“I know it must seem unusual and well . . . unfinished with all the pencil strokes still visible beneath the paint, but like I said, they’re just a bit of scribbling really and—”
“It’s brilliant,” Daniel said, raising his gaze to meet hers. “It’s absolutely magical, Becky, and with a sense of movement that I don’t believe would be there at all if the pencil strokes weren’t visible.”
She blinked, her lips parting slightly with undeniable astonishment, and Daniel couldn’t help himself. Reaching out, he pulled her closer until their lips finally met, gently at first and then with growing urgency, their tongues toying eagerly in the confines of their hot mouths. Daniel suppressed a groan, not from pain but from a different kind of torture altogether. Dear God, he wanted her. Clearly the act of being shot had not dampened his virility in the least. On the contrary, abstaining for several days had heightened it. He sucked in a breath. One painting, one reward; he would make this better for both of them if he drew it out as long as possible. So he pulled back, relishing the sigh that left her lips at their parting, and boldly turned the page of her sketchbook.
Three fairies were having a race in this one, each of them riding a beetle with ribbons tied on as reins. “You really do have quite the imagination,” he said as he traced a slow line along the edge of Rebecca’s bodice, dipping a finger between her br**sts. She sucked in a breath and he smiled as he noted the flush in her cheeks. “I wonder what your reward shall be this time . . . perhaps something like this?” And easing his finger along, he found her pebbling nipple.
“Yes,” she sighed, her back arching to offer him more. With a greedy chuckle, he tugged and pinched her gently until she was groaning with pleasure—a pleasure that hardened him to frustration.
Flipping another page, he glanced down at the next painting, scarcely registering what it was in his need for more of her. More fairies . . . more magic. He tugged at her bodice, freeing her to his gaze, then placed his mouth upon her, his tongue working her nipple as he suckled her.
“Daniel,” she gasped, her hands thrusting through his hair and holding him tightly against her. “Daniel, please . . .”
He withdrew and gave her a wolfish grin. “Would you like another reward?”
She nodded and he turned the page, discovering a picture that caught his attention. “It’s us,” he said, incredulous at the detail and level of skill the picture portrayed. “This was when we danced at the Kingsborough Ball . . . right before . . .” An image further down the page showed her lying on the ground with blood oozing from her shoulder.
“I’ve no memory of this of course, so it’s entirely based on my own imagination,” she said.
Daniel swallowed hard at the memory of what had happened. He ought to meet with Roxberry so he could discover the culprit behind the shooting and, more to the point, wring the blighter’s neck. Caught up in the story the pictures seemed to convey, he quickly turned the page to find Rebecca greeting him through her bedroom window.
His gaze fell on a picture of himself and Rebecca side by side in her wardrobe, and as he recalled how wonderful that first kiss had been, he reflected on everything they’d been through since—a winding path that had led them to this moment.
“You’ve forgotten your promise,” she said.
The reward.
“Guilty, I admit, but these are just so incredible that I couldn’t help myself. It’s as if you’ve catalogued every key moment of our acquaintance. Look, even Grover’s ball and the carriage ride to Scotland are here . . . our wedding too . . .” His words trailed off as a daring image of their wedding night caught his eye. “I believe I’ve just found your true reluctance for showing me these. This is quite risqué.”
He liked it though, the way she’d captured the passion between them as they’d tangled between the sheets. Not even a breast was visible, yet that only seemed to make it so much more erotic. “You’re right. I must reward you now, and for more than one picture.” He closed the sketchbook and set it on the bedside table. “However will I manage?”
Rebecca was quite convinced he’d think of something—something utterly indecent. Her br**sts grew heavy at the very thought of it. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed their coupling these past few days, but now, with his eyes hot upon hers, it was all she could do not to clamber all over him until they both screamed with pleasure.
He was injured though, and she had no desire to cause him further harm, so she held still instead and waited for him to make his move.
“Stand up and face the bed,” he said.
She complied, the skirts of her gown falling loosely around her legs and her bodice still disarranged and baring her br**sts to Daniel’s wanting gaze. He fingered the fabric of her skirt with an air of pensiveness, then began to pull at it, hoisting it up over her knees, thighs and hips. He held it like that for a moment while he stared at her, a greedy hunger reflecting her own growing desire. She knew what he was seeing, for she was nak*d beneath, and somehow, the idea that he might pleasure her like this, still fully garbed, aroused her beyond all measure. When he did nothing, however, she spread her legs wider apart in invitation, thrilling at the groan that came from somewhere deep inside him.
“My God” was all he said before she felt the wet tip of his tongue upon her, one slow stroke that sent a pulse of heat shooting straight through her. She felt her knees grow weak and her whole body begin to sag until she had no choice but to reach out and steady herself on the bedside table.
“Like that, did you?” Daniel was sitting back again and looking up at her with a very wicked gleam in his eyes.
“More,” was all she could manage, and even that was barely audible.
But Daniel must have heard her, for he grinned, adding a flash of white teeth—the primal look of a man intent on ravishing her. Looking up at her, his eyes darker than before, two fingers found her center, parted her flesh and slipped inside. Heaven above she was lucky to still be upright. His fingers moved and she gasped. “Daniel . . . I . . .”
