“I have been accused on more than one occasion of employing dictatorial methods when the welfare of those for whom I care is in question.” He took a large swallow of wine in preparation for admitting to the rest.
Then she beat him to it. “Because of your friend?” she asked, her voice gentle. “Dillon, wasn’t it?”
His stomach tightened into a fist.
That fast. She comprehended what drove him like she’d known him all his life. He took a moment to school his breathing, then spoke, voice gruff. “That is Caroline’s theory. I’ve long denied any such thing. Tonight, however, I realize…” He cleared his throat. “It has merit. Perhaps, in my zeal to thwart any and every threat of danger to those I care for, I may have a tendency to overstep.”
She sent him a look of such tenderness, he found it momentarily hard to go on. She, his wife, the one he’d accused of being heartless, uppity, shallow.
“Perhaps. But caring deeply for one’s family is not a crime punishable by death.”
Before even he knew what he was about, he shoved the cart aside, nearly toppling it since the brake was locked, and surged to his feet, then shifted to haul her from her chair.
“Annabelle, I…Caroline was not my only concern.”
He’d taken her completely unawares, and she blinked up at him, lashes fluttering rapidly. “I do not understand.”
His hands flexed on her shoulders as he resisted the urge to give her a little shake. Equally difficult, standing this close to her, smelling her intoxicating scent, was fighting the compulsion to drag her into him, weave his fingers into her hair, and cover her mouth with his.
“You are my wife. Do you not think I have some small measure of”—God’s teeth. He thought he’d felt bared before—“ofcarefor you?”
The hollow at her throat trembled with the beat of her heart. “For…me?”
At her dazed expression, he could not stop the charmed smile spreading over his face. “For you. For our…” His words died. His smile died. His hands on her shoulders tightened. “For the babe you may even now carry.”
Her mouth fell open. “A…baby.” She said the word with wonder, as if the thought had never occurred to her. Her eyes welled with tears, and something akin to terror filled him.
He choked out words. “Are you…that is…I’m sorry. I—”
Shaking her head, she placed two fingers against his lips. “Will you kiss me?”
With a groan, he bent, arms enclosing her, and took her mouth with his.
She tasted good. So sweet. A nameless ache filled his chest, and a terrible hunger that had nothing to do with food had him lifting her off her feet and stumbling with her toward her too-small bed.
He tumbled with her in his arms, falling onto his back as his hands roamed over her backside, greedy for every touch. As he’d suspected, she wore nothing of substance beneath her thin gown, and he could not resist the call of her sweet flesh.Bunching fistfuls of her skirts, he tugged the garment up until he’d bared her legs and the sweet curve of her bottom.
As always, she made no secret of her own intoxicating need for him, dragging herself closer, wriggling higher up his chest, murmuring incoherent pleadings ‘til his pulse hammered, his cock thrummed, and his seed threatened to erupt.
Then he traced the supple curve of her hip down and around to the apex of her thighs and discovered a fount of pure, dripping nectar. He whimpered. He’d laugh at himself if he wasn’t so lost to her and what she did to him.
He traced over her plump folds, reveling in the feel of her.
Shivering, she parted for him, dropping her knees to either side of his waist, inviting more of his touch.
Then her fingers were between them, struggling with the fly of his trousers.
Calling on all his will, he wedged his free hand between them and grasped her wrist. “Not yet,” he choked out.
Because once his erection was freed, the call of her tight channel would override his will. He wanted to sink into her. Wanted to possess her. Brand her. Wanted to explode into her.
But he wanted something else more. Bringing her to release, witnessing her responsiveness, her passion, her desperation as he drew out her pleasure had become his obsession. His wife was sensuality incarnate, and he did not think he would ever get enough of her.
In one move, he flipped their positions. For a timeless moment, he lay on top of her, pressing her body into the mattress, gazing on her beautiful, passion-dazed face. He kissed her, then, slowly, thoroughly, before drawing his mouth to her ear.
“Do you trust me, Annabelle?” he demanded in guttural tones.
“Yes,” she whispered.
