Wicked Graces

Chapter Four

What began in the bath ended in the bedroom, a trail of water leading to a twisted mass of giggling sheets and quilts. The servants weren't going to be happy about the mess they made, but he didn't care. He never would have taken her for a giggler, despite her uncanny quick wit and sharp tongue, but behind a closed door with no one to intimidate she let herself go with him. And he loved the sound of her laughter, the way she squirmed when he tickled his facial hair along the quivering curve of her stomach, almost as much as he loved the breathy sighs she released as he teased his lips over her hip bone before pecking kisses lower and delighting in the unrestrained sound of her delight as he tasted her.

He made her entire body arch and writhe before finding his way inside her at long last, a homecoming that made him feel as though he already knew what to expect from the afterlife.

Every time he made love to her it felt like losing himself all over again for the first time. He'd known dozens of lovers in his youth, caused plenty of trouble that nearly destroyed his family's good name, but none of those young ladies had ever been like Marian. None of them had ever made him feel the way she made him feel. Alive, enraptured, entangled, both lost and found. The warmth of her arms, the heat of her breath, the delicate and girlish whimpers she tried so desperately to hide before giving way to impassioned cries he was sure everyone in the castle would hear, and though he should have he didn't give a single damn about it.

Divine perfection, every moment of her.

She breathed his name across his lips and wrapped her thighs tighter around his hips to draw him in deeper. With an admirable amount of grace she rolled him onto his back and guided herself to such heights he almost felt she didn't need him there to help her reach them. Watching her face in the low light of the candles on the mantle and bedside table stirred things inside him he struggled to fight, the first sign he wouldn't hold out long enough for her to truly reach the pleasure she sought. He thought about hunting wyverns in the hills, dueling with his older brothers in the courtyard as a boy, the tedious and often frustrating process of restringing his bow. Every involved and mundane task he could think of crossed his mind, but he'd gone so long without her it was impossible to keep up with her driven pace.

Breathless and elated, she came down slowly to rest atop his chest after he lost control. He was still inside her, warm and sated as she curled fingers into his hair and kissed his shoulder. Fingernail tracing through the sparse hair across his breast, she exhaled hot breath that made the sweat cool against his skin. He shivered, and she laughed softly before finally rolling into the bed and snuggling up beside him.

"If that's my reward for patience, perhaps I should be denied more often."

He felt inadequate, as though she deserved more, and though she sounded pleased he had doubts. He maneuvered his arm under her neck and squeezed her shoulder to bring her closer. Kissing the top of her head, he breathed in the scent of her; she still smelled like the bath—barest hint of salt and sweat mingling with juniper and lavender. "I would never deny you, love," he whispered. "No matter what you asked, not matter if it cost me my very soul..."

"I'd never ask you for your soul," she tittered. "Whatever would I do with such a thing?"

"Regardless, it's yours to do with what you will."

For a time she said nothing, growing so quiet, her breath so calm, Sebastian thought she'd fallen asleep. He closed his eyes, allowing the bliss he felt to fill him. It overpowered his doubts, washed away the feelings of inadequacy, and he felt whole and sated. He started to doze, floating away from the moment, from the darkness on a cloud so light he could barely feel it carrying him until she spoke and the peaceful calm fell out from underneath him and dropped him right back into bed with her.