I nod, and he drops his finger from my mouth. I nearly cry because I want him to touch me more—everywhere, anywhere.
“As I said, you didn’t see what you thought you did. Jessa was trying to start something...” He scratches his head again, and I shift slightly, my fingers itching to run through that hair. “She would like to go back to what we were years ago, but I’m not interested, and I’m not available. You saw her hitting on me, not the other way around,” he finishes.
And I believe him, and I also feel like a fool. But that’s me for you. Always reacting before I know the facts, letting my emotions run my life. I sigh. It’s exhausting.
“I’m sorry,” I say, really wishing I had clothes on now. “I behaved like a two year-old. Even if you had been doing something with Jessa, I have no place to say anything.”
“That’s not true.” He crosses his arms and glares down at me, his eyes only wandering to my cleavage once...or twice. “We’re legally married, and we have an agreement about fidelity, even if it’s only to avoid scandal.”
Right. Fidelity. To avoid scandal. Why does that sit so poorly with me? Why is it that I wish he wanted fidelity because he just wasn’t interested in other women? I snort. I really have this all out of order. First, he’d have to be interested in me. Then, maybe I could convince him to give up other women. Getting married is supposed to come at the end. It’s no wonder I’m so confused.
I pat his chest, trying not to notice how firm and warm it is beneath his thin t-shirt. “It’s all good, really. My head has been all over the place with the jet lag and all this new stuff, I completely overreacted. We’re cool.”
We’re cool? Really, Kat? Ugh.
He stares at me, and this time his gaze drops to my cleavage and lingers. I feel his finger stroke, ever so lightly, down my bare shoulder and a shiver runs through me, my nipples spring to life and my breath hitches, making this odd little hiccup sound.
“I’m not sure cool is what I’d say we are, Katherine.”
Gah. His voice. It’s so rough, and deep, and British. I know I’ve called it stuffy, but day-um, I’m starting to understand what everyone’s always saying about a man with a British accent.
“Errgh...” I sort of gargle out something that resembles speech.
He ever so slowly slides my bra strap down my shoulder. “I’m wondering if you’d want to renegotiate the terms of our arrangement.” His touch is like a little trail of fire burning down my skin, and his gaze follows his finger. He looks mesmerized by what he’s seeing.
“Why?” I squeak.
“Because we’re anything but cool, Katherine.” He skims the finger back up my shoulder and down the edge of the bra cup, following the curve of my breast and sending shockwaves of sheer arousal straight through me.
His lips land on my shoulder, and he moans quietly as he works them up my neck, little licks, and kisses, and nips. My head falls back and I can’t help but whisper, “Holy mother of God.”
He chuckles and I hear the closet door close behind me before he presses me against it and stares at me, so hot I’m surprised we haven’t set off the smoke alarm.
“What do you think?” he asks, his erection pressing into me in just the perfect way, his hands caressing my ribs first, then sliding to the underside of my breasts. I wiggle slightly, and he groans as if he’s in pain, then chuckles and runs his nose up my cheek. “Please, Kat,” he begs. “Put me out of my misery.”
I arch against him, relishing the full body contact, his hardness against my softness, his heat against my bare skin. He smells like clean, expensive man, and his five o’clock shadow is scratchy in the perfect way. I want razor burn, I want it everywhere.
“Yes,” I finally gasp. “Yes. Let’s renegotiate. Just do it fast. And hard,” I murmur. “I always like fast, hard negotiations.”
30
Winston
Hard and fast. My wife’s words send a shock of arousal straight to my groin. I lift my head and look down at her glazed eyes. My God, she’s gorgeous. All luscious curves—breasts, hips, arse, curls.
But some part of me knows this could change everything. We have an agreement. It doesn’t include this. Not this attraction, not these kisses, not this sparking, electric heat. What exactly am I getting myself into if I do this? What will it mean tomorrow?
