“No point in that, I’m only going to rip it off you,” he says in a delightfully low rumble.
My heart flutters and a wave of dizziness washes over me. Arousal is stirring. Awakening and stretching. Getting ready to drag its claws through every part of me. Though that could simply be caused by my magic and not my husband’s words.
“Okay,” I agree shakily.
I take one more step.
“Now where are you going?”
I turn back to face my husband. “To the bathroom. To prepare.” Surely this is obvious?
He grins again and reaches for me. I stumble slightly as he pulls me towards him.
“That’s part of the fun.” His dark eyes are gleaming. “I don’t want things to be formal between us.”
I’m staring up at him. Lost for words, yet again. “I haven’t taken a tea,” I say. Damnit, that makes no sense at all.
“Neither have I,” says Felford simply. “Perhaps it will be better this way, with both of us in our right minds.”
“As you wish, my lord…I mean Drew.”
His eyes narrow. They blaze at me intensely. They burrow and burn their way into my very soul and all I can do is stand here while he reads the deepest and darkest parts of me.
Eventually, he nods decisively. “It is what I wish.”
Shakily, I nod my understanding of his command. He is my husband, of course I will obey.
He pulls me even closer. Now our chests are nearly touching.
“If you really must take a tea, I will allow it. But I want you, Luci. Not some addled version of you.”
The room tilts. If his hands were not on my shoulders, I would have fallen. The things he says are going to destroy me. I should beg for him to stop. I should beg for mercy. But I won’t. I like it far too much. I’m going to seize it with both hands and hold on to it. While I can.
Daggers and plots await us. This, whatever this is, will not last for long. So I’m going to try my best to enjoy it while I can.
Suddenly, his head is lowering, and his lips claim mine. The moment our bodies connect feels like a blast of lightning. All bright sparks and tingling electricity. I swear I can even smell ozone in the air.
He pulls away. He breaks the connection. I want to whine. To go up on my toes and chase him. But I don’t. I stand still. I am a good boy.
His hands go to the buttons of my suit jacket. I watch his fingers deftly undo my buttons. Then his hands slide back up to my shoulders. My jacket slides off and hits the floor by my ankles with a dull thud. I shiver.
His fingers are at my throat now. My tie disappears. Now he is undoing my shirt. Baring me to him. His clever fingers work steadily down and down. Down and down. Then they flow back up. Movements as graceful as any dancer's.
My shirt joins my jacket on the floor. His gaze rakes over my naked chest. I can feel the burn of it on my skin. His gaze leaves a trail of heat in its wake. His attention lingers on my nipples and they swell and pebble for him. He grins at that. Satisfaction dancing in his eyes.
His jacket pools by his feet. His tie is yanked off. I lick my lips as his agile fingers glide down his crisp white shirt. The cotton slides off and now I’m staring at a broad and very manly chest. Sculpted muscles. A healthy sun-kissed glow to his skin despite the time of year. A smattering of dark, coarse hair that I’d give anything to run my fingers through.
My husband is incredibly handsome.
Strong arms wrap around me and I’m pressed against wonderful muscles. Oh, my. Skin against skin is incredible. His lips find mine again and I take his kiss hungrily. My body presses against his as if it thinks it could possibly get any closer.
My thoughts spin away. All that remains is carnality and need. A deep and desperate hunger. I can feel the heat of my husband. I can feel the pulse of his heartbeat. His touch is everything that I crave.
Dimly, I’m aware of shoes, trousers and underwear being removed. My skin sliding against his skin. His hard cock is pressing against my stomach and it is driving me wild with desire. My magic is swelling and surging. It knows I need my husband to be inside of me, and it is impatient.
The kiss ends, and I suck in a breath. I blink as my surroundings take shape around me. Felford is half sitting, half lying on my bed, propped up by an abundance of pillows. I’m shamelessly straddling his lap. I’m sitting on my husband. And we are both utterly naked.
My lungs start to stutter. But wait. Why is he staring at me like that?
Realization hits me like a ton of bricks. His hand is on my naked back. I can feel an echo of his touch on the path his fingers just traced along a scar.
Oh.
“Your parents whipped you?” he asks. His eyes are bright. Horror and shock dancing with lust.
My stomach tries to heave. He didn’t know. He really hasn’t read my papers. My blemishes are disclosed and listed as they should be.
“Your own parents,” he whispers.
“Only my father,” I clarify.
Sadness sweeps in like a tide and washes away all the other emotions in his eyes. Oh gods. I don’t want him to feel sorry for me.
“I was a terrible child,” I tell him.
He shakes his head. “I don’t believe that.”
“It’s true!” I insist. “I’d spin in circles instead of standing still and I refused to speak until I was four.”
