Page 59 of In Need of a Duke
“Move over, Lottie. I’m climbing in.”
Charlotte buried her face in her hands and scooted to the front of the tub. Ian chuckled to himself, then stretched out, placing a leg on either side of her.
“I am yours to do as you wish,” he said, his voice low.
She looked back over her shoulder at him as the water sloshed against the edges of the tub.
“I hated you,” she whispered. “And then I wished to run away from you. To escape. And now…”
He tilted his head, his heart thrumming in his chest as he waited on her every word, desperate to hear she wanted him, too.
“I never stopped loving you,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “But I cannot survive having my heart broken again.”
Silence fell between them before she reached back and unpinned her long honey hair. He held his breath as she leaned back to rest against him.
It was the sweetest torture to feel her arse pushed against his cock, to feel the weight of her in his arms. She rested her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes, tipping her head up to the ceiling.
“But I am so tired of fighting it as well.”
What could they share now? He had been desperate to have her the first night they met. And then furious as he spent the years away from her, craving her, nonetheless. And he was surprised to discover he still wanted his wife above anyone else when he returned.
Even when she didn’t want him.
But there was hope. They had an opportunity to fix that.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. He spread his hand out against her soft stomach, the thin linen of her chemise doing little to block the way he traced his fingers over her.
She shuddered under him, her breath skipping.
God. Damn. It. All.
“You sweet, sweet woman,” he whispered against her ear. “Can you feel what you do to me?”
As if to test him, she wiggled her bottom against his cock.
“Yes, that’s it. That is only because of you.”
Charlotte gripped the sides of the tub and tilted her head toward the window, revealing the length of her throat.
“Tell me about them,” she said. “I want to know. Did you love them?”
“Who?”
Ian skirted his hand farther up her body, resting just below her breasts as she sucked in a sharp breath.
“Your opera singers. The dancers. I wouldn’t be surprised if you had a taste for widows.”
“You pretty, foolish girl,” he whispered, pressing his lips against her throat. Her pulse raced beneath his lips as he slowly swiped his tongue against her salty skin, tasting her. He wanted to devour her. Had dreamt of it. “I haven’t been with anyone since I met you.”
“That’s been years.”
Years. Impossibly long and lonely, he hadn’t been able to rid himself of his obsession with his wife. He was done denying himself. Done with the lies.
He was far from a saint, and now that he returned to beg for penance, he was willing to crawl to her if only she would allow him to kiss her, to touch her, to taste her. To drive himself inside of her and hear her scream his name.
Mine, he thought, nipping at her skin as she shivered beneath him.
Charlotte let out the softest whimper as his fingers brushed against the bottom of her breast. She arched into his touch, and he trailed his fingers higher, cupping her full breasts into his hands.