"I don’t want to risk hurting you,” I murmur, pulling back to look her in the eyes. “I’m not in a place to have a real wife—a real relationship. I still need to get this inheritance finalized and then focus on my businesses.”
I hate that it sounds so mercenary, but I won’t start something with her unless she really understands that this is just more of the same—more business. Business that can include some mutually beneficial physical release.
She smiles and she’s like a beautiful, seductive witch about to cast a spell on her victim. I feel something inside me tighten in anticipation, and honestly, a little fear, because some part of me wonders if I’m the one who needs to worry about getting hurt.
“I’m not, either,” she assures me. “This is all like a big vacation for me—a chance to do things I’ll never do again. Doing you can be part of that.” Then she winks and it’s like a fireworks show is going on inside me.
"So you’d like to experience some new things?” I whisper, taking her delicate earlobe in between my teeth and nibbling gently.
"Please," she gasps.
And I snap. To hell with the consequences. Damn the torpedoes and all that. It’s best not to overthink these things—at least, that’s what some philosopher said sometime. Or, when a beautiful woman wants you, oblige her. That’s what I say all the time.
I run a hand down the dip of her waist before sealing my lips over hers. She moans softly, and my cock stands up so straight and tall he might be ready to enlist in Her Majesty’s armed forces.
As our tongues tangle, I palm one of her full, soft breasts. My heartbeat ratchets up and I can’t catch my breath. She feels absolutely perfect.
"Take this off," I growl, tugging on her bra. She smiles against my mouth and reaches behind her, undoing the clasp. As the silky fabric falls away, I lean back and look at her. She is magnificent. Her skin is like the softest velvet, her nipples like two beautiful rosebuds, plump and ready to open.
I drop to my knees, letting my forehead fall to her breastbone as I fill my hands with warm, willing flesh, squeezing her breasts, rolling her nipples between my thumbs and fingers. She cries out and I can’t hold back. I take one of those beauties in my mouth and suck, feeling my balls tighten beneath my jeans that are now far too tight.
"God, yesss," she hisses. I press her against the wardrobe doors and devour her as she writhes in ecstasy, her fingers digging through my hair, clutching at my shoulders. When I think I can’t stand it another moment, I strip her panties off and plunge two fingers inside her wet heat.
She freezes for a moment, then begins moving against my hand. I lean down more and lick at her clit while continuing to pump my fingers in and out of her deepest, warmest place. Her hips flex and her back arches. I cup one of her breasts in my free hand while I moan against her core, licking, then sucking that hot little bud into my mouth.
When she comes, her cries of my name are the most satisfying thing I’ve ever heard, and I feel her convulse around my fingers as she pants and nearly sobs. Her skin is flushed, her eyes are closed, long lashes sketched against her beautiful cheekbones. When the waves finally subside, I run a hand up between her breasts as I plant tiny kisses around her lovely belly button. She takes my fingers and brings them to her mouth, sucking first on one, then the other, licking her own juices off them, and turning me into her slave for life.
I look up to find her watching me. "Are you ok?" I ask with a smile.
She nods. "Yes. So much better than ok." Then she giggles. "Who knew a Duke on his knees would be such a turn on?"
It’s then that I realize this is the hottest experience I’ve ever had with a woman, but also the mos
t tender. She’s passionate and tough, but underneath it all is a silly, sweet young woman. She’s so much more…genuine…than any other woman I’ve ever been around. So without deception or agenda. It’s humbling, and it’s frightening as hell, too.
I stand and then kiss her lips gently again. Because I can’t not kiss them.
She looks down at the bulge in my slacks. "Are we going to take care of that now?" She raises an eyebrow.
I clear my throat, not sure how to answer her. God knows I want to strip down and let her have her way with me. But that little voice is getting louder, telling me this might not have been the wisest choice.
"You don’t have to—" I begin.
Her eyebrow lifts higher. "Of course I don’t. But I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to, would I?"
I suddenly feel unsure, not knowing what the next step here should be. Luckily, she doesn’t seem to have the same inhibitions.
