He hunted her down in the kitchen.
Winnifred stood, bent over a large wooden table, and his gaze landed on her round arse. She truly was a fine figure of a woman. Well-proportioned and large enough where he wasn’t afraid of crushing her beneath him. And beneath that arse were two pale and plump thighs, and betwixt those thighs was the sweetest—
“Milord!” The cook caught sight of him first and sketched a quick bow curtsy. “Welcome home.”
Sin nodded to the man, but didn’t take his eyes off of Winnifred.
She tucked a strand of honey-brown hair behind her ear. “Husband, I was just preparing a tray of food to be sent up to you. I didn’t know how late you and your steward would be working.”
“Most thoughtful of you.” He stepped close to her and inhaled. Between the odors of raising bread and cooked meat, he scented her. Citrus and warm women. “I do have quite a hunger.”
A light flush crawled up her neck, and she shifted her weight.
She was as hesitant as a young doe faced with a wildcat for the first time. Not knowing if it were friend or foe. If she was protected … or prey.
His heartbeat thrummed through his body, echoing in his ears. That dark place in him, the one he’d worked hard to tame, blinked awake. God help him but he liked her this way. Nervous. Unsure. Waiting for him to pounce. He grinned, showing his teeth. He didn’t want to disappoint her, so pounce he would.
Grabbing the tray of food with one hand and her elbow with the other, he drew her out of the kitchen and up the stairs to their bedchambers. He pushed the door to his room open with his boot and kicked it shut behind them.
Winnifred clasped her hands together, her knotted fingers hovering over the vee between her legs, and paced to the center of the room. She slowly twisted in a circle, examining her surroundings, before facing him, her face expressionless.
“Are you frightened?” Sin set the tray on the low table before the fireplace. He rolled up a thin slice of venison and placed it on his tongue. He watched her as an explosion of flavor burst on his tongue.
She didn’t pretend to not understand him. “We are married. You need heirs. I am nothing if not practical about the necessity of procreation.”
His abdomen pulled tight. “Practical? Yes, I’m sure practicality is a useful trait (in a woman.” He licked a bit of juice off his finger, and her gaze followed his movements. The tightness spread to the rest of his body, his muscles feeling too large for his skin. “But that doesn’t mean you won’t feel some trepidation.”
She gave a curt nod. “I’ll admit I have the same apprehensions most women surely feel, but you don’t need to worry about missish behavior on my part. I will perform my duties.”
Duty. The word rolled through his head. He knew all about duty. He stalked forward, circling his wife. And conceiving an heir was surely one of his biggest ones, but it didn’t feel like an obligation. And he didn’t want it to be one to her, either.
The knuckles of her fingers whitened, and her shoulders set, but otherwise she showed nothing as he prowled around her.
Surely, she was not like most women. The thought pleased him even as a compulsion gripped him to discover why she felt the need to hide herself.
He curled a loose lock of her hair around his finger and stopped behind her. He tugged, and smiled when she sucked in a sharp breath. Fingering the top buttons of her gown, he leaned close and brushed his lips over the shell of her ear.
“This is a very serviceable travel gown.” He sucked her lobe into his mouth. “Do you have any particular attachment to it?”
“To the dress?” Her voice was a breathy whisper. She cleared her throat. “Of course not.”
Of course not. Not for his practical, impassive bride.
He gripped the neck above the top button and tore the back open.
Winnifred clutched the sagging bodice before relaxing her arms so the gown could slip from her shoulders.
He shoved the fabric past her hips and to the floor. “Step out.”
She complied.
Grabbing her about the waist, he turned and tossed her on the bed. She squawked as she bounced. Rolling to her side, she pushed her hair out of her eyes and glared at him.
Good. His bride could be roused, even if it was only with irritation at him.
He toed his boots off and shucked his outer garments until his shirt hung loose around his thighs. He padded to the bed.
She looked everywhere but at him.
