Page 122 of Lessons for Marquesses
“Are you not a flower?” At her snort, he tipped up her chin to meet his eyes. “Say ‘I am beautiful,’” he commanded in a husky voice.
“Nick, please.”
“Say it.” Biting her lip, she looked away. He thumbed her chin until she looked back. “Say, ‘I am beautiful.’”
She worked the words in her mind until they were in her mouth. “I am beautiful.”
“Say it again.”
“I am beautiful.”
“Do you feel it?”
“Maybe.” Yes, maybe. In his eyes, she was.
Over the firm rise of her breast, his palm grazed a taut nipple. She arched against his touch. Her skin tingled, the strange yearning growing, with the urge to open to him. He drew a lazy circle over the swollen peak. She shuddered as he smoothed his other hand up her neck. He pressed her back to the pillows.
He removed his boots, water trickling out of them as they cleared his heels. His hose slapped against the wood floor. The rain batted against the window in a frenetic chorus like her heart. Her skin tightened and shivered as he loosed a button from his breeches. And another button. And another. And then the fall was open.
On his feet, he paused, his cheek shadowed, his profile illuminated. His fingers clenched at his side as if fighting something. He slung his thumbs at his waistband and shoved the wool and linen to his feet. The powerfulVof his back and the hard curve of his buttocks flexed as he pulled them off.
He turned to her, planting a knee upon the embroidered cushion, his weight creaking the wood below it as he revealed his body, the merciless length, too immense to stay rooted to his abdomen.
With his hands open at his side and his hair shrouding his cheekbones, he asked, “Is this what you, love? The Wolf?”
She planted her foot on the chiseled flesh of his stomach. It tightened as she pushed. “I love all of you. Every part. Every scar is a mark of beauty. Everything you hate is loved.”
He crawled over her, hooking an arm at her waist, drawing her up for a kiss. “And I the same, George. I the same.”
His gaze caressed the swell of her breasts. His lashes led his gaze over her stomach swirling and fluttering under his study. Down they went to her drawers as his hands slid up the curve of her waist.
The whisk of a tie whispered in the quiet. Deft, tender hands pulled the linen at her hips. There was nothing else to be removed. She was naked to him.
Gliding a hand over her stomach, his finger traced the faint, quivering lines framing her navel. “We will have children, George. And this strong body will nourish them, protect them, give us joy.”
Children? She did want children now. With him. Only him.
He reached out, grazing the dark curls above her thighs.
She caught his wrist. “Wait.”
He looked up, questioning her with his hot gaze.
“I must warn you.”
“What?”
“It is unusual.” She cupped her hand between her thighs. He followed the motion.
“Unusual?”
“To say the least.”
He regarded her hand quietly and then slowly peeled her fingers from their hold. “Let me see. Allow me to judge.”
He canted his hand between her clenched thighs and had to pry them open before she gave in. He studied with narrowedeyes, his hand coming up to support his chin. Finally he spoke, his voice deep. “This is…”
“I told you.”