"Take your clothes off," she whispers as she slides around me, her hand giving my cock one firm squeeze. "Meet me in the bed."
I clear my throat, unable to speak the lust is so intense. Then I glance behind me as her arse sways toward the bed, and everything in my head just short-circuits. Before she can finish pulling back the covers, I’ve left my clothes in a heap on the floor, I have the condom from my wallet in hand, and I’m behind her, pressing her thighs against the mattress, running my hands over her stomach, her chest, the warm space between her thighs.
I turn her to face me and hold her cheeks gently between my hands. "You’re gorgeous, and I’m not sure I’ve ever wanted a woman as much as I want you right now."
She smiles and it lights up my cold, dark soul in a way not even the sunshine can. Her smooth hands skate down my chest and I hold back the urge to rub against her like a cat. Then she wraps those magical fingers around my shaft and I see sparks in front of my eyes.
"Bloody hell," I groan as she begins to stroke up and down, her skin sliding against mine as she sucks gently, first on my neck, then moves to my nipples. Pure fire shoots from my chest to my cock, and before she can stop me, I’ve tossed her on the bed, sheathed myself in the condom, and taken up a delicious spot right between her soft thighs.
"Tell me you want this as much as I do," I whisper, hitching one arm beneath her knee.
"God, yes," she gasps.
"Good." Then I press into her and everything in my world shifts. There is heat—slick, tight, velvety heat. And there is all her softness surrounding me. My brain has simply stopped thinking of anything but how she feels beneath me. She moves her hips, and I pull back then thrust again. Deeper, this time, I groan at the sheer jolt of pleasure that fires through me.
We begin a rhythm, in and out, up and down. Our breaths are short and harsh, our skin becomes coated with sweat. Her hair is a mass of tangles and silky waves between my fingers, and I breathe it in as I bring my forehead to her shoulder, my back curved as I thrust into her faster and faster.
"Wait, wait," she gasps and I stop, pressing into her hard. She arches the tiniest bit, then moans loudly as I feel her come apart again, her entire body shuddering with the effects.
My God. I pull back and thrust twice more as her aftershocks continue, and she cries out softly. Then I’m coming and it’s like a wave of liquid heat rolls through me, decimating everything in its path, laying waste to anything that’s gone before, anyone that’s gone before, leaving nothing but ash and crumbling reserves. Leaving me empty, without substance, lighter than air.
She giggles softly, rolling us so she’s lying on top of me. I look up into her beautiful chocolate eyes, she smiles, and in one moment I’m filled again. My heart beats hard and erratic. Bloody hell. This isn’t normal. It’s like I’ve been stripped down to nothing then rebuilt differently.
An irrational panic begins to bubble up. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. I feel odd, like I could spend all day here, doing nothing but gazing into Katherine’s eyes. And, right then, I know I need to get away, out of this bed. I need to go to work, look over paperwork, review byzantine contracts, something that will get my head back where it belongs. I was right, she’s a witch, and I can’t allow her to cast this spell on me. I’m staring at the end of the journey I’ve spent my entire life on. I can’t let anyone stop me now. My inheritance is in my grasp. That’s all that matters. That’s all that’s ever mattered.
31
Kat
I blink, a smile I can’t control covering my face. Winston blinks back, looking a bit discombobulated. It shouldn’t be a big deal—sex between two people who are married—I mean, that’s sort of the point—but it wasn’t for us, and it wasn’t ever supposed to be.
"So…" I give him a quick smack on the lips before rolling off him again. My mind is racing, trying to catch up with my body. "That was…" Fucking incredible would be one way to describe it.
We lie next to one another, both of us staring up at the ceiling. "Yes," he answers, this tone of—surprise, maybe—in his voice.
"I guess you weren’t really expecting it, either," I add, glancing at him quickly. He doesn’t look happy, though, and my smile fades as I feel the energy in the room shift faster than a strike of lightning.
"I’m sorry," he says suddenly. "That wasn’t well done of me."
