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Chapter 27
Rhys woke up to the familiar feeling of being hugged by his wife. One leg was thrown over his thighs, and her nightgown had hiked up, baring the view of her delectable calves. Her hand was on his chest, and her head was comfortably resting just under his collarbone. Her hair was strewn about the pillow in beautiful waves, her nightcap nowhere to be seen.
And if this wasn’t the most perfect image to wake up to, he didn’t know what was.
Unfortunately, her heat, the feel of her soft curves, and the scent of her hair enticed him so much he wanted to throw her on her back, push her knees apart, and pound himself into her. As it was, his loins were hard and pulsing with need.
Rhys tried to slowly slide out from beneath her, but she stirred, her fingers scraping his chest through the nightshirt.
Rhys stifled the urge to groan. Lord, was his wife enticing.
His imagination got away from him as he thought about undressing her slowly, pulling down her cotton nightgown, uncovering her marble-white skin, and touching her soft breasts. He wished he could toss up her skirts and have her right there in daylight.
But his wife deserved more than such animal treatment. She deserved dim lights and the modesty of her nightclothes, especially for their first time. Perhaps later, she would be amenable to doing this in daylight.
He remembered the day he’d caught her with Stanhope out in the open and in the light of day! Rhys grimaced.
He wasn’t an inconsiderate boor like the earl. He would treat his wife with the respect she was due. But what if she didn’t want that respect accorded to her? She’d acted brazenly enough last night.
Rhys knew that clandestine lovers and married couples acted differently in bed. His first wife, Abigail, had been a delicate flower in his arms. She had cried the first few times they shared a bed, although he had tried to be as gentle with her as he could.
As months went by, Abigail demanded more reprieve from Rhys but went to seek fulfillment elsewhere. By the second year of their marriage, she’d barely let Rhys touch her.
Passion was not something that had existed in their marriage for long, and Rhys was afraid the same thing would happen to him and Isabel.
And he would do anything to avoid that inevitability. Because as much as he’d been hurt when Abigail left him, he didn’t think he’d survive if Isabel did.
Isabel stirred and looked up at him just then. She smiled and stretched, before realizing that she was lying on top of him, with her legs bared and her rump jutting out. She smiled shyly and hid her limbs under the covers.
“How do you feel?” Rhys asked and turned toward her.
“I feel good,” she said with a smile.
“You are not coming down with a cold?”
He reached out his hand and touched her cheek. It was nice and warm, but there was no fever.Good. So last night hadn’t affected her health.
“No.” She smiled, her eyes glinting with mischief. Her cheeks were flushed, and her hair disheveled. Rhys couldn’t help it; he leaned down and kissed her. Her hand immediately went to cradle his cheek.
Rhys rolled over her, his knee landing between her legs, his cock pressing against her thigh. He was ready to throw away his resolve of treating her like a lady. He was ready to give up on his earlier conviction to treat her with the respect due to his wife.
Damn respect when she was so warm and open before him. He wanted to sink himself inside her heat and curse his resolutions.
There was a knock on the door.
Rhys cursed and rolled off Isabel. His engorged length pulsed with need, and he gritted his teeth.
“Just a moment!” he barked.
Isabel immediately burrowed herself under the covers, her cheeks turning a deeper hue of red. Rhys mourned the loss of her warmth and the sight of her bare skin. Damn his carnal appetites.
I really need to control myself.
He adjusted his nightshirt, stalked to the door, and peeked out.
The butler tried to hide a smile upon seeing his master answering his mistress’s door but was unsuccessful.
“What’s wrong, Monroe?” Rhys barked.
