Page 26 of Duke with a Deception
Verity laughed at that. “You, sir, are a vainglorious popinjay.”
“I have never claimed to be otherwise. And you, madam, are a naked delight. Come here.”
She delighted him even further by obliging him, joining him back in bed. The height of the massive, carved oak furniture left her needing a hand, and he pulled her to him with ease. She settled against him with a sound that was remarkably akin to a purr.
“How soon do you think we shall have steps?” she asked.
Her breasts were pressed temptingly to his chest, and it took him a moment to gather his wits sufficiently to answer her.
“I could simply lift you in and out of my bed,” he suggested, enjoying the notion of taking her in his arms whenever he wished and carrying her about.
It was rather deliciously barbaric.
“You shall break your back,” she denied. “I must insist upon steps. I always believed myself tall by any lady’s standards, but I feel as if I am a child when I try to get into this bed.”
“Since I plan on having you here as often as possible, I reckon I must see about the steps. I’ll have Pierpont take care of it.”
She smelled so damned good. He nuzzled her hair and inhaled roses and bergamot and Verity. Her hand settled on his chest, her finger lazily drawing slow circles over his bare skin. Did they ever have to leave this bed? He hoped not. He could think of at least two dozen more ways to pleasure her before the day was done.
Where to begin?
“That is very considerate of you,” his new wife said in a tone he recognized.
“I’m not a considerate man,” he countered, needing to disabuse her of the notion that any part of him was good. “I’m a selfish one, and I want you to myself as much as I’m able to have you.”
He reminded himself that she had been a virgin. That he couldn’t simply have his wicked way with her as his rampaging cock currently demanded. He had to take care. To be gentle. But damn him if his prick didn’t ache even more at the reminder that he had been the one to claim her. That for all the love she’d had for her former betrothed, it had been King to whom she had given herself.
Under false pretenses, his conscience reminded him.
He tamped down the voice and told his conscience to go to the devil where it belonged. It was too late to do what was right, and he didn’t want to anyway, because it would mean he’d have to tell Verity the truth. He had no intention of ever doing so.
“You can have me to yourself as much as you like,” she told him softly, her fingertip still gliding over his chest in a whisper-light tease.
Bloody hell. How was it that Verity could put even the most practiced seductresses he’d met to shame? He was reasonably certain he would crawl through a bed of poisonous snakes, broken glass, and flame just to kiss her toes.
“Don’t tempt me,” he growled, thinking of their honeymoon and how he would have an entire week to fuck her as thoroughly and as often as he liked.
Paradise.
She slanted a glance in his direction. “I hope I do.”
His heart thudded, and all the blood in his being seemed to rush directly to his groin at that moment. “You’ve no idea, angel.”
She rose on her elbow and leaned over him, her hair curtaining his face as she found his lips, kissing him with the same passionate abandon he found irresistible. It was the bright exuberance with which she approached every day, each obstacle. She had been burned and nearly lost her life, and she hadn’t complained. Not one word. He was going to enjoy the bloody hellout of spoiling her during their honeymoon. Pleasure, food, gifts. He intended to give her everything he could.
He cupped her nape and returned her kiss. He had never been particularly moved by the connection of lips. Indeed, he preferred the far more visceral act of using his mouth to make his bed partner come or simply sinking deep inside a wet, inviting mouth or cunny. Kissing had never moved him.
Not, at least, until Verity.
Now, he thought he could kiss her for hours. Perhaps days and never grow bored with it. Every kiss was somehow new, each soft sound she made a revelation, the taste of her an addiction he was desperate to feed the same way some sought succor in spirits and opium. His cock could wait because his mouth was busy. His wife was kissing him senseless.
If someone had told him, even a week ago, that he would lose his legendary control and consummate the marriage on his wedding night, he would have laughed. If anyone had dared to suggest he would be seduced by a virgin whose experience with kissing was likely limited to one man a decade past, he’d have scoffed at the impossibility.
But he wasn’t laughing, and she was fast proving to him that nothing was impossible. Especially not the hold she had over him, as powerful as a sorceress from a fanciful tale. Yes, he was under Verity’s spell, hers to command.
Her lips left his, and she shocked him by stringing a line of kisses along his jaw, where his unshaven stubble had to prickle her lips. Down his neck as he had done to her, her mouth gliding over his rapidly beating pulse, then his Adam’s apple. He ran his fingers through her silken hair.
“If I didn’t know any better, wife, I would say you are attempting to seduce me.”
