Page 95 of Desperate Proposals
She opened her eyes to find him staring ardently into hers. And in that moment, she knew she’d ceded far too much. His lips moved ever so slightly, as if he meant to speak again, but no words came forth. His gaze fell to her mouth. Evelyn’s center tightened. She’d missed his affection, the way he touched her. Ever so slowly he knelt before her, his hand sliding to the nape of her neck.
“I had a thought today,” she said hurriedly. “An insight, an idea… something that might assist you once the election draws near.”
He froze momentarily, a mix of emotions playing out across his face. But whatever it was quickly flitted away, and the lazy grin on his lips and intense heat of his gaze returned.
“Oh, is that so?” His fingers fanned out around her throat, his grip light but just enough to send a shock of pleasure through her.
Evelyn’s breath hitched, but she managed to continue.
“I encountered Mr. Davies—his farm abuts the manor’s land—and we spoke briefly of your career.”
He eased her toward him and dipped his head, his mouth meeting the nape of her neck with an alarming heat. Evelyn gasped softly, but checked herself, biting her lower lip lest sherelease that mad, lustful creature that lived inside her. She knew all too well how easily her baser nature took over when he handled her like this.
“Did you, now?” he purred against her skin.
Evelyn silently uttered the crudest curse she could think of, which did nothing to curb the twisting, knotting anticipation within her.
His other hand was now upon her thigh, grazing the cambric linen of her nightgown ever so lightly as it trailed upward.
“And what did you tell Mr. Davies?”
His hand paused at the generous curve of her hip, squeezing her flesh just shy of painfully. A wordless moan rose in her throat, but she would not part her lips. Not yet. Evelyn shut her eyes again.
“Did you tell him how dearly you missed me?”
“I beg your pardon?”
She jerked back, her eyes snapping open, but his hold upon her kept her near to him.
Now he chuckled, sardonically lifting one corner of his mouth.
“My little wife,” he rumbled. “Did you explain how forlorn you were, left alone in this house with no husband to tend to your…” He buried his face into her shoulder and neck once more, inhaling deeply. When he pulled back he licked his upper lip, a gesture that Evelyn felt deep within her. “Needs?”
“What?!” Evelyn gaped at him, confused and shocked. “To Mr. Davies? Under what circumstances would I speak toMr. Daviesof something so… so…”
Her heart raced even faster at the mere thought of such tawdriness, and she barely resisted when her husband slid a hand underneath her rump and pulled her toward him again—her legs spread, her most intimate area flush against the hard lines of his torso, the fabric of her nightgown pulled taut against her thighs as they wrapped around him.
“Marcus,” she breathed.
“Something so what?” he growled, his tone now positively feral. “Something so intoxicating as our marriage bed?”
He pressed hard kisses into her shoulder, her neck. Her body tightened.
“Someone so unapproachable and indestructible as you?”
She sucked in a shaky breath, the throbbing between her legs now nearly as insistent as the drumbeat of her heart.
“Your regal bearing, your…Christ,” he gasped as his hand closed around her breast. “Your tits, your legs—they’re all I can think of, some days.”
He dug his fingers into her, and Evelyn cried out, pushing her body against him. Whatever control he’d exerted up until that point suddenly fled, and his mouth became fervent, lathering her with harsh, insistent kisses down her collarbone, along the wide neckline of her gown. Wet kisses against the fabric upon her breast, until he found the pebbled nipple underneath and sucked it, teasing it out with his teeth.
Evelyn scraped her fingers along his back, wishing his coat gone, his shirt gone, everything gone. She wanted nothing between them. Her diversionary anecdote about Mr. Davies had escaped her mind; all that was left were thoughts of him, her husband, Marcus.
He pulled back, his breathing ragged. He locked eyes with her, boring into her soul, and began bunching up her skirts with one hand.
“And your cunt, Evelyn,fuck.”
She lifted herself from the bed and hitched up the back of her gown, exposing herself to him. Serving herself up to him, to do with what he would.
