Page 37 of The Wallflower’s Great Escape (The Wallflowers’ Revolt #1)

S he wasn’t sure which came first, her tears or his kisses.

But somehow she found herself pressed against him, her face cupped in his hands, her breath mingling with his as he kissed her slow and deep, as though he was trying to say everything he hadn’t been able to put into words.

Her fingers curled into the lapels of his coat, pulling him closer, as though she could climb into the very circle of his warmth and stay there forever.

“Jason,” she whispered against his mouth, tears slipping down her cheeks even as she smiled through them.

He pulled back just enough to look at her, his green eyes dark and searching.

And before she could lose her nerve, she blurted it out…between her kisses and her tears, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. “I think…” she began, her voice catching. “…I fell in love with you the night you swooped me up on your horse like a knight in shining armor.”

His breath hitched against her lips, but she pressed on, emboldened by the way his hands tightened gently on her arms.

“And I definitely fell in love with you,” she added softly, “the night I heard you defend me at the ball. When you stood there and told that awful Lord?—”

“Weedham,” he finished hoarsely, his thumb brushing her cheek.

“Yes,” she whispered. “That night.”

Something broke in Jason’s expression then, something vulnerable and unbearably sweet, and he kissed her again with a desperate tenderness that made her knees weak.

It deepened quickly, their lips slanting and parting, his hands sliding into her hair as hers tugged his coat from his shoulders.

Her pulse raced when his mouth drifted lower, trailing over her jaw, her neck, the hollow of her throat, each kiss setting off little sparks that made her gasp and cling tighter to him.

When his hands moved to the fastenings of her gown, he hesitated, pulling back just enough to search her face.

“Georgie,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “If you ask me to stop, I will.”

She shook her head, her breath coming in shallow bursts. “I’m not asking you to stop,” she whispered.

He swallowed hard at that, his eyes darkening further as he slid her gown from her shoulders and let it pool at her feet.

Her chemise followed soon after, leaving her in only her shift, soft and thin and already slipping from one shoulder.

Her cheeks flamed as his gaze swept over her, but the way he looked at her, reverent, hungry, as though she were the only woman in all of London, sent a delicious shiver down her spine.

When he shed his own coat, waistcoat, and cravat, she reached up to help him, her fingers fumbling at his buttons until he caught her hands and pressed them gently to his chest.

“Let me,” he murmured.

She sat on the edge of the bed, her chest rising and falling fast as he finished undressing, his movements slow and deliberate, until he was down to his shirtsleeves and trousers.

Then he came to her, sinking to his knees before her and kissing her again, his hands sliding over her bare thighs, higher and higher, until she whimpered against his mouth.

When he lifted her and laid her back against the cool sheets, she arched instinctively into his touch, her legs parting to welcome him as he settled between them.

The air between them was hot and thick with the sound of their breaths and the soft rustle of linen as he kissed his way down her body, tasting the delicate skin of her collarbone, the swell of her breasts, the curve of her waist.

When his fingers slid lower, finding her already slick and aching for him, she gasped and clutched at his shoulders.

“Tell me you’re sure,” he whispered, his forehead resting against hers, his breath hot and uneven.

“Yes,” she breathed, her hips tilting toward him instinctively. “Jason, please?—”

His name on her lips made his jaw tighten, his eyes dark and molten as he positioned himself over her, his hands braced on either side of her head.

Her heart thudded wildly as she felt the broad, hot press of him against her entrance. She swallowed hard. Of course she was still a virgin, but she trusted him.

More than she’d ever trusted anyone.

And when he pushed forward, filling her in one slow, steady thrust, there was only a faint sting, just a pinch, before it was replaced by a sensation so overwhelming she couldn’t breathe.

She gasped his name again, her nails digging into his back as he groaned low in his throat, his lips brushing over her temple.

For a moment they simply stayed like that, tangled, breathless, utterly undone.

Then he began to move, and the pleasure built into something that stole her words and her breath, her body arching into his as she clung to him.

Her legs wrapped around his hips instinctively, and he thrust deeper, harder, his hands threading through her hair as his mouth claimed hers again and again.

When she finally shattered around him, it was with a soft cry that he swallowed with his lips, his own release following soon after as he buried his face against her neck, groaning her name.

They collapsed together, still tangled in sheets and each other, his weight a comforting warmth over her, his arms wrapping tight around her as though he’d never let go.

She pressed her lips to his shoulder, her heart still racing, and whispered, “My husband.”

He smiled against her hair, his hand sliding over her back as he murmured in return, “My wife.”

And for the first time since forever, she felt…at home.