“Um… Why do you ask?” His voice was rough from coughing.
She tilted her head, studying his flushed face, the way his eyes had darkened despite his apparent confusion. “I was merely curious about your… preferences. Whether our encounters satisfy you as thoroughly as your fictional adventures.”
The effect was immediate. His expression shifted, suspicion melting into something far more heated. He set down his glass and moved across the blanket until he was beside her, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him.
“My darling wife,” he rasped low, “I find each of our encounters more intoxicating than any fiction.”
His fingers came up to trace the line of her jaw with exquisite gentleness. “Each time I learn something new about you—what makes you sigh, what makes you tremble.” His thumb brushed across her lower lip. “What makes you whisper my name in that way that drives me half mad with wanting you.”
Amelia felt heat bloom in her cheeks, spreading down her neck and across her chest. Despite their months of marriage and increasing intimacy, his words still had the power to affect her profoundly.
“Truly?” she whispered.
“Truly.” His eyes held hers, all pretense and artifice stripped away, leaving only raw honesty. “I’ve had many lovers in my misspent youth, Amelia, but none have captivated me the way you do. None have challenged me, surprised me, or satisfied me as completely.”
As he spoke, his fingers traced her jaw, and Amelia felt her own boldness growing. The strawberries, the champagne, the privacy of their secluded meadow—it all combined to make her feel deliciously wicked. When he fed her another strawberry, watching her lips with such intensity, she made her decision.
*
Charles watched asAmelia lay her head on his lap and closed her eyes. The sunlight danced across her face, highlighting the expressive contours and the copper highlights he’d come to adore. Her eyes, those intelligent eyes that had first challenged him across a printing press, opened and now regarded him with a softness that made hisheart swell.
He stroked her hair, allowing himself to fully appreciate the moment before reaching for the bowl of strawberries. He selected a particularly plump specimen, its surface glistening with dew. With deliberate slowness, he brought it to her lips, watching intently as they parted to receive the offering. The stark contrast of the bright red fruit against her pale skin fascinated him.
Her teeth sank into the strawberry, juice beading at the corner of her mouth. She closed her eyes, clearly savoring the sweetness. His breath hitched as a small, appreciative sound escaped her throat—not quite a moan, but something equally stirring.
“Good?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
She nodded, eyes still closed. “Simply perfect.”
He selected another, trailing it lightly across her bottom lip before allowing her to take a bite. This time, he couldn’t resist swiping at the tiny droplet of juice with his thumb.
Amelia’s eyes opened, their depths darkened with an awareness that matched his own. Her tongue darted out to catch a drop of juice, inadvertently brushing against his thumb. The contact sent a current of desire through him that was far from simple.
“More?” he asked softly, offering her the remainder of the strawberry.
As she took it from his fingers, her lips closed briefly around them—a seemingly innocent gesture made provocative by the intensity between them. Charles found himself entranced by her mouth, by the sensual pleasure she took in something so ordinary as eating fruit.
He fed her another, then another, each exchange becoming increasingly intimate. The ritual transformed into something primal—the act of providing nourishment, of watching her receive it with such evident enjoyment, stirred his ardor.
Then he felt her hands reach for his falls, opening them withsurprising efficiency.
“What do you think you’re doing, Lady Hereford?” he asked with half shock and half hope.
“I thought I’d help you decide on your favorite salacious story, my lord,” she whispered as his erection sprung to life, her warm breath tickling the exposed skin.
A low rumble escaped his throat, his rod twitching at his wife’s attention. “What did you have in mind, Wife?” he asked, closing his eyes, not daring to dream. Then he felt her dainty fingers wrap around his girth and squeeze gently, the delicious pressure sending a jolt of pure pleasure through his body.
“Amelia…”
Her hand gently tugged on his member until he was on his knees, bracketing her head. With his breeches pulled down to his knees, Hereford gazed down at his wife, her eyes glazed with lust, and her hand gathering her skirts to reach her bud.
“Amelia… Christ…”
Her fingers moved to tug on his testicles, stroking and examining. The wickedness of the act had blood pooling in his cock. Hereford bit his bottom lip as the sight nearly pushed him over the edge.
Then the damnable woman brushed the sensitive skin of his bollocks with her tongue. A jolt of arousal thundered through his groin at the shocking sensation. A beastly groan escaped his throat as Hereford gripped his cock and began to stroke. His gaze fixed on his wife as her tongue swirled and stroked as if they were the sweetest plums.
“Sweetheart… bloody hell…”