"Actually, I’d say it was pretty damn well done," I joke, even as my chest contracts because he’s just apologized as if having sex with me was akin to spilling coffee on someone.
I can’t look at him, so I don’t know what his expression is when he answers, "Well, at least I didn’t totally botch the mechanics."
I sit up, unable to stay so close to him while we do this.
"No," I keep my voice light and cheerful, but even to my own ears it sounds false, "you definitely didn’t botch that part."
He clears his throat awkwardly. Now we’re both sitting on opposite sides of the bed, hunting down pieces of clothing, our backs to one another.
"But I am sorry," he begins.
"Just don’t," I answer, losing my faux cheer now. "I’m a grownup, I was here, it was a joint decision, so don’t apologize."
I look over my shoulder and see him pulling on his shirt. "Of course. You’re right, of course. I just don’t want to give the impression—"
"That this is for real? I think we covered that in the preliminaries."
"Kat—"
I spin and face him, the bottom half of me still tangled in the sheet as I hold a throw pillow in front of my chest. "Winston? Can you get out now? Between the hangover and the orgasm, I’m exhausted. I need a nap." My voice is beyond cavalier, it’s cold, and it’s so horribly not real. Because inside, I feel anything but cold. Inside I feel so hot it burns, a pain that’s winding its way down from my esophagus to low in my belly.
He looks like he’s going to make some other, undoubtedly asinine, remark but I glare at him and he visibly reconsiders, before nodding with a jerk. "Of course."
Then he’s gone, and I fall back onto the bed, my body still feeling the sensation of him inside me, and my heart aching like I’ve just run the hardest race of my life and lost.
* * *
The next morning comes far too soon, and I’m woken with the delivery of a tray of breakfast.
"Make sure you eat up, lass," Deena says. "The services will be long, and everyone will be inspecting you and the Duke."
As Wallis tries to steal bits of clotted cream off my scone with his tiny pink tongue, I decide that if there’s any time in my life to take a break from the sassy attitude, today’s the day. Because no matter how big a douche Winston is, no matter what he thought of his grandfather, he’s still a human who’s lost someone important. For today, I’m going to be the bigger person and put his needs ahead of my own.
I can kick his ass tomorrow.
After I’ve put on a demur black dress and low stacked heels, I add some muted makeup, and then put my hair up, letting a few curls hang next to my face. The rest is in a twist with a black clip, complete with a few t
asteful rhinestones added. I finish with a small piece of black netting that Deena gave me because she said all the women will have hats, a la the Queen herself. The netting is attached to a slim headband that arches across the top of my head. I adjust it to sit as far back as possible, and it drapes over the French twist.
A few minutes later, I walk into the foyer, my black trench coat over one arm.
"You look lovely," I hear Winston say as he appears from a darkened corner of the cold room.
"Thank you," I respond, taking in the best-fitting suit I’ve ever seen, laid over a pristine white dress shirt and a conservative blue tie. Across his chest is a subdued sash of some sort, dark blue, silver, and some black woven through the silk.
"What’s this?" I ask, gesturing at the sash.
He looks down at his chest as if he doesn’t realize what he’s wearing.
"It’s the Duke’s ribbon," he answers. "Worn only for significant events—funerals and weddings, or when receiving an honor from the Queen."
I can’t help but reach out and pat it, needing to feel the smooth, cool fabric. "It’s very…"
"I look like a beauty queen," he grumbles.
"Distinguished," I finish. "Very appropriate. I bet your grandfather would have enjoyed seeing you in it. It suits you."
He snorts. "My grandfather didn’t enjoy anything to do with me."
Before he can say anything else, the front door opens and in strides his mother, Jessa in tow. I roll my eyes to the ceiling and remind myself of my promise to behave. Just for today, I chant.
"Darling," his mother coos, running her hand over the Ducal ribbon. Subtle, she’s not.
"Mother." Winston nods, then looks at me. "Shall we go?"
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