Serpent & Dove (Serpent & Dove #1) - Shelby Mahurin Page 0,99

trailed his fingers down my arm in slow, torturous strokes. My head fell back on his shoulder, my eyes fluttering closed, as his lips continued to move against my neck. “‘Where you go, I will go. Where you stay, I will stay.’”

A low, breathless sound escaped the back of my throat—so at odds with the reverent words he’d spoken. His fingers stilled instantly, and his gaze honed in on my rapidly moving chest.

“Don’t stop,” I breathed. Pleaded.

His body tensed, and his hands clamped down on my arms in an unyielding grip. “Ask me, Lou.” His voice turned low, urgent. Raw. Heat pooled directly in my belly at the sound of it.

My mouth opened. The time for games was done. He was my husband, and I was his wife. It was foolish to pretend I no longer wanted the relationship. To pretend I didn’t crave his attention, his laughter, his . . . touch.

I wanted him to touch me. I wanted him to become my husband in every sense of the word. I wanted him—

I wanted him.

All of him. We could make it work. We could write our own ending, witch and witch hunter be damned. We could be happy.

“Touch me, Reid.” To my surprise, the words came out steady despite my breathlessness. “Please. Touch me.”

He grinned—slow and triumphant—against my neck. “That’s not a question, Lou.”

My eyes snapped open, and I turned to scowl at him. He raised a brow in question, pressing his lips to my skin. His eyes locked with mine. Lips parting, he trailed warm, open-mouthed kisses down the side of my throat and onto my shoulder.

His tongue moved slowly, worshiping me with each stroke, and I practically combusted.

“Fine.” My traitorous neck extended under his mouth, but my pride refused to succumb so easily. If he wanted to play one more game, I would oblige him—and I would win. “Would you, oh brave and virtuous Chasseur, stick your tongue down my throat and your hands up my skirt? My ass needs grabbing.”

He spluttered and reared back incredulously. I arched against him, grinning despite myself. “Too much?”

When he didn’t respond, disappointment trickled through the fire in my blood. I turned to face him fully. His eyes were wide, and—to my chagrin—his face was pale. He didn’t look like he wanted to ravish me, after all. Perhaps I’d overplayed my hand.

“I’m sorry.” I extended a tentative hand to his face. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

There was something in his gaze as he looked at me—something hesitant, something almost self-conscious—that made me pause. His hands trembled slightly where they clutched me, and his chest rose and fell in rapid succession. He was nervous. No—terrified.

It took only a second for understanding to rush in: Reid really was a virtuous Chasseur. A holy Chasseur.

Reid had never had sex.

He was a virgin.

For all his earlier arrogance, he’d merely been posturing. He hadn’t ever touched a woman—not in the way that counted, at least. I tried not to gape at him, but I knew he could easily read my thoughts by the way his expression fell.

I searched his face. How could Célie have abandoned him in this? What else was first love good for but bumbling hands and breathless discovery?

At least she’d taught him to kiss properly. I supposed I should be grateful for that. My throat and shoulder still tingled from his tongue. But there was so much more than just kissing.

Slowly, purposefully, I shifted in his lap, taking his face in both my hands. “Let me show you.”

His eyes darkened as I straddled him. My skirt slid up at the movement—the wind tickling my bare legs—but I didn’t feel the cold. There was only Reid.

I watched his throat bob, heard his breath hitch. His eyes darted to mine in a question when I pulled his hands to the lacings on my dress. I nodded, and he carefully pulled.

Despite the chill, his fingers were competent. They moved steadily until the front of my dress fell open, revealing the thin chemise beneath. Neither of us breathed as he reached a hand up and skimmed the bare skin of my upper breast.

I leaned into his palm, and he inhaled sharply.

Faster than I could blink, he swept aside the shoulders of my chemise, sending the fabric to pool around my waist. His eyes roved my naked torso hungrily.

I couldn’t help but grin. Perhaps he wouldn’t need much teaching after all.

Not to be outdone, I tugged the hem of his shirt from his pants. He pulled it