Inventing the Viscount: The Bluestocking Scandals Book 2 by St. Clair Ellie

Author:St. Clair, Ellie
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Prairie Lily Press
Published: 2020-03-09T16:00:00+00:00

16

Miles thought he was already as far gone as any man could be — until Freddie answered with those words.

“Your wife.”

She was his. His wife. He might not have been the first to ever be with her, but he would damn well be the last. He kissed her again, drinking her in, wondering if he would ever be able to get enough of her.

He left her lips, kissing his way over the soft skin behind her ear and down her neck. She arched up into him as he did so, and while he wanted to ask her how much she liked it, he didn’t want to have to worry about concentrating on what her answer might be.

Right now, he was going to damn well enjoy what he had waited so long for.

He sat back on his heels before taking Freddie’s hands and lifting her up so that she was sitting, straddling him. He reached around her, slowly undoing each button on the back of her dress, his fingers caressing the skin they exposed as he loosed each one from its fastening.

Finally, he reached the bottom, and he pushed the creamy satin sleeves off of her shoulders, lifting her arms from them.

“Lie down,” he commanded, and when she did as he bid, he grinned in anticipation as he stepped off the bed and worked her skirts down so that the dress slid off her feet. He left it on the floor as he stepped between her legs, placing one hand on each of her bare ankles, running his fingers up her calves.

She jumped slightly at his touch, and power coursed through him at the knowledge that he could evoke such a response from her. Freddie enjoyed leading in most aspects of life — but not in this. He couldn’t help himself. In this, he would either take the lead or be equal with his wife.

He was only glad she seemed as pleased with the thought as he.

Miles stood back and stared at her — all of her, nearly completely visible as she was only covered in the thin, soft silk of her chemise.

“Gorgeous,” he murmured. “I must paint you like this.”

“Right now?” she exclaimed, her eyes widening incredulously, and he laughed.

“Of course not,” he said. “Another time. After this. Tomorrow. Next week. Next month. I don’t care. But at some point in time, you will be on my canvas — just as you are finally on my bed.”

She swallowed hard.

“You wouldn't truly paint me like this?” she said, bemused, to which he shook his head.

“Of course not.”

She relaxed.

“I would first make you take all of your clothes off.”

Her eyes widened in shock before a pink stain of embarrassment began to spread out across her cheeks.

“Oh my, Miles,” she whispered, and he chuckled once more.

“Your Miles?”

She smiled. “I do like the sound of that.”

“Good,” he said, before ridding her of all that remained — her stays and chemise, until she was bare before him. She began to scramble backward, reaching for the blanket, but he wagged a finger at her.

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