Page 68 of To Wager with Love

She laughed, thrilled by the pleasure in his eyes as she went to retrieve the carefully wrapped parcel.

“Actually,” she said, feeling a little mischievous. “If I’m honest, it’s a present for me, not you.”

Jasper returned a curious look and reached for the parcel, tugging at the ribbon holding it closed. He let the paper fall to the ground and shook out the garment folded inside. The fabric was a stunning gold, intricately embroidered and fit for a king.

He looked up at Harriet in surprise. “A banyan?”

Harriet nodded, blushing a little now. “When… When I read the stories to you, I….” Her mouth grew dry, and she felt a little foolish admitting to her fantasies, but she owed Jasper a great deal and she wanted him to know this, to know everything she had dreamed. “I used to imagine that you were Prince Shahryar and I—”

“You were Scheherazade,” he finished for her. “Spinning her tales and leaving each one on a cliff hanger, hoping to live another night.”

Harriet nodded, her shyness evaporating as she saw the way his eyes had darkened.

“I imagined you as the prince,” she said, breathless now. “Dressed in silks and laying back against colourful cushions as I told you my stories.”

“Well, then,” he said, stroking a finger over the heavy silk of the dressing gown. “I would not want to disappoint you.” Harriet’s mouth grew dry as he shrugged out of his coat, throwing it in a careless heap on the floor. He paused then, his lips quirking as he noted the rapt look on her face and made a circling motion with his fingers. “Turn away, please. I would like to give you the full effect.”

Harriet huffed, not wanting to miss out on the tantalising sight of her gorgeous husband disrobing, but did as she was told. The rustle of fabric was a torment that made her long to turn around and steal a glimpse, but she did not, and finally she heard him speak.

“Well, Scheherazade, do I meet with your approval?”

Harriet turned, and the air left her lungs in a rush as she took in the scene before her. Jasper lay back on a tumble of cushions, and every part of him glinted gold in the firelight. He looked every inch the image of the Persian prince she’d imagined, or perhaps an indulged pasha awaiting one of his wives to peel him a grape, or even a pagan god lounging in expectation of his supplicant’s devotions. The banyan fell carelessly from his shoulders, gaping to show an expanse of smooth skin and a line of golden hair that disappeared in a provocative trail beneath the loose tie about his hips.

“Oh, yes,” Harriet murmured, wondering how Scheherazade had kept her wits about her for so long if her prince had looked anything like Jasper. The threat of losing your head must focus the mind rather, she supposed.

Harriet moved closer and knelt before him. She could do nothing but stare, too enraptured by the beauty of him, clothed in silk and firelight and surrounded by the decadent sprawl of brightly coloured rugs and cushions.

“What, no clever story to spin for me, love?” Jasper teased her, his beautiful eyes dark with anticipation.

Harriet shook her head. “No,” she breathed. “Not a one. I must try to please you another way, I suppose.”

Jasper’s lips quirked, and he put one hand behind his head, making an expansive gesture that encompassed the rest of him with the other. “I am at your disposal, wife.”

She leaned in, sliding her hand beneath the warm silk and laying it flat against his chest. His body burned beneath her palm and her breath caught.

“You are always so much hotter than me,” she said, curious as ever, though too impatient to consider why that might be.

She slid her hand down, over his taut belly, until the robe’s belt impeded her path. Harriet gave it an impatient tug and pushed the lush fabric aside, exposing him to her view.

His eyes were upon her, she knew it, but she didn’t care if he saw the adoration in her gaze, the depth of her desire. She could do nothing but drink him in, admiring the sheer masculine beauty before her.

“Mine,” she whispered, daring to meet his eyes.

He stared back at her, his expression serious. “All yours.”

Harriet let out a little sigh of pleasure and then took off her spectacles and set them carefully aside.

“Hmmm, Scheherazade has removed her glasses. Should I be worried?”

“Certainly,” Harriet said, feeling quite indecent and very pleased with herself as she leant down and pressed her mouth to his cock. It leapt at her touch and Jasper groaned as she kissed him again, and again and then gave him a cautious lick. This earned her a gasp and his hips canted towards her, demanding more, so she did it again. She knew he liked this, and loved the urgent sounds he made, but she knew too that she was dreadfully inexperienced and wanted to know more, wanted to be good at this for him.

“Teach me,” she said, staring up at him as her own skin burned with desire. The dark look in his eyes made her feel hot, achy, and impatient, but she wanted to learn this, wanted to give him as much pleasure as he’d given her.

“I think you’re doing admirably,” he said, the words breathless as he curled his fingers into her hair.

Harriet shook her head. “Teach me, I want to learn.”

She saw his throat working, held her breath as he found the words to instruct her. “Take it in your mouth,” he said.