Page 138 of The Duke's Wicked Widow
Ellie lifted her left hand so she could admire the simple gold ring Fawkes has slid onto her fourth finger, and realized she was beaming.
“Yes, Iamever so much more experienced than you are.”
Snorting, Fawkes tipped her head back so he could kiss her again. “My wicked widow, I was hoping ye’d be up for a bit more wickedness with me tonight.”
“Hmmm…” She could feel howuphe was, already, with the front of his kilt pressed against her belly. “And what did you have in mind?” She wriggled her hips a little and was gratified to see his nostrils flare, a sure sign of his desire.
“Ye see, love, I have a wedding gift for ye. One I thought we might make use of tonight.”
“Anaughtywedding gift?” she clarified, brows puckered.
“Och, I’m no’ a wealthy man. This wedding gift is practical and honest…but I plan to use it naughtily tonight.”
All traces of exhaustion had fled, and now Ellie was curious. “I did not getyoua wedding present.”
“Aye, ye did,” he murmured, dropping another kiss on her nose. “Wife.”
With that, he opened the door and led her inside. Immediately, her gaze fell on the large mirror across the way. It stood as tall as a man, with ornate gilding along the edges, and swiveled so it could be used from any angle.
“Oh, Fawkes,” she gasped, dropping his hand and hurrying toward it. “It is lovely!”
“I thought ye might appreciate it, once I moved it to the other room.” She’d begun to use the connecting chamber as her dressing room. “But tonight…”
He was dragging one of the chairs as he spoke, and she turned from admiring the mirror’s carved edges to watch him position it in such a way that the person sitting there would have a full view of his or her reflection.
When he straightened, he eyed her hungrily from head to toe, in that knowing way which always made her pulse quicken. Breathless, she raised a brow in question.
“Do ye need help removing that gown, ye spoiled wench?” he asked in a near growl, and she smiled in anticipation.
Hedidhave to help her with her buttons—young Sissy had become used to Ellie managing with Fawkes’s help, and rarely bothered her in the evenings—but as he reached up to undo his necktie, she placed a hand on his chest.
“Leave the kilt on,” she offered mischievously. “You look quite handsome.”
To her surprise, he rolled his eyes. “Fook. I guess I owe Thorne a bottle of whisky.”
She had no idea what he was talking about, but Fawkes reached for her, the kiss hard and demanding, leaving them both breathing heavily. Mystical riddles could wait.
“Leave on yer stockings,” he commanded, and she had to smile.
When they came back together, she wore only her stockings, as instructed…and Fawkes looked almost irritated to be standing there in nothing but a kilt.Shethought he looked quite primitive, in the most wonderful sort of way.
In fact…
She’d been wanting to do this again for a while, and why not on their wedding night?
With a wicked gleam in her eyes, she sauntered toward him and lowered herself to her knees in front of him.
“Ellie?”
His tone sounded strained but she shushed him as she lifted his kilt. Yes, she’d been correct; the smooth line of the wool had been ruined by his cockstand, and Ellie was determined to do something about it.
Cupping his ballocks with one hand, she stroked his shaft with the other, bringing her mouth to his tip. When she licked him, he exhaled a curse under his breath, one hand coming to rest atop her head.
“Ellie, ye dinnae have to…”
She knew what he was remembering; how she told him this was something Rufus had required. But Fawkes was different.
“Page twelve, husband,” she declared impishly, peeking up at him. “TheSupplicant Swan.” She caressed him, heard him hiss out a breath. “I want this.”
