Page 18 of Bride of the Fae Duke

Sweet divines.

This was only thestart?

When she scrambled upright on his thighs, knees still shaking, he met her gaze without blinking. Framed by ink blue strands, his sharp-edged face wasalmostentirely expressionless … but she could have sworn on her mother’s grave that the bittersweet trembles at the corners of his mouth were hiding something close, very close, to a smirk of satisfaction.

Bastard.

The thought didn’t come with great conviction this time.

‘And?’ he muttered, as if he’d seen it in her eyes and was determined to change her opinion for the worse again. ‘Still impatient to get this over with?’

There was no holding back the laugh that spilled out of her.

It was shrill and breathless and elated in a way she hadn’t felt in years, that laugh – and divines help her, impatient indeed. Not for the end. Formore. Because even if this madness was entirely unnecessary, even if none of these glorious feelings would ever pay a single bill … how in the world was she to resist this brand new hunger, the lure of whatever else he might have in store for her?

And why would she even try?

It all made sense, suddenly – work, yes, but if he wanted to pretend it wasn’t, then who would ever need to know?

‘I could be persuaded to take things slowly,’ she managed, that same giddy laugh still lacing her words. ‘Should … should I lie down, or—'

‘No.’ He lifted her off his lap and placed her on the blankets, then shifted back over the mattress himself, reclining until his weight rested on his elbows. He still hadn’t even taken off his boots; his feet remained firmly on his mahogany floor. ‘I want you on top. Go ahead – loosen my breeches.’

She hadn’t thought she could blush even deeper, but the bluntness of his instructions managed it – that or perhaps the visible bulge beneath those same breeches. ‘Why …’

‘Because it allows you more control,’ he interrupted, raising an eyebrow at her. ‘And before you start objecting that that’s too much consideration from my side, I don’t mind having the best view while you do all the work for me, either.’

Another snort-laugh escaped her as she reached for the buttons of his breeches, fingers shaking as she wrestled with the metal. ‘You don’t care whetheryouare enjoying this, do you?’

His face went a fraction tighter. ‘I’ll be fine.’

‘But—’

‘Eleanor.’ He didn’t raise his voice, but the bite in his tone was enough to discourage any further protest. ‘I’ll never be the victim here. Take care of yourself, not me.’

Nellie swallowed but nodded, unsure how else to respond.

His features softened again. ‘Go ahead, then.’

She fumbled open the last of his buttons and swiftly pulled the fabric down. His arousal sprung free as if it had waited for her, thick and dark in the candlelight, and …

Sweet divines help her.

Andfae.

She’d thought she knew what the male member ought to look like, from the whispers of the maids who shared her rooms. Thick and long. Hard, if one was lucky. Oddly curved, LucyClarke had confessed amidst fits of giggles after her rendezvous with the stable boy last year. Butthis…

Locke’s manhood was large, much larger than she’d imagined such a thing could reasonably be, emerging from a tuft of blue-black hair like a pale, smooth tower of flesh, glistening like silk at the ruddier tip. And swirling across that shaft, like artful spirals designed to draw her attention across its full unsettling length, were the same silver-blue scales she’d noticed on his forearms. Two slender lines of them, glittering pearlescent with every throb and pulse, running all the way up to the blunt head.

Scales.

She’d married a man withscaleson his member.

Vaguely, she was aware of the sound that came tumbling from her lips. Locke’s hollow chuckle held an edge of resignation to it – hell, how many times had he dealt with the same dismay and breathless shock already?

It was that thought that made her pull herself together. Fae or no, surely a man would sooner or later get sick of his wives gawking at his body as though he were some eldritch monster? She was supposed to be the pragmatic one, and did it really matter what colour his appendages happened to be as long as they fulfilled their practical functions?

‘That could have been worse, I suppose,’ she said weakly, still not quite able to pull her eyes away. ‘No thorns and barbs. That’s good.’

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