Queen of my Hart - Emily Royal Page 0,65
her gaze.
His heart leapt. She wanted him!
“So had I,” he said. “I’ve been hoping and wishing for so long. Will you grant my wish, Meggie?”
She drew the sheet aside, revealing her body. His mouth watered at her shapely form. He unbuttoned his breeches and let them fall to the floor. His manhood sprang in eagerness to bury itself inside her.
Her eyes widened, then she smiled—an invitation.
Tonight, he would claim her as his—truly his. For she was giving herself freely.
***
Meggie woke and blinked in the sunlight. She’d forgotten to draw the curtains, and the window of the lady’s chamber looked full east, catching the light of the dawn. She rolled onto her side, and a pair of warm, strong arms caught her and held her body against a broad chest.
She closed her eyes, reliving the night before when her husband had taken her to heights of pleasure she never believed existed. He had touched every inch of her skin until her whole body blazed with need. With gentle commands and tender words of praise, he’d coaxed her into submission, then, when she could bear the wait no longer, he eased himself into her.
When he’d cried her name, her heart burst with love and pride. This beautiful man, who revealed so little of himself, who the world thought was cold and hard—he was not. He trusted her enough to bare his soul.
And he was hers. All hers.
“Mmm…” his voice rumbled in her ear.
“If only I could wake up every day like this.” He shifted his body, and she felt him, hard and hot, against her back.
“How shall I bid you good morning?” he murmured, his voice still laden with sleep. “Shall we break our fast in bed?”
He cupped a breast, and her nipple beaded against his palm.
“My wife shares my appetite.”
“Dexter, I’m not hungry, I…oh!” she cried out as he dipped his hand between her thighs.
“I beg to differ,” he said, his voice deepening. “My wife is ravenous.”
She shifted her thighs to accommodate him, and he murmured his approval and moved his fingertips along her flesh. Deep inside her, pleasure flared, and she tilted her head back.
He slipped his finger inside her, and her body rippled with pleasure. He captured her cries with his mouth, plunging his tongue in, devouring her. When her climax subsided, she relaxed into his arms, and he sighed, his breath warming the skin of her neck.
“I wish I could stay here forever.”
Her stomach flipped at his words. London was calling to him. His eyes had lit up with eagerness last night when Mr. Peyton discussed the bank. Now the Alderleys had gone, Dexter had no reason to remain in the country.
“Forgive me, Meggie,” he said, “for disrupting your life yet again, so soon after everything you’ve endured.”
“You’re leaving for London,” she said, flattening her tone to temper her emotion.
She freed herself from his embrace.
“Aren’t you pleased?” he asked. “It’s sooner than I’d planned, but I think you’re ready.”
“For what?”
“There’s much to do,” he continued. “You’ll find yourself under scrutiny, and though you’re beautiful to me in the dowdiest of gowns, I trust you’ll permit me a little indulgence.”
“Indulgence?”
“As soon as we arrive in London, I’ll secure an appointment with the best modiste in town.”
“I’m going with you?”
“Of course!” he said. “Do you think I want you anywhere else but at my side?”
“But I thought…”
“You thought I wanted you tucked away out of sight?” He shook his head. “My love, I sent you here to protect you. Despite the outward appearance of finery, London society is somewhat savage, and I had no wish to see you devoured by the creatures that inhabit it. But I’ve come to realize that my little wife is stronger than she looks and can deal with anything.”
He lifted her hand to his lips, his eyes glistening with pride. “I will be by your side to fight for you.”
As if ashamed he’d revealed his feelings, he patted her hand and rose from the bed.
“We should dress for breakfast, or Peyton will begin to wonder what we’re doing.” He shot her a mischievous grin. “But, given how you screamed my name last night, he’ll be a simpleton if he doesn’t know.”
He moved across the floor, his naked body exuding the casual, easy grace of a panther. Then he turned his back, and she let out a cry.
A crisscross pattern of scars covered the flesh.
“Dexter—your back!”
He picked up his shirt and slipped it on.
“Forgive me,” he said. “It’s been so long. I sometimes forget they are