Page 97 of The Beast of Beswick
“Astrid.”
“Don’t Astrid me,” she shot back. “I want to see it all. Now, your duchess commands you to strip.”
Obligingly, Thane shed his trousers, and he had the distinct pleasure of seeing her shocked speechless, her eyes goggling. “It’s rude to stare, Lady Beswick.”
“Th-That’sbeen inside me?” she sputtered. “You have got to be joking. There’s no way that thing—”
“Cock,” he supplied helpfully.
Her throat worked, and she licked her lips. “Whatever it is, a bloody rooster for all I care. There’s no way that’s fitting anywhere.”
“I’ve already been inside you, darling. Several times.”
“You must have been smaller those other times.” Her face burned hot. “Maybe we should turn off the lights. I didn’t realize you were protecting me from bloody Goliath all along.”
“I’ve named my horse Goliath, not that.”
He laughed and bent to take her lips in a long, sweet kiss. His wife was panting by the time he was done, her eyes glazed.
“Well, I’m going for a swim,” he said huskily. “When you’re done being a cowardly little chicken, feel free to join me.”
…
“Chicken?” she retorted. “I’m not the one walking around with a fowl in his trousers.”
“Cock, my love.”
Astrid forgot about his impressive front as she watched those scored but taut buttocks walk away and felt her own body grow exceedingly damp. Lord above, he was spectacular. Even with all his terrible scarring, he was so virile, so devastatingly masculine, that she was having a hard time breathing. Or thinking. Or doing much of anything at all.
And that wasn’t just because of the jutting appendage that had made her lose her breath. Though that in itself was remarkable. Her husband was nicely formed. Her breasts tingled, and the space between her legs went molten. She watched those muscular thighs of his bend and flex as he climbed into the pool, and she sighed. His legs, she noticed, were as badly scarred as his back, his stomach and chest the only places that had escaped serious injury. He probably would have died if his stomach had been punctured. A red lattice of vines traversed his hips, thighs, and buttocks. It was truly a wonder that he had survived.
She strolled over to the edge and sat, her legs dangling into the water, and watched him. He moved like a fish, cleaving through the water with ease, until he went under and resurfaced at her calves. He wedged his big body between her knees, bracing his arms on either side of them. Astrid leaned down to kiss him as he pushed up out of the water, and she tasted salt.
“Why is it salted?”
“It’s irrigated from the ocean,” he said, slipping back down into the water but staying between her swinging limbs. “We are close enough to use water from the river mouth at the southerly end of the property. It’s ingenious, the design,” he explained, pointing at the large currently closed spigots on either side. “I got it from a Turkish friend of mine whose family built baths for centuries. That one releases the water back to the sea so the pool can be cleaned, and that one refills it.” He grinned, gesturing at the glowing fireplaces. “The hearths keep it warm with in-ground copper piping.”
“It’s incredible,” she said.
“Thank you. It’s the only thing that helps with the pain when it gets too much to bear.”
Astrid trailed her fingers through his wet hair, skimming the patch on his scalp that the slick strands no longer concealed. And then whisper-soft, down his brow to the scars on his cheek. “Do they hurt?”
“Yes, but not as much since I met you.”
She frowned. “How is that possible?”
“My physician is of the astonishing opinion that a positive outlook can affect one’s health for the better. I thought he was headed for Bedlam, but I suppose he may be on to something after all. I’ve never felt like this…until you.”
She nodded, biting into her lower lip in thought. “I’ve read that healers in the east have long believed that positive thinking is an essential key to healing. It’s been proven to be a potent pain reliever.”
“I might need some more persuasion, Madame Scholar.” He grasped her wandering hand and brought it to his lips, kissing each finger and stopping at her index finger whose pad had five red spots. “What happened here?”
“The dratted needlework.”
Her husband grinned, a wicked light appearing in those golden eyes, as he sucked it into his mouth and made her gasp. “Perhaps you might require a more scintillating change of subject. Phallic inspiration, perchance? I’m happy to oblige my duchess with anything she needs.”
Releasing her hand, his palms dipped to slide up her smooth bare calves, pushing the fabric of her chemise up her thighs and making her shiver. Then he turned and placed a kiss to the inside of one knee, making her forget her own name.
