“What if ye rip the laces,” she said with a tremble.
“Then I will buy you another, my Duchess.”
The fabric shivered down her body then, falling into a rich, silken puddle at her feet. She was left only in her corset, shoes and stockings, and chemise.
He wasted no time, pushing the tight, restrictive garments aside, his hands seeking the bare skin of her shoulders, then trailing down the curve of her spine.
“You are breathtaking, Isla,” he murmured, his voice thick with reverence. “Let me see you. Let me see all of you.”
“But…I cannae…” Isla trailed off, her trembling growing stronger.
“Yes, you can. You are the most magnificent creature I have ever seen. Show me how beautiful you are, my sweet,” he said softly as he kissed her cheek.
She stood back for a moment, surrendering to his order, and let him rake his eyes over her. She had become intoxicated by the words, fueled by the lure of his dark blue eyes, as the pull became so great.
Isla knew that Benedict was a man of action in business, and his passion behind closed doors was no different. He commanded her attention with just a glance, his orders a trance. And yet, it was more complex than that, as every touch felt like a questionhe was afraid to ask. It was as if he needed her to want him just as much, a plea for acceptance he could not speak.
He knelt before her then, pushing the final stays of her corset up, and pressed his lips to her abdomen, right where the delicate fabric met her skin.
“You have fought for everything you have,” he said, his voice husky as he rose and pulled her chemise down, revealing the pale, crisscrossing scars across her arms in the faint light.
He did not flinch.
Instead, he kissed each line, each ridge of healed skin, with a tenderness that brought tears to her eyes.
“These scars… they tell your story. They are proof of your fire, your stubborn strength. They are not blemishes. They are the most beautiful part of you.”
“Do ye… really think I am beautiful?” She asked finally, the words spilling out before she could swallow them.
He then lifted her and laid her gently onto the bed, his reverence for her the only answer she needed. She watched as he quickly discarded his own clothes, a swift efficiency that spoke of his impatience, making her grow needy for him. He was so powerful, his body all hard lines and shadows in the dim light.
He came down over her, kissing her deeply. Each caress of his mouth was more intense and represented a fierce ownership. His hands roamed her body while he continued to kiss her, worshipping her curves and hollows in a way no one had ever before. He explored her with a thoroughness that left her gasping for breath as she arched her back toward him in involuntary response.
For all their eagerness, he took his time, prolonging the anticipation until Isla was twisting beneath him, desperate for the final connection.
“I need ye now, Benedict,” she pleaded, digging her nails lightly into the skin of his back and pulling him close. “I am ready for ye…I think…”
He lifted his head, his blue eyes dark and fathomless.
“Yes. You do. And I am here. I am yours as much as you are mine. You are truly bewitching, Isla. There is no one like you…”
He positioned himself above her, easing into her slowly and carefully, making sure that her body adjusted. Finally, he filled her completely, and Isla cried out, the pleasure inside of her overwhelming.
“You can take it, Duchess,” he said with a whisper. “Take a deep breath.”
He settled into a deep, deliberate rhythm, then as she let herself go with his motions. She found that by relaxing into him, she was able to get past the fleeting pain she felt.
He was dominant in his power, yet always watching her face, ensuring her pleasure matched his own. The previous bickering was forgotten. All she could feel was the profound, physical communication of respect and desire that pulsed between them.
As the intensity built and he drove himself harder and faster into her, touching the deepest parts of her, a strange look of control and focus crossed Benedict’s face.
He continued pounding as he drove them both toward a crashing climax, keeping his control taut until the last possible moment.
With a deep, guttural sound, Benedict pulled out, spending his release against her thigh before collapsing heavily beside her, his broad chest heaving. He immediately pulled her into his embrace, wrapping his arms tightly around her, burying his face in her hair.
“Mine,” he whispered, the word both a claim and a release.
Isla nestled against him, her body exhausted but glowing with a satisfaction she had never known.
