“To a small cottage.” Quinn had arranged for a place nearby, where they could spend a few hours alone, knowing there would be no time to take her to his own townhouse, which was clear across town.
When they reached the house that was tucked away in a side street, he wasn’t disappointed. The owner had made sure the inside of the small cottage was clean and comfortable. He headed for the door that led to the bedroom. Clean linen covered the bed in the corner, and a single candle burned on a chest of drawers nearby.
While he’d hoped for a more lavish environment to make Rose his, he knew there was no time to lose. He was leaving at first light, and consummating their marriage was paramount. It was the only way of making sure that her father couldn’t marry her off to one of the titled suitors who, even now, were hovering in the ballroom for their chance at claiming her. She would have to wait for him and him alone.
He set Rose back on her feet and closed the door behind them. When she turned to him in the dim light, he recognized her heavy breathing and her flushed face.
“Don’t be afraid, my love. I won’t hurt you. I’ll be the gentlest of lovers. Your pleasure is my pleasure.” He meant it. Now that he knew she would surrender to him, he would take his time to create a memory she would look back at with joy until he returned.
“I’m not afraid,” she whispered, her lips trembling nevertheless.
She was so brave, his beautiful Rose.
Slowly he lifted his hands and stroked along her neck down to her shoulders, where the puffed sleeves of her gown sat like little butterflies, delicate and nearly transparent. Gently, he took hold of the thin fabric and tugged on it, inching it down her arms.
Her breath hitched, her lips parting in the same instant as she lowered her lids to avoid his gaze.
“Rose, look at me.”
She lifted her eyes.
“You should feel no shame. What is between us is pure and honest.”
He moved his hands to her chest, slowly pushing her bodice lower. Without the restraints of a corset, the fabric moved out of the way, freeing her breasts, delivering them to his hungry eyes. Dark rose buds sat on pink mounds of flesh that despite the lack of any support were firm. Her breasts weren’t large, but they were perfect in shape and form. He feasted his eyes on the sight, unable to get enough.
Rose’s eyes squeezed shut. He bent to her, kissing her lids one after the other.
“Oh, Rose, you are beautiful. I am the luckiest man in all of England.”
Then he allowed his hands to roam. As he palmed her breasts, feeling her warm flesh in his hands for the first time, his cock twitched in anticipation.
“Tell me, my love, what am I holding in my hands?”
Her eyes widened.
“Tell me,” he coaxed.
“M . . . my br . . . breasts.”
He gave her a soft smile. “Men call them tits.”
At the crude word, he saw her pull in a breath.
“Yes, and you have gorgeous tits, my beautiful wife. The most beautiful tits I have ever seen.”
Her cheeks flushed even more, but there was no anger in her eyes, instead he saw signs of desire there, of passion, of lust. Yes, Rose, his lovely, proper Rose, had a wild streak in her. He’d always known it; in fact, it was what had made him fall in love with her. And it was why he’d known she would surrender to him, because she wanted it too. She wanted to experience that wildness, that passion. With him.
Bending his head, he captured one beautiful taut nipple with his lips and sucked on it.
“Ohhh!” she exclaimed, almost immediately thrusting her chest out so he could take more of her.
“You like that?” he mumbled, continuing to lick and suck her responsive breast.
“Yes, oh yes, Quinn. It feels . . . it feels so . . . good.”
He released her breast only to lavish the same attention on the other one. When he felt her hand on his neck to hold him to her, he couldn’t suppress a grin. Oh yes, she would be a wonderful wife, and an even more amazing lover. And knowing that he would never get enough of her, they would have many children, a whole estate full of them.
Not taking his mouth off her breast, he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed, where he set her on her feet. Hastily, he took off his coat and opened the buttons of his waistcoat, feeling his body heat up as if a furnace were burning inside him.
Only when he’d freed himself of his waistcoat, did he allow himself to lay his hands on her again. Instantly, she melted into him. He tugged on the dress, loosening a few of the fastenings in the back, and pushed it to the ground. Her petticoat and chemise followed. When she stood before him only in her drawers, her arms went around her torso as if to protect herself.