He had nearly ruined everything. She gave and gave, until nothing was left, and he took, yet was never satisfied or content in his taking.
The quill on his desk seemed to be staring at him. He knew what he had to do. Somehow during the past few weeks in Isabelle’s presence, he had found a semblance of honor as well as a conscience, which was quite inconvenient, all things considered.
With a curse, he grabbed a piece of fresh paper and addressed it: “To his Grace, The Duke of Montmouth.”
Hours later, he was utterly exhausted; he pulled off his boots and shrugged out of his dinner jacket once he reached the bedroom. Going to bed late meant he had no use for his valet, not that he found much use for one in the first place. Trying to tip toe around the room, he finally found the softness of the bed and reached down to pull the blankets back.
Shock was an adequate word to describe his thoughts as his hand touched Isabelle’s bare arm. Apparently she had fallen asleep sprawled across the bed in a diagonal manner. Her sleeping habits amused him; he'd thought he was the only person alive that slept so fitfully, but Isabelle tossed and turned just as badly, if not worse.
Biting back a smile, he pulled her into his arms and tried to set her on her back, but the blankets were tangled within her legs, making it near-impossible for her body to move comfortably without being twisted.
Letting out a frustrated sigh, Dominique reached down and gave the blankets a tug. Eventually they came free, but as they did so, they pulled up Isabelle’s nightgown, giving him a view of her creamy legs. Even in the dark he could see their perfect outline, could almost taste their sweetness on his lips.
Without thinking he bent down and bestowed a kiss on her exposed thigh, but found his thirst—his hunger— was not quenched.
Cursing, mainly because his wife was sleeping through his assault, his lips met her leg again. This time his tongue drew circles around the tender flesh. Instantly aroused beyond all logic, he placed his hands on her hips in hopes to memorize their feel.
“Dominique?” Her feminine voice was thick with sleep and so blasted arousing, he had trouble thinking straight.
“Y-yes,” he stammered.
He hadn’t stammered since he was a lad.
“I had a terrible dream.”
“What was it about, love?”
“A beast was attacking me…”
Dominique bit back a laugh. “Did he harm you?”
“Irrevocably.” She sighed. “And then he stopped.”
“Did you want him to continue?”
Her eyes flashed open. “That depends on the beast.”
Dominique hovered over her, noting her face in the moonlight as her eyes blinked rapidly back at him. “Does it?”
She nodded and then stretched beneath him. The light cast from the moon revealed her perfect silhouette against the darkness of the room.
At the same time, as if planned, they reached for one another, and Dominique knew there was no going back this time. Because he had waited for this moment it seemed, his entire existence.
With great effort, that of a god no doubt, he pulled back to gaze upon her face. He didn’t deserve any sort of affection, but how his body craved it, needed it. More than he could have ever imagined.
Her warm hand touched his chest, drawing circles with her fingers until finally trailing down to his hips and pulling him tighter against her. Sadly, her actions pushed the last rational thoughts from his mind.
And in their place…
Need. Hunger. Craving—like he had never before known.
With a guttural growl he slipped his hands beneath her nightgown and pulled it over her head. He tossed it to the floor.
Her nakedness made him lose his nerve. Too beautiful. She was too beautiful for his scars to touch. Thankfully she couldn’t see his hands, but if she knew how his sins were touching her purity, she would hate him. And for once, he didn’t want her to hate him.
With a smile, Isabelle reached out and grabbed his wrists, allowing his hands to press against her body. Her head flew back, her eyes closed, and she exhaled a feminine sigh at his touch.
He bent his head to her neck, his tongue reaching out to lick the softness behind her ear. To bite the tender flesh at her shoulder. Her hands gripped his shoulders as his teeth nipped.
Warmth spread across his body; he no longer felt chilled or alone. Rather, he felt a part of something bigger than his sins, bigger than his past.
As his lips pushed against hers, surely bruising her in the process, her hands scratched at his back and her legs wrapped around his body.
With haste he pulled back to remove the rest of his clothing, for he had always slept in his pants to keep the girl from scratching his eyes out.
His scarred hands fumbled and he cursed. Isabelle reached out just in time for him to pull his hands away so she couldn’t feel the hard ridges of his burnt skin.
With ease, she helped remove the last barrier keeping them separate. Her eyes took him in, all of him, and instead of shying away as good virgins were taught to do, she reached up and wrapped her hands around his neck, pulling him on top of her in such an erotic embrace, he saw heaven.
He pulled her legs up so she could wrap them yet again around him, and plowed her mouth with his tongue. Her lips pushed equally against his; he didn’t even have time to warn her, to tell her what to expect, his desire was such that his brain hadn’t caught up to the act.
She cried out beneath his kiss. A single tear ran down her cheek. Dominique’s heart nearly burst. She gave herself to him freely, without wanting anything in return. And by all that was great and good, he would die before she regretted it.
With aching slowness, he kissed her cheeks, allowing his tongue to lick away the tears as they rolled down her face, and then his lips met hers in reverence. They danced and pulled tenderly; he worshipped her face as if it was one of the most precious treasures.
She met his kiss with one of her own, moving beneath him; he both wanted her to stop and continue. With a moan he deepened the kiss as she whispered into his neck, “Dominique.”
****
Isabelle tried to focus her thoughts, but it was nearly impossible. Not when she was feeling such foreign sensations all over her body. It had started as a dream. Warm hands had touched her flesh, and then she felt a bite and then a lick across her thigh. Thinking she was surely going mad, she opened her eyes and was shocked to see Dominique’s dark hair spilling over his eyes, his lips carefully dancing across her skin, and she wanted much more than he was giving.
The attraction she had felt for him had been slowly growing into a blazing inferno. But she hadn’t wanted to be the one to give in first. After all, she did have her pride. Yet, in this moment, she cursed her pride, cursed everything, for she wanted the man, broken as he may be, and her desire was that together they could become more than what they were apart.