Page 95 of To Hunt the Hunter

“It is a lovely gown,” she said, stroking one hand over the fine silver material. “I knew I had to have it the moment I saw it. It’s the colour of your eyes.”

He frowned a little, shaking his head. “My eyes are grey.”

Matilda laughed, finding herself laughing harder still at the perplexed expression he was giving her.

“They’re grey,” he insisted.

“N-no, my love,” she said, shaking her head helplessly. “I promise you, they are not, and I am your wife now, so you must agree with me.”

“Oh, is that how it works?”

“It is,” she said gravely. “And I seem to remember you have a dare to complete.”

“So I do,” he said, and all at once her skin was alive with anticipation. “Then I had better get to work. Turn around.”

He took his time, undoing every button and hook with what seemed to Matilda to be excessive care.

“Oh, do hurry,” she complained.

Lucian only laughed and shook his head. “No, my wicked darling. This time, you are mine. Mine to do with as I please, there is no escape for you. I will make you beg for me, love.”

“I’ll beg now, if you like,” she said, frustrated already, but he only chuckled again, a dark sound that shivered over her skin like a caress.

Finally her chemise slid to the floor with a soft flutter, to join the puddle of silver fabric at her ankles. She was naked but for her stockings and the silver ribbons that held them in place. Lucian walked a circle around her, his eyes glinting as he looked her over.

“Lucian,” she said breathlessly, desperate for him to touch her.

“What, love?” he asked, a now familiar quirk to his lips that made her pulse thunder. “Is there something you want?”

She huffed out a breath. “You just want to make me say it.”

“Of course I do,” he said. “I want to hear what you want me to do to you. I want to know that you want it, that you want me.”

“I don’t think there’s much doubt of that,” she said, feeling the truth of her words as heat pooled inside her.

He stepped closer, not quite touching her, his lips ghosting over hers in a teasing caress. “You don’t?”

Matilda shook her head.

“Show me then, show me your desire.”

Matilda saw the challenge in his eyes and felt the answering blush colour her skin, blooming all over her.

“Such a pretty colour,” he murmured, chasing it from her cheeks, down her neck, to the peak of one nipple with a fingertip.

Matilda shivered.

“Show me,” he whispered, moving to stand behind her, his soft command tickling her neck and he pressed a kiss to her nape.

Gathering her courage, she reached for his hand and put it flat against her stomach, and then drew it slowly down, guiding him between her legs. She heard his slow exhale as his fingers slid through the soft curls, to find the wet heat beneath.

“You do want me.” The words were smug, spoken against her skin and sending goosebumps rushing over her. “Very badly.”

“Yes,” she agreed, leaning back against him as his fingers found the source of her pleasure and circled the little nub of flesh with expert caresses.

She closed her eyes, her head falling back against his shoulder as he kissed her neck.

“Do you remember your friend Prue’s Christmas ball?” he asked her, and Matilda struggled to open her eyes, to consider the question as his clever fingers commanded her body to succumb to the pleasure of his touch.