Page 51 of The Duke's Tempting Widow
Somewhere in the back of her mind, Lydia desperately wanted to inquire as to how deeply he must be in his cups to have said so many positive things all at the same time.
“I… thank you, father,” she whispered, her grip on her bouquet tightening.
He leaned over, kissing her on her temple awkwardly, a bump of his lips against her skin but it was still more outward affection than he had ever shown before.
She knew that she resented her father for the way that he treated her more often than not, but holding on to her anger would only hurt them further. If he had not been the way that he was, then perhaps she would not have been given the opportunity to be standing there today.
She would not be about to walk down the aisle and wake up tomorrow as a Duchess. She would not be marrying the man she truly loved, and who loved her back just as fiercely. Mending the relationship with her father was bound to take time, and a good deal of effort from both of them but she was more than willing to put in the work needed.
She smiled softly at him and slipped her hand into his as the wedding march started to play. They moved forward together like they were stepping into a new, brighter future for the whole family.
Their guests rose to their feet, turning to watch her walk down the aisle but she could not see them. A cursory glance was offered to her daughters, beaming at her in their pretty new dresses. Then her gaze met Weston’s and had no intention ofleaving again. Even when her father passed her hand from his own to the duke’s, she could hardly breathe for how handsome he looked.
Butterflies took flight in her stomach, lifting her lips into a bright smile. She could not even focus on the words that were being said to her. She was aware that she was repeating the lines and making the promises as she was asked—but she wanted to kiss him so badly that it was almost painful.
The moment she was allowed to kiss him, she never wanted to stop. It took every ounce of her self-control to keep from being indecent in front of her beloved family. Such a chaste kiss only left her burning for more.
The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur. Congratulations from their guests and family—her daughters both clinging to the duke and begging him to return home soon. For the last few weeks during the wedding preparations, the three of them had been bonding, growing closer to one another than ever before.
Lydia took comfort in knowing that the duke loved her children as his own, and would provide for them, which would mean that they would never have to experience any of the struggles that she had had to endure.
By the time that the sun started to set, the pair had loaded up into a carriage and set off on their honeymoon. Lydia had never been to Scotland before and was eager to make the trip ifonly for all of the alone time that it was going to provide for them both. Plenty of travel time, intimacy in carriages was difficult but she certainly was not opposed to it.
They did not arrive at the inn until well after dark, just the first of many. But Lydia was more than ready to stretch her legs. Rather, she was ready for Weston to and stretch them for her. She had been astride him for the last hour, and while her knees were still weak, she wanted to be in their suite as swiftly as possible.
Weston kissed her cheek, then hurried inside the inn to make all of the proper arrangements. She followed him up the stairs, and Weston could not scoop her up into his arms to carry her over the threshold of their room quickly enough.
Setting her on her feet, she took a look around the space. It was a simple enough room, with a large four poster bed as the focal point of the suite. A small dressing area was cordoned off with a room divider, she could just barely make out the wash basin behind it. A large couch was in front of the divider, and she presumed that the closed door all of the way to the left was an adjoining bathing room. It was tempting to head there first, but she did not wish to wait.
Weston was her husband now, and she was never going to have to wait again. He was hers, and she could have the handsome man any time that she wished. The door clicked shut behind her, Weston twisting the key in the lock, and her pulse spiked.
Weston’s hands found her hips, squeezing softly as he stood behind her. Calloused hands slipped up the curve of her waist, lingering there as he pushed her further into the room. Normally, she would fight him for control over the situation, but tonight? She was more than willing to be at his mercy.
“Hands on the bedpost,” he urged in a low voice. Not quite a command but she wanted him too badly to even think about fighting him on it. Obediently, her hands wrapped around the bedpost, the intricate carvings catching her attention for only a moment before Weston’s hands slipped to the strings keeping her dress in place. Knuckles brushed over the soft skin of her back as he took deliberate time in undoing the laces.
The fabric loosened, and her eyes closed—focusing on the sensation of his lips brushing over the exposed column of her neck from behind. Goosebumps erupted in the wake of their warmth, her grip tightening on the bedpost as anticipation built. Weston slowly pushed the dress lower on her shoulders, and then shifted his focus, only actually kissing the curve where her neck met her shoulder once.
It was not enough. She craved more, she needed him, and he was determined to draw it out.
A soft whine of disappointment filtered through her heavy breathing, only to be cut off the moment that his hands found her stocking covered ankles. Thigh high and a creamy white color, the blue ribbons at the top holding them in placewere the only thing keeping his hands from touching her bare skin.
Weston took his time sliding his hands up her legs, pushing her dress up with it until he found the tops of her stockings. His long fingers toyed with the ribbon holding them in place, indenting just slightly into her soft thighs before he seemed to decide that he did not wish to remove them after all.
Warm air kissed the junction of her thighs as he pushed the dress up over her hips and held it there. He wrapped the excess fabric around her waist once to use as leverage to pull her hips back toward his face, forcing her to arch her back into him. She was so sorely tempted to move her hands and rip her own dress off of her wanton frame… but then he kissed her.
Intimately.
First the back of her thigh, and she did not have to be encouraged to arch herself further into the contact as he moved further up, his hands cupping her rear and parting her in a way that if she were not so intoxicated by it all, she might have had second thoughts about. His tongue finding her core a moment later, that pushed all thoughts of modesty far away as he feasted upon her.
Pleasure coiled low and tight in her core as his tongue explored her—all of her—until her legs were trembling. His tongue thrust inside of her with a deep, guttural groan of his own that vibrated against her skin in the best possible way. Hergrip on the bedpost quickly became the only thing keeping her upright as her forehead fell to her forearms. Her eyes closed, focusing on his perfect, sinful tongue and the wickedly good way that he made her feel.
Two fingers slipped inside of her, replacing his tongue as he twisted, flicking his tongue higher as he worked his fingers deeper, stretching her—as if she was notalwaysready for him. They had years of this that they had missed, that she had been deprived of and she was diligently working to make up for the lost time.
Should she have been decent enough to wait for her wedding night to have had him for the first time? Perhaps. Was she sorry that she had not? Not in the slightest. It was something of a wonder that she was not already with his child for how she could not keep her hands off of him when she had been able to see him.
Going forward she could not imagine going even a few hours without his touch. An addiction, a craving. All of those fantasies had happened so often for all of those years… and now she did not have to fantasize, she could just act upon it.
“My wife tastesdivine,” Weston groaned into her skin.
