the bath, nothing had taken the edge off.

And now she was too close to care.

“What a good girl, touching yourself. I bet it feels so good.”

She swallowed back her whimper, her want bordering on frustration now.

“Do you want me to leave?” His voice cracked.

Charlotte licked her lips, shaking her head.

“What was that?”

“No,” she said, moving her hand between her legs again.

But suddenly, with him so close, it wasn’t enough. She had touched herself plenty of times during his time away, but having him here, knowing he could help… It was nearly too much.

“Carry on,” he said. “You look so gorgeous like that. Thinking of me.”

She whimpered again.

“I want to taste you, Lottie,” he said. “Let me taste you.”

Charlotte was anything but innocent, thanks in large part to Kate, who had introduced her to an erotic lending library the women of the ton only whispered about to avoid being shamed or embarrassed.

She had only ever dreamt of his mouth on her in that intimate way, believing that was only an act which occurred in books. But now that he asked…

Her pulse thrummed in her ear and between her thighs as she closed her eyes, terrified yet excited. “Yes.”

A year might have passed or a string of excruciating moments, either way, the room fell to silence as she waited, pushing down the regret ready to bloom at her honest answer.

Ian slowly crossed the room, keeping his eyes trained on her. The light filtered over his body, revealing the heat in his dark eyes. And though it had been years since she had seen him so completely undone, she could tell by the way he carried himself .

“You’re drunk, Ian.”

“A little.”

“You never do anything in half measure, duke.”

“Don’t call me that,” he nearly purred as he crawled up onto the bed.

Charlotte swallowed back an excited yelp.

“Is Your Grace better?”

“Lottie,” he sighed, half exasperated.

She closed her eyes as his hand reached for hers, stopping her nervous giggle.

“You were doing so well. I would hate to interrupt.”

Charlotte bucked her hips, eager for his touch, his kiss, to feel him cover her body with his. She was desperate for it.

“I hate you,” she whispered, staring up at his face as he moved over her.

“That’s a shame,” he said before dropping his mouth to hers and kissing her, slow, just as she had imagined. If she didn’t know any better, her duke was a trained assassin. At least then, she would have a justifiable reason for him disappearing on her. But not now. She wouldn’t focus on that now.

“You’re thinking too much,” he whispered, breaking apart to shower soft kisses across her face before he moved lower, pressing his lips against the juncture between her jaw and neck. “Relax.”

But that seemed impossible when her body was burning, desperate for release.

“Ian,” she sighed, pressing her bottom against the mattress, impatient. A shiver rolled over her as he lowered himself, circling his thumb over her nipple through the fabric of her chemise. Then he replaced his thumb with his lips, drawing her nipple into his mouth and licking, rolling her left breast in his hand.

Everything ached, and Charlotte was certain she was going mad.

“What did you think of when you touched yourself, I wonder?” He trailed his hand down the curve of her full stomach until he reached between her legs, the fabric separating them as he pressed against her. “My hands here? My mouth? My cock? ”

Charlotte whimpered, greedy for more.

“I’ve dreamed of you plenty. But it’s been far too long. I want to taste you, Lottie. I want to feel your release.”

He lowered himself more, then shoved the fabric up to her waist, and slipped two fingers against her, rubbing slow circles.

It felt as if she would shatter.

“Yes, like that. I can feel how close you are, Charlotte. Do you want your release? Do you want me to keep going?”

And as if to tease, he stopped his touch and waited for her answer.

“Yes,” she whispered back, pushing herself up on her elbows to watch.

He tilted his head toward the ceiling and groaned, then bent down and pressed his mouth against her quim and licked.

Charlotte collapsed back against the bed and moaned, clamping her hand over her mouth to be quiet as he slipped his fingers inside of her wet heat. With each lick, he nearly undid her, driving her to some new height she had never experienced. And as amazing as it felt, she knew that, after tonight, it wouldn’t be enough.

Everything tightened within her. She reached out and ran her hand through his hair, tugging, trying to keep herself from spinning apart. He glanced up at her, his face between her thighs, and she was certain it was the most erotic scene she had ever experienced.

She rocked her hips, pressing against his tongue until that tightness snapped. She cried out, bucking against the bed as her quim quivered around his fingers and against his mouth. She rode out her pleasure, her pulse thrumming in her chest as she struggled to catch her breath, panting.

“Ian,” she said at last.

Slowly, he removed his fingers, then crawled back up the length of her body and kissed her. She tasted herself on his mouth, felt his erection pressed against her thigh.

“What a good girl,” he whispered next to her ear. “Can you feel how hard I am for you, Lottie? How much I want you? That’s how I’ve spent the past eight years. Wanting you, dreaming of you. Only you. ”

He crawled next to her and lay on her pillow, the moonlight shining down on him as if he were an archangel.

“Hate me if you want, Lottie, but I don’t hate you. Not even a little. But I am…” He rolled over so their eyes met. “I have never stopped wanting you. And to feel you come apart under my touch, only makes me want you more. To discover what we could share.”

“You talk too much when you’re drunk.”

“I remember what you’re like when you’ve had too much brandy, Honeybee. Is that why you were touching yourself?”

Lord, he knew her so well. What had started as a quiet proposal in Hyde Park all those years ago had, by that evening, turned to them sneaking away to her parent’s library after brandy and lemon cakes to celebrate. Kissing up against the stacks had turned to more, and she had left that room no longer a virgin, vowing she loved Ian best of all.

She felt the heat of a blush on her cheeks at the mere memory of that night, thankful for the dark room and forever grateful that, though frustrating, his wicked mouth was so skilled at other things. “You can stay in my room tonight.”

“Good, I was planning on it.” His eyes were heavy, and there was a hint of a grin on his lips. “You are not very quiet.”

“I’ll practice with you if you’d like.”

He opened one eye and reached for her face, drawing her mouth against his. “ Please .”