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His grin was marvelously wicked as he took her mouth again.

His grip on her was firm, and while it wasn’t as comforting as the wall at her back, it was enough to let her relax into the embrace, to meet his tongue with hers, to let her hands rise to meet his chest, pressing against him to check the surety of his hold even as she never wanted to be separated from him.

It was enough that she scarcely even noticed when he began maneuvering her, deftly steering past any obstacles. She walked backward, following the urging of that grip, of the guiding pressure of his body against hers.

She very much noticed, however, when the back of her knees hit the edge of the bed, when Benedict pushed her with just enough extra force that she topped back onto it, the soft mattress and plush duvet enveloping her in an instant. She couldn’t have eventried to push herself up before he was climbing atop the mattress as well, his legs on either side of hers, his weight lowering atop her.

He was a tall man, a strong man. He was heavy. Very heavy.

It was perfect.

The groan that escaped her wasmeantto have words, she was nearly sure of it. She just had no earthly idea what those words were supposed to have been.

When Benedict chuckled lowly against the side of her throat, she trembled.

“Oh, yes,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her skin. She wanted to pull him closer, heavier atop her, but her arms were pinned, and she made no effort to get them free. “Is this better, darling girl?”

“Yes,” she managed, very pleased with herself that she’d spoken in coherent English. “Benedict.”

His breath sharpened when she said his name. She liked that, too.

For all that she saw the signs that he was nearly as affected as she by this…curious type of embrace, his voice was silky and sinuous as he spoke, his lips seeking hers.

“Let’s try this again, shall we?”

And so they did.

It was easier like this, Emily noticed with a rush of relief that felt nearly euphoric. Her mind wasn’t urging her to notice a thousand different things. After all, there was nothing else shecouldnotice.

There was the bed beneath her and Benedict above her. For these precious moments, they were her whole world. It was simple. Blissful.

And that wicked, greedy voice inside her hissed,More.

Benedict—who really might have been a mind-reader; she’d have to investigate this later—noticed this, too. Or maybe it wasn’t that subtle, she thought, when he pulled his mouth back from hers, and she realized that her hips had been canting up against his body, seeking…something.

She was, she had to say, well and truly bloody tired of this not knowing business.

He looked down on her, his dark, serious brows furrowed. She squirmed under the probing intensity of that gaze which felt good enough that she squirmed again. He didn’t budge—except for his hand which came down firmly on her hip.

“Stop that,” he ordered sternly. Emily’s body ignored him—though her mind would have done the same, were it still in control of the situation. He pressed more firmly. “Emily, stop, you’ll ruin me?—”

She squirmed harder, and he sucked in a sharp inhale, his eyes closing briefly. When he opened them again, fire shone in his gaze.

“You,” he said lowly, “are very wicked.”

She shook her head. She really wasn’t…at least, not usually. “No, I’m?—”

He silenced her with a kiss.

“No more tricks, wife,” he said, the words almost playful as he pulled back. The only thing that disrupted their lightness was the intensity in his face. “You’ve shown me well enough what you need, you perfect little thing.”

The praise silenced her protests even as it stoked the restless heat within her. He moved with slow, deliberate precision as he moved her arms so that they were no longer tucked beneath his weight but instead pinned beneath her own. It was an odd position but one that Emily found oddly reassuring. Even as he pulled his weight off her, movements languorous, she did not feel that gaping nothingness that had bothered her when they’d stood in the middle of the room.

Somehow, staying in the position he’d assigned her made her feel as though his hands were still upon her, even as he regained his feet, pausing a moment to loom over her, eyes searching the long stretch of her form.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, and she could barely breathe. Nobody had ever considered her, too tall, too prim Emily Rutley, beautiful.

“I—” she said.I’m not. It had been on the tip of her tongue, but she didn’t want to deny it.