One of her only nods to vanity, as it happened—her perfume, specially blended for her. She used it with the greatest of care, quite sparingly, but enough so that it lingered and she could smell it as she went about her day. It never failed to lift her spirits.
“And Octavia.” He kissed to her ear, finding that secret place where his mouth never failed to turn her insides to molten liquid. “There is something deliciously wonderful that’s just you.”
Oh, there was his masterful charm. Rough and yet so very effective.
“I am pleased you…” Her words trailed off as she briefly lost her ability to think when his tongue flicked against her skin. “Pleased you…enjoy…my perfume.”
His lips curved in what she knew must be a smile she felt on her eager flesh. “I enjoy far more than that, darling.” His hand cupped her breast, giving her a gentle squeeze that had her back arching. “Why the devil do you insist on sleeping in this nonsense? Much as I like taking it off you, I prefer you naked.”
He plucked at her nipple. She had to admit she disliked the barrier between them as well. But still. She had her modesty. And on more than one occasion, Anne and Elizabeth had come to her in the night, claiming they’d suffered the same terrible dream and in need of comforting.
“Take it off me then,” she dared him now, running her hands over the sculpted planes of his back.
He was so strong, skin so sleek and hot. How she loved him. Although her realization was new, these feelings were not. There had always been something within her that longed for Jasper Sutton. To her own downfall, perhaps. But here she was, and here he was.
“With pleasure,” he said on a growl, and then he was grabbing fistfuls of her night rail, and pulling it over her body.
She shifted, moving herself lower in the bed to enable him to lift the garment over her head and toss it to the floor. He rose on his knees on the bed, dragging the bedclothes away to uncover the both of them. Her eyes devoured him—the broad lines of his shoulders, the strength of his chest, the lean slab of muscle that was his abdomen, and lower still. Those strong legs, the thick, long length of him engorged and ready.
She parted her thighs in welcome, words failing her. All she knew was that her body wanted Jasper every bit as much as her heart did. Once, she would have been shy. Too timid to show herself to him in this way. But she had learned that her husband found nothing more inspiring than her own desire. It seemed to undo him every time.
And knowing she held that power over him, such a strong, unshakeable man?
Well, how could she not be pleased?
His gaze was on her now, heated and appreciative. “Look at you, so pink and perfect and wet.”
She felt perfect. Felt worthy of his praise. Feeling daring, she traced her own seam with her forefinger, brushing over her pearl in the process and sending a jolt of pleasure through her.
“Yes,” he said, the lone word a sibilant sigh seemingly torn from him. “Touch yourself.”
Ever aware of his gaze following her eve
ry action, she toyed with the aching bundle of flesh that was most responsive, swirling over it with two fingers until pleasure hummed through her.
“Show me how you make yourself come when you’re alone and I’m tending to the tables,” he urged, voice low.
She had touched herself. Both before she had known Jasper, and more after. Before, it had always seemed a terrible sin. She would rejoice in the bliss and then be weighted down by the guilt of her secret shame. But he had taught her there was nothing wrong with enjoying the way he made her feel. Even the way she made herself feel, when he was not there. She rubbed over her pearl again and again as he watched, that feverish gaze making her feel as if she would do anything to please him.
“Lower,” he urged. “I want you to feel how wet and hot you are.”
Heeding him, she moved her touch through the slickness of her folds, parting herself. Following her own instinct, she allowed her fingertips to examine the dip where her entrance was. Her gaze still locked on Jasper’s, she sank a finger inside herself.
His guttural oath spurred her on. As did this new sensation—her channel gripping her own finger, holding it tightly.
“Fuck yourself for me,” he said.
She knew what he wanted. Knew what she wanted, too. Slowly, she withdrew her finger and then sank it inside once more in a parody of his lovemaking. It was a pale comparison, but there was something about the expression on his face and the rapid swelling of his cock—he was massive now, the slit on his crown oozing a pearly bead of mettle—that heightened the sensations.
Then, he was upon her, sliding between her legs, his head dipping. He sucked her into his mouth, then alternated with tantalizing flutters of his tongue. The combination of his touch and her own was enough to send her over the edge. She reached her pinnacle with a cry, her fingers sliding from her body, only to be replaced by Jasper’s tongue. He plunged into her on a groan, feasting upon her as if she were the most delicious dessert he had ever consumed. As if he could never get enough.
Just when she thought she would come apart once more, he rose, pressing his cock to her aching entrance. With one thrust of his hips, he was inside her, the deep plunge of his hardness excruciatingly good. Everything about him felt so perfect and right. She felt at home in a new way. As if she had always been meant to be his and he had always been meant to be hers. It was impossible and yet undeniable all at once.
“You feel so bloody good,” he told her, holding still, their bodies joined, stares connected.
She reached for him, drawing him into her embrace. Needing this closeness in an elemental way. Needing him, just him. How miraculous life seemed. How she loved him. But she did not dare make that confession just yet. The realization was too new.
Instead, she ran her hands over his shoulders. “Make love to me.”