Page 38 of Married to a Scandalous Spinster
“Yes,” she managed. “This is what I want you to do to me.” She could hardly believe she had spoken the words.
She expected a cocky, self-satisfied smile. But instead, her husband met her lips with such intensity she felt her legs weaken. He pushed her back against the bookshelf, and at once she could feel his arousal hard against her center. She heard herself moan.
At the sound, he pulled away, a faintly self-satisfied smile on his lips. Before Gemma could protest, he grabbed her around the waist and lifted her into his arms.
“Wyatt!” she gasped. “Put me down.”
“Quiet,” he hissed, a grin on his face. “You are my captive and you must behave.”
Gemma felt a laugh escape her—an incredulous laugh, a laugh of disbelief. How, of all places, had they ended up here? Right now, she didn't care. She was so tired of her anger. So tired of all the thoughts running through her mind. And so tired of pretending she wasn't craving her husband's body with every inch of her being.
Without relinquishing his hold on her, he marched up the stairs and down the passage. Shouldered open the door to her bedchamber and set her down on her feet by the end of the bed. The lamp she had left lit when she had gone downstairs to the library flickered on the side table, filling the room with rusty light. Wyatt reached down for the silky cord that held Gemma's robe together, deftly untying it with one hand. In one swift motion, he yanked it out from around her waist.
The robe fell open, revealing the thin cotton nightshift beneath. Gemma could feel her breasts straining against the flimsy white fabric. She felt herself take an instinctive step toward her husband.
She reached out a hand to him, but he grabbed her wrist, easing her back toward the post of the bed.
Gemma drew in a sharp breath. She could hear her heart roaring in her ears. She could hardly make sense of what was happening. All she was aware of was a frisson of delight and the unquenchable blaze between her legs. Wyatt eased her arms behind her, tying them swiftly to the post of the bed. “What are you doing?” Gemma managed, breathless.
He grinned, his nose grazing hers. “This is what you want, is it not? To be Captain Midnight's beautiful captive?”
Gemma felt her back arch with desire, meeting the rigid bedpost. “Yes,” she breathed. “Yes.” Somewhere at the back of her mind, that little voice inside her murmured to her that this was wrong. That this was wanton and dangerous, and exactly the kind of thing the rakish Duke of Larsen was known for. Indulging in such behavior would only drag her down to his level. But the need for her husband, and for all he promised to do to her was far too overwhelming.
Wyatt tugged open her nightgown, sending a tiny pearl button shooting across the room. He moved his lips down from her collarbone and traced a long, slow circle around her breast with his tongue. Gemma heard herself moan, any last thoughts of protest disintegrating.
As his tongue worked slowly over her breasts, Wyatt's hands slid up over her legs and hips. He caught her nipple lightly between his teeth, making Gemma cry out with the unexpected jolt of pleasure. The fire between her thighs blazed.
Wyatt raised his head, and Gemma whimpered at the loss of contact. He kissed a trail up her neck to the edge of her lips. “And now?” he asked, eyes glittering. “What did Captain Midnight do to his captive next? I am not sure I can remember?”
Gemma groaned, well aware he was playing with her. She rocked hard against the cord binding her to the bedpost, desperately needing his body against hers. Desperately needing his touch at that place that burned for him the most. She let out an unintelligible murmur.
“What was that?” Wyatt leaned his ear close to her lips. “Tell me what he did next.”
Gemma whimpered again. Was he truly going to make her say it? She was not sure she could get the words out, wasn't sure her own lips could even form such shameless, lustful words. Just when she was about to cry out in frustration, her husband dropped to his knees.
“Ah yes,” he said. “I remember now.” He slid Gemma's nightshift up to her waist, revealing her to the warm air of the bedroom. Never before had she felt so exposed, so vulnerable. But before she could let that feeling truly take shape, Wyatt's mouth found her center, bringing a rush of pleasure she had never known existed.
She heard herself cry out, again and again, as his tongue worked against her most intimate of places. She was distantly aware of how loud she was moaning but had no thought of how she might control it. All rule over her body, she had handed over to her husband. And right now, that loss of control felt utterly blissful.
Wyatt gripped her bare thighs as he pleasured her, and Gemma felt her body pressed back hard against the bedpost, the dull pain of it somehow only adding to her pleasure. She felt herself hurtling toward something she could not quite identify. Some senseless desire she could not make out the shape of.
And then all at once, her pleasure crashed down on her, erupting inside her and making her cry out her husband's name. Her legs weakened beneath her, and she felt his grip on her tighten and felt herself go weak in his arms.
Wyatt stood, holding himself against her, and kissing along her neck. Gemma pressed her head into his neck, her breath comingrapidly. She could feel Wyatt's hardness pressing against her, and somehow, despite the overwhelming sensations she had just experienced, the feeling of him made her long for more. He looked up to meet her eyes. Gemma expected a look of cockiness; a look that said he had won, and that she had capitulated, as he had always known she would. But there was none of that. All she saw in her husband's eyes was a look of blatant desire.
Wyatt reached behind her and untied the cord tying her the bedpost. With her arms free, Gemma slipped them over his shoulders and clung to him hard, her legs still weak with the aftershocks of her pleasure.
He leaned back a little to look her in the eyes. “I want to take you to bed,” he said, voice husky. “Will you let me?”
And yes, Gemma knew that by allowing her husband between her sheets, she was well and truly giving in. If she let him into her bed, he could put a child inside her. She could give him an heir. She would be letting the Dowager Duchess win, like a mindless pawn in the game. But right now, all she cared about was knowing what it felt like to have her husband inside her.
She nodded faintly. “Yes.”
The word brought a groan from deep within Wyatt's throat, and he drew her into a deep kiss. Gemma could taste herself on his lips, and it only served to heighten her need for him.
She reached for him, suddenly aware of how exposed she was, wearing nothing but her torn nightshift, while he was still fully dressed in his jacket and breeches. Her fingers worked at the knot of his cravat, but he eased her hand away gently, instead reaching for the hem of her nightshift.
“I want to see you first,” he said, a hint of that teasing glimmer in his eye. Any urge to protest Gemma had fell away and she stood motionless, letting her husband draw her nightshift up over her head, and revealing her body to him in the lamplight.