“Problem, lass?” He crawled onto the bed, the mattress sagging beneath his weight.
“Um.” Her gaze fell to his face then shot to the top of the bed again. “You don’t, you aren’t wearing smallclothes?” Her tone rose at the end of the sentence, making it a question.
“They only get in the way. It’s more efficient this way.” He glided his finger up the stocking on her calf. She still wore too many underthings. Damn nuisances they were.
She swallowed. “And you like to move fast.”
“I’m taking a cue from my practical wife.” He circled her ankle with his fingers and tugged off her slipper. He pressed the sole of her foot to his thigh and raised her shift until the ribbon that held her stocking was exposed. “My father used to say it was best to start as you wish to go on. I don’t think you need a sweet seduction that won’t reflect how our future marriage bed.”
His cock twitched. He could do soft, but he didn’t like it. And something about Winnifred made him want to be very, very hard.
He tugged the knot on the ribbon free and slid the stocking down her leg. He made quick work of the other stocking and slipper.
She fingered the top of her stays. “I don’t suppose you wish me to leave my chemise on this time?”
He swung his head from side to side and pulled his shirt over his head.
“All right then.” She pulled on one end of the bow that held her short stays snug against her breasts. As undergarments went, her stays were the most practical, least filly set Sin had ever laid eyes on. Yet he couldn’t tear his gaze away as the ribbons loosened, as one of the straps slid down her shoulder. Winnifred let the garment drop to the bed. With her chin tilted up, she hooked her fingers under the hem of her shift. Slowly, she raised it/shift, revealing, inch-by-luscious-inch, her bare flesh.
Despite her disavowal of any finer feelings, he knew it was nerves that slowed her hands. And he was grateful for it; the unintentional stripping exhibition was erotic as hell.
Her thatch of brown curls dragged free from the linen, looking tantalizingly soft. The tiny button of her navel was exposed next. By the time her rosy nipples popped into view, Sin was as hard as a pike. He dug his fingers into his thighs. His palms itched explore every inch of his wife. His mouth watered with the need to devour.
Finally, the shift was off her body. She tossed it to the floor and settled back upon the pillows, her expression measured.
Sin reached for her. He trailed his fingers over the skin of her ribs, down over her wide hips. He pressed them harder into the soft flesh of her thighs. Pink lines followed after the tips of his fingers, fleeting marks that disappeared all too quickly for Sin’s liking.
He crawled over her, his knees bracketing her hips, his palms framing her face, and he examined what lay beneath him.
Beautiful. His woman was beautiful). And completely his. Until they died, only her body would accept his flesh; only his cock would know her body.
He rubbed his thumb over her nipple. Her areolas were a pretty pink, almost indistinguishable from the surrounding skin, a delicate contrast for such a sturdy woman. Her nipple pebbled beneath his finger, and her breathing quickened. Sin lowered his head, needing to taste her. He sucked the nub into his mouth before nibbling around the soft underside of her breast.
Her skin was like velvet, her softness such a contrast to his own hardness. He kissed his way up to the pulse fluttering in her neck. “Open your legs for me.”
She complied, but all of her muscles went rigid with the task.
“Relax.” He flicked his tongue against her fluttering pulse, loving the feel of her blood racing just beneath his tongue. “The painful bit is past.”
And thank God for that. No need to ease his entry, hold himself back. He straightened his legs and pressed his erection into her belly, throbbing at the contact. Shifting his hips, he slid his cock between her folds, not trying to enter her, just letting her soft lips envelop him as he rocked against her.
Winnifred’s chest froze.
“Does that feel good?” He rolled his hips again, gathering moisture easing his glide.
She clenched her jaw. “It’s fine.”
“Fine.” The word tasted foul on his tongue. Her honey slicking his way showed his was a liar. But she couldn’t control her body’s response. He ground the base of his cock into her clit, and she smothered a moan. As long as her body didn’t lie, he could forgive her words. For now.
