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"You're full of compliments tonight."
"Well-deserved ones."
If I'd meant to appease her with compliments, I succeeded. But I hadn't planned it. The words flowed out of me unbidden, though I meant every word. Emery lets me dine in peace, of a sort, while she asks questions about the castle grounds. The peace only lasts until we've finished our meal.
Emery thrusts her empty plate away. "Last night, when I found you sleeping at your desk, you had a document out. It looked like our marriage contract."
I feel my face contorting into a pained expression.
She turns her chair toward me. "Why were you looking at—"
"Preparing to file it in the proper folder."
"Filing. Sure." She swings one leg over the arm of her chair. "Do I look that gullible?"
I pick at the upholstery on my chair. "Donnae know why I brought out the contract."
She regards me in silence, probably trying to decide whether she believes me. I told her the truth. I have no ruddy idea why I was staring at the contract. The longer she stays silent, the more I fidget in my chair. But the way she has one leg draped over her chair's arm exposes her groin, shielded by her trousers, and I find myself snaking a hand down to adjust my erection, as if that will help.
Emery pushes her chair back and stands, one hip buttressed by the table. "You know, we could have sex—right here, right now—and you wouldn't lose the bet."
My brows inch upward. She must have an alternate definition of sex.
My wife slopes her sensual body over the table, leaning toward me, supported by one palm splayed on the smooth surface. "We're not naked in my bedroom."
I whisk my tongue back and forth along my bottom lip. Once. Twice. Three times. Imagining I'm licking up her cream. "You may be right about the bet. But we are not having sex until after the wedding."
Even if it kills me. I have an overpowering need to prove to my wife that I can survive three weeks without shagging her.
"Aw, Rory baby," she purrs, crawling across the table, "you look like you need a cuddle."
How am I meant to resist that? I let my body go slack, resigned to a cuddle. No sex, though.
Emery crawls onto my lap, straddling me. I lay my palms on the small of her back as she ropes her arms around my neck. My fingers are trembling. Because I want her, that's all. She molds her body to mine with her lips a hair's breadth away. "Better?"
"Depends on your definition of 'better.' "
She closes her eyes, pulling in a deep breath, and her lips curve into a contented smile. "You smell so good. I love being close to you."
I press my hands into her back because I love being close to her too.
Emery opens her eyes. With a breathy moan, she seals her mouth over mine and plunges her tongue inside. I clench my fingers in her shirt, crushing her to me while I surrender to her kiss and respond by curling my tongue around hers until she goes limp against me. Her breasts are mounded against my chest, and the heat of her arousal penetrates both our clothes, the scent of it wafting in the air. The chair creaks beneath us from every small movement while I spread my hands on her back, desperate to clasp her as close to me as possible.
But I shouldn't be kissing her like this. She'll get the wrong idea. It's not an expression of raw lust. This is something else, something I won't even try to figure out. She tears her lips away from mine and gazes into my eyes like she wants to plumb the depths of my soul. Her expression reveals a tenderness that makes my chest ache. Though she adjusts her position on my lap, rubbing her body against my cock, my erection has already flagged. Why? Because I'm tired, that's all. It has nothing to do with whatever I thought I might have felt a moment ago.
I yawn, though I try to stifle it.
"You need sleep," Emery says. "It's bedtime."
"Not yet."
I crush her body to mine, forging the kiss into one of possession and almost dominance, driven by my need to scour away any tender feelings she might have stirred in me. I can't allow myself to feel anything except lust. If I care for her, and she leaves me, I don't know if I'll survive that. I abandon myself to the kiss, to my carnal need for her, and use my lips and tongue to brand her as mine, even while I glide my tongue around hers with delicate strokes. She surrenders to me willingly, her body sagging against me. With a guttural groan, I give up her lips and drag my mouth down her throat, licking and nibbling at the hollow. I close my hand around her breast. Her head falls onto my shoulder, and her mouth grazes my skin.
"Oh," she murmurs. "Oh, Rory."
We both freeze. I'd told her days ago never to speak my name while we were being intimate, but…
"I'm sorry," she hastens to say, hiding her face from me. "I forgot the rule—"
