Page 78 of Dare to be Wicked

Lottie was torn between demanding he keep still so she might look at him properly and pleading with him to hurry. In the end, she was too stunned to do either and then he was there, climbing onto the mattress, his body moving over hers. The shock of his skin upon hers was astonishing. Hot, he was so hot, and surprisingly silky, yet so much harder, his flesh so much firmer, muscle and sinew, the weight of him everything she had wanted and needed. She gasped as his arousal glided over her sex, the sensation so delicious she could only arch towards him, seeking more.

“Lottie, oh, God, love. I thought I’d go mad wanting this, wanting you.”

“Hurry, then,” she demanded, beside herself.

She knew what came next and she wanted it, her body demanded it. Her hands clutched at him, her legs pulling him in closer.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, desperation in his voice as he tried to calm her. “Perhaps we should—”

“No,” she demanded, almost cross. “No, now. You won’t hurt me, just… please….”

He groaned, clearly aware it was pointless to remonstrate, thank heavens. She held her breath as he found his place between her legs and then he was pushing into her. Lottie gasped, panting as the strange sense of fullness became uncomfortable and he paused.

“Breathe,” he said, nuzzling her neck with soft lips, before finding her mouth and kissing her, deeply, slowly, until her muscles unwound and her body relaxed, accepting him. He broke the kiss and groaned. She might have relaxed, but his body sang with tension, the muscles hard and taut beneath her hand until he moved again. He made a desperate sound that thrilled through her and thrust deeper.

There was a pinch of discomfort, but Lottie ignored it, too beguiled by the sight of Cassius, sweating and lost to passion, lost to the feel of being inside her. His pleasure was the greatest aphrodisiac in the world, and she loved the harsh, masculine sounds of effort and satisfaction he made, as his movements became harder, faster, and increasingly erratic. She stroked her hands over his shoulders, feeling the roll of muscle, the passion-damp slide of his skin under her palms. He moved then, hooking her leg over his arm, deepening the angle, and… she cried out, grabbing his biceps as if she needed anchoring to the earth as sensation rolled through her, building and building into a crescendo that she knew would overwhelm her. She welcomed it, chased it, closing her eyes and rushing towards it as he jerked and shuddered in her arms. The big bed shook with the force of it, his guttural cry loud and brutal and enough to send her tumbling after him. He stole her cry with a kiss, and she held onto him, breathless as she blinked up into his beautiful face.

“Lottie?” he said, breathing too hard to speak easily. “Lottie?”

“Marvellous,” she replied, dazed but comprehending his question by the anxious look in his eyes. “Simply marvellous.”

He gave a short laugh and collapsed on top of her, utterly spent.

The sky outside had long since grown dark by the time hunger drove them from the bed. Not for long, though. They carried the trays of food back with them and arranged a picnic on the mattress, sharing one glass of wine though the decanter sat on the bedside table.

“I’m famished,” Lottie said, demolishing a dainty little pastry in one bite. She closed her eyes, chewing with an expression of bliss.

Cassius watched her with rapt attention, the chicken leg he’d taken suspended in mid-air.

“What?” Lottie asked licking the crumbs from her lips. “Are my manners appalling? Are you horrified?”

“Yes. You’re disgraceful.” His gaze fell to her mouth. “I shall be too ashamed to take you anywhere. I think I shall confine you to your bedroom and never let you out ever again.”

Lottie lifted the glass of wine and took a large swallow, watching him thoughtfully. “Will you stay with me in my prison?”

“Always,” he said. “Someone must keep you amused, and I am your husband. I spoke vows, remember.”

She shrugged and picked up another pasty. “All right, then.”

She popped the morsel into her mouth. Cassius watched as she licked each finger in turn.

“Are you going to eat that?” She gestured to the chicken leg and, when he failed to respond, plucked it from his fingers.

“You’re terrible,” he said reproachfully.

She made a snorting noise like a pig and he laughed, falling back against the pillows, too happy to make sense of his feelings, and really what was the point in analysing it? He loved her, she made him laugh, made his heart feel light, and made his mind race with possibilities for their future.

“God, I am a lucky devil,” he said with a sigh.

“Yes,” she agreed taking up another little pasty and holding it to his lips. “You are.”

He took it from her, careful to ensure his lips touched her fingers. He held her hand until he’d finished chewing and then licked each finger in turn, watching her eyes darken as he did so.

“We’ll make a dreadful mess,” she warned him, her lips quirking.

She had that wicked glint in her eyes that he adored above anything, that made his chest want to burst with the force of happiness swelling inside him.

“Yes,” he said. “Let’s do that.”