He buried his hand under her scalp, pulling at the knot in her hair. “I’ll see if I can improve upon fine.”
He took her mouth as his hips set up a steady rhythm. He devoured her, hoping for a response with each thrust of his tongue, each nip of his teeth. Her skin grew damp beneath his, and she gripped his hip with one hand. To encourage him on or to try to control her reactions, Sin didn’t know. It didn’t matter. She might be afraid of her responses, but he craved them.
“Do you want me?” He drew back, the head of his cock prodding her dripping entrance, before sliding back over her lips to nudge her clit.
Small tremors coursed her body. “Whatever you want, Husband.”
He gripped her chin, forced her to look at him. “Do you want my cock in your sweet little pussy?” His crown dipped the slightest bit inside her sheath, begging for full admittance. But he’d been a liar, too. He wanted her words, her confession of her own desire, as much as he needed her body’s response.
She shuddered beneath him, no doubt unused to such uncivilized language in her practical little world. She’d learn. In his bed, there was no polish. No sophistication. In his bed, there was only raw animal lust.
“Yes,” she said, her voice breaking.
His body expanded, his muscles swelling. He hid his triumphant grin by kissing her breathless. His wife wanted him, and by God she would have him.
He tugged her thigh wider and slammed into heaven.
***
Her breath fled from her lungs. Winnifred threw her head back in shock. Had he said there’d be no pain? He’d been wrong.
He thrust again, going deeper, and she couldn’t contain the whimper that slipped past her lips.
Sinclair slapped his palms next to her head and raised his upper body. His eyelids were at half-mast, his mouth loose as he held himself pressed tight to her. “Fuck me. You feel better than I dreamed.”
She exhaled a long breath, forcing her body to relax and accept the intrusion. The stretch of her body, the fullness, was as alien as his foul language. And as curious. It was inappropriate, speaking such in front of a woman. Taboo. A shiver trickled down her spine. Only a man could survive such a breach in propriety. Such freedom they had.
Sinclair gripped her skull, dropping his forehead to hers, as he eased back and thrust back in.
The pain was less this time, and the next foray brought a not unpleasant sensation to her core. Her legs widened on their own accord.
“That’s it, mo ghrâdh. Take all of me.” Sinclair dragged his palm down her side and grabbed her bottom, digging his nails into her flesh. The bite of pain had her arching into his next slide. Skin slapped against skin, the sound obscene … and thrilling.
She’d never engaged in such a lewd act. Even married, it felt wicked. Ungoverned. And it was mandated by her position as his wife. As long as she didn’t get too carried away. Didn’t become too excitable, she could let herself enjoy this. A little.
Her sheath clutched at his length, heat spreading throughout her body. She fisted her hands, digging her own nails into her skin, fighting to control the rising tide of sensation. That feeling of breaking apart he’d given her two days ago had been lovely, but it shouldn’t be replicated. It had left her too open when she needed her walls. She would take a moderate enjoyment as her husband found his pleasure in her, and it would be enough.
Sinclair grunted and hooked his arm under her knee, pushing her leg high. The angle changed, his manhood stroking along a new set of nerves, and a moan tumbled past her lips.
“That’s it.” He held himself tight to her pelvis and ground his pubic bone against her sensitized bud. “Get there.”
Shudders wracked her body. Turning her head, she pressed her cheek into the cool satin of the pillow. He’d have to finish soon. She only needed to hold out a little longer.
He growled. “Why are you fighting this? Fighting me?” He yanked on her hair, pulling her head up to his. He crushed his lips to hers, the kiss savage, stealing her breath. He drove faster, harder. Every time he bottomed out, she felt a pinch deep in her core, the bite of pain swirling with her pleasure until she could decipher which was which. Her husband was relentless. A force of nature she struggled to resist.
Her body spiraled tighter and tighter until there was nothing left to fight. The orgasm bordered on pain the relief was so great. Pulses rocked her body, the pleasure spiraling outward until it reached her curled toes. She cried