“Yes?” The wicked man was teasing her. To prove it, he moved his fingers again—in and out they went until she felt herself grow taught. She couldn’t speak, could barely form a coherent thought as a wave of heat rose up her legs to meet the swirling flush of tingling warmth that fanned out from her core. And then she shattered on the sound of his name, torn from deep inside her chest. It had not taken long, two minutes at most, but it had felt incredible.
With a sigh of sated satisfaction, Rebecca savored the feeling of her limp body returning to a more grounded state of being. She knew she shouldn’t feel embarrassed by what had just transpired between them, but she couldn’t seem to stop her cheeks from flooding with warmth, and even less so when she noticed the peak in the sheets. Her desires had been expertly quenched, but Daniel’s had not. “I . . . er . . .” she began hesitantly.
He raised an eyebrow.
Oh bother.
She wasn’t usually the shy sort. In fact, she was generally quite outspoken, but this was new territory for her, and finding the right words was not as easy as she’d thought it would be when she’d opened her mouth to speak. Pull yourself together, Rebecca. You’re a married woman and not nearly as innocent as you were two weeks ago. She gazed back at Daniel, who was watching her most expectantly. There was no reason for her to feel embarrassed. He was her husband, her friend, her ally, and more than that, he loved her. She straightened her back a little with new resolve and said, “If you would like, I would very much enjoy returning the favor.” His eyes widened and his jaw dropped. She hastily added, “Unless of course you think it would be too painful for you, in which case we can just sit for a bit and look at the paintings if you like or . . . oh . . . I don’t know, play a game of cards or something.” She was babbling now, she realized.
Idiot.
“Cards?” Daniel sounded as if he’d been choking.
Rebecca frowned. “Are you all right?”
He groaned. Poor man, his wound was clearly paining him. “I’m sorry,” she said. “We never should have done what we just did. You obviously need rest.”
“Stop,” he muttered, the words sounding like a croak. “Please, Becky, stop talking.”
She said nothing further and just watched as he sank back against his pillows, closed his eyes and heaved a great big sigh. There was still a peak in the sheets. Oh dear. Biting her lip, she tried not to stare at it.
“May I be perfectly frank with you?” Daniel asked.
“Of course.”
“Very well then. As you may have noticed, I have a bit of a situation.” He waved one hand in the general direction of his groin. “So there is some discomfort, not from my wound but from my overwhelming lust for you.” He paused, the edge of his mouth kicking up a bit until his signature smile of mischief returned. “I cannot be very active, given my current condition, but if you were serious before when you asked if you could return the favor, then yes, by all means, you may—indeed, I would relish it.”
A warm, fuzzy feeling swept through Rebecca at his words. There was nothing crass about it, and he was making no attempt to seduce her back into a state of wantonness. All he’d done was explain his current state of being and what might be done to alleviate it. She felt humbled really that he would talk so plainly to her about his needs, and thrilled that he trusted her not to shy away from him. “I would do anything for you,” she told him reverently as she pulled the bed sheet away from him.
“Anything?” he murmured, his eyes opening into two narrow slits. She nodded, and a deep rumble shook his chest. “I’ll have to remember that for later.”
“For now, however,” she purred as her fingers curled around him, “I shall take great pleasure in doing this.” And then she bent forward and covered him with her mouth.
Dear merciful God in heaven.
It took every ounce of willpower within him to remain perfectly still while his wife did what no proper lady of breeding would ever do—or so he’d heard. Even his mistresses had seemed reluctant, never offering such pleasure of their own free will but only if he asked.
Yet Rebecca . . . his hand fisted through her hair as her tongue worked magic along the hard length of him, her lips pulling and sucking as if . . . dear God, she was taking pleasure in this. The notion stunned him, and he thanked his lucky stars for whatever deity had brought her his way. What a lucky devil he’d turned out to be.
Her hand stroked up his thigh and he felt a light tremble in his groin—the knowledge of what she would do . . . hoping for it . . . and then she did it, the one thing nobody had ever done before. She cupped him, fondled him gently and then . . . She lifted her head with a frown, a few strands of hair trailing lightly against her cheek. “Is this all right?” she asked. She looked truly unsure and concerned. “I mean, is this . . . do you like it?”
Like it?
He wanted to raise her to bloody sainthood for her efforts. “Yes,” he rasped. “Yes, Becky, it’s . . . very . . . very good . . . the best . . . ever.” Good Lord, he could barely get the words out, he was breathing so hard. The smile she offered in response was not in the least bit innocent—it was tantalizing and greedy, like that of a siren who’d just spotted a lonely sailor. She bent her head again and he closed his eyes, giving himself up to the pleasure of her ministrations until he began to feel his inner thigh muscles starting to strain. He pulled at her hair, tugging her away from him and asking her to use her hand instead as tingles started to spread across his skin. The pressure intensified with each stroke she made until he felt himself burst, heart bouncing in his chest, his breath coming in heavy gusts as he spent himself on his belly and her hand.