Page 77 of Wicked By Design

He took a deep breath before the emotion of his words could run away with him.

“You do deserve it, you always have, and I know you are scared. I am too. But if we are open and—”

“Honest,” he said, his mouth quirking. “Yes, I know. I believe I have finally understood that much.”

They sat in silence for a long moment.

“I cannot give you a child, Celia. I will not.”

Cilly’s heart clenched, disappointment lancing through her, but it was not a surprise, and he had given her so much already, how she could demand more of him when it was the source of such fear and angst? She would accept his decision with good grace and focus on all the things they could have.

“I know. I understand, and I accept your decision.” She spoke clearly, holding his gaze so he knew she meant it and would not try to dissuade him.

“I would give anything to have a family with you,” he said, and tears filled her eyes as she heard the gravity of his words, the sincerity. “I only pray that… that you do not regret your decision. If I were a better man, I would give you leave to take a lover, but… I cannot do that, Celia. I won’t,” he added vehemently, passionately, and he reached for her, pulling her mouth down to his and kissing her as she had dreamed of being kissed by him.

His mouth devoured hers, as a starving man falling upon a feast. One hand sank into her long hair, fisting the tresses as he held her head in place. The other slid down her back, over the curve of waist and hip, and grasped her backside, tugging her hard against him. Cilly’s breath caught as she felt the proof of his arousal, the depths of his desire for her.

Cupping his face in both hands, she deepened the kiss, pressing closer as Damian sighed. He trailed a finger along the neckline of her gown, raising goosebumps and making her shiver.

His eyes were dark, heavy-lidded and sinful, and Cilly knew he was weighing up his options: what he was prepared to give her, how far he would allow this to go.

“What now?” she asked, aware she sounded breathless.

He considered for a long moment. “I believe I should like to look upon my lady wife, if you have no objections.”

Cilly gave an indelicate snort. “I had thought my nightgown was invitation enough to look at me.”

He smiled, shaking his head. “It is far too demure, love. I want to see all of you, to discover just how outrageously fortune has smiled upon me.”

“Very well.” Cilly got up and stood before him, suddenly a little bashful, yet his eyes were warm and encouraging, so she gathered her nerves and reached for the first tie.

It slid undone easily and his heated gaze tracked the movement of her hands.

“Lovely, isn’t it?” she said, sliding her palms over the sheer material, watching his eyes follow the movement over her breasts, her waist and hips.

“It’s the devil’s work, is what it is, but still not as lovely as you, Celia.”

She smiled at that, a blush warming her cheeks as her hands reached for the next tie, and the next, as a column of skin appeared at the opening. Watching him closely, she heard his breathing quicken, becoming deeper, and noticed with pleasure the flush of colour that told her he was far from unmoved.

Finally, all the ties were unfastened, and his darkened eyes slid over her, from her face, down past the full swell of her breasts, over her belly, and lingered on the thatch of dark curls at her thighs.

Swallowing, she forced herself to meet his eyes as he looked back at her.

“I’ve seen nothing like you in my life before. No one could come close, love, and I… I want so much—”

She flew to him, kneeling before the settee and pressing her mouth to his. He kissed her, bearing her down to the floor, his hands impatient as he pushed aside the nightgown.

“Beautiful,” he growled. “So very lovely.”

Cilly gasped as one hand gently squeezed her breast and his mouth covered the peak, suckling and pulling as sensations lanced to her very core, setting her alight.

Her hands sank into his hair, holding him to her as he teased her with teeth and tongue until she thought she might run mad. Yet just as it became too much, he switched his attention to her other breast and began all over again.

Sighing with delight, with relief that he would not leave her alone and untouched as she had feared, she gave herself into his hands, allowing him to do what he would. That he had shared this with many other women before her was an idea that drifted into her mind only to be firmly batted away again. That was before. He had not loved them, had not touched them in the same way he touched her, and if he had learned such skills with them, she could only be grateful, and thankful too that they had showed him tenderness when he had needed it. For he needed love and compassion so badly, and understanding, and she would ensure he never felt the lack of it again.

She sucked in a breath and laughed as he worked his way down her body, wriggling his tongue into her belly button. Cilly squirmed and shrieked and he grabbed her wrists, holding her down.

“Ticklish, love?” he asked, all innocence.