Page 71 of The Traitor
“It’s private here,” Milly said, extricating her right arm from the blanket to brush Sebastian’s hair back from his eyes. “And I desire my husband’s intimate attentions.”
Mostly. A small, spinstery part of her sought reassurances, not that those intimacies would be pleasurable—they would be, eventually—but that desiring them was not unladylike.
Un-baroness-like.
“An honest woman is worth more than rubies.”
He’d mangled his Proverbs. Milly did not quibble, though, because honest and virtuous were close enough, also because Sebastian had lifted her blanket and insinuated himself beside her.
“I think it is you, Milly St. Clair, who must warm me.” He arranged himself over her, directly over her, braced on his knees and forearms. “Though I warn you, madam, I will not be rushed.”
Words did not come biddably to heel. Milly’s body was blanketed by a large, warm, naked husband, his thighs between hers, his hard belly against her softer flesh, his chest inches from her beating heart.
A woman who could not read well was accustomed to being caught up short and forced to rely on wits instead of words; nonetheless, Milly felt a thread of unease.
“Tell me what to expect, Sebastian. Tell me what you expect of me. My aunts were forthright, but one needs details, not sly looks and—”
“One needs to trust one’s husband. Kiss me.”
Sebastian waited above her, as settled in his posture as the grinding stone that had been turning, turning, for centuries in the center of the mill. Trusting Sebastian should have been easy, and yet, Milly hesitated—because he did not trust her.
He trusted no one, and that offended Milly on his behalf.
She lifted her hips and spread her legs, watching as Sebastian absorbed her overture.
He kissed her cheek. “Love, you will part me from my reason, and that is not well-advised for our first encounter.” He kissed her other cheek, and Milly understood these for the opening salvos they were. She relaxed and let go of another increment of anxiety, because Sebastian was making plain thatnotrushingwas for her benefit.
With her fingertips, Milly traced the muscles on either side of his spine. “You could rush just a little, Sebastian, couldn’t you?”
“No, I could not. I want you mindless with need for what I can give you, and such an undertaking will not be accomplished with haste.” Oh, how very English he sounded, how lordly and patient. “You smell good, like lavender sachets. You must have washed…”
Milly had washed. Had used five precious minutes to freshen up, and her last coherent thought was gratitude that she had.
“You taste like lavender,” Sebastian went on. “Here.” His tongue lapped at the spot beneath her ear where Milly had dabbed a bit ofeaudubain. “And you taste worried. Don’t worry, Milly St. Clair. These are among the few moments in a marriage nobody is required to manage or worry over.”
He’d let her have some of his weight, a much-needed comfort as Milly gathered herself to him. His cock—old women could delight in shocking language—was hard, smooth, and warm against Milly’s belly, and the way Sebastian pressed it against her suggested this part of him did not need delicacy from her.
Milly’s hands trailed lower on Sebastian’s back, until she felt the muscular contour of his derriere beneath her palms.
“I like that,” Sebastian growled against her ear. “I like that you’re bold and curious, that you want this.”
This.Milly had no experience withthis.Thismade her breasts feel heavy and her spine as flexible as an old rope. “I wantyou, Sebastian. I want children with green eyes and dark hair, I want—”
He covered her mouth with his, like an incoming tide, and even as Milly welcomed his kiss, she had the sense he’d needed to stop her words. His tongue touched her lips, bringing with it a hint of mint.
Part of his five minutes above stairs had been spent on his tooth powder, which made Milly smile as that same tongue—ahottongue—traced her teeth. “Open, Milly St. Clair. Kiss me the way a village girl kisses her swain.”
She clutched at his backside, involuntarily at first, so naughty were his words, and then experimentally. “Even your fundament is muscular.”
When she did it again, Sebastian shifted up so Milly was tucked more firmly beneath him. He could kiss her lazily from this angle, braced on his elbows as if he were a freight wagon whose brake had been set. The slow tour he made of the inside of her lips suggested he could take all afternoon acquainting himself with her mouth.
Milly used both hands on his backside this time, anchoring herself before she touched her tongue to Sebastian’s. He returned the caress, the way duelists would test each other’s reactions with a beat and rebeat of their swords.
“Again,” he whispered. “Take your time.”
The wind gusts picked up, and the tempo and volume of the rain against the mill’s roof rose, while amid the blankets, Milly went from warm to hot. That Sebastian could be so in control of himself was both reassuring and exasperating.
She squirmed, pressing her breasts against his chest, and he groaned with an answering pressure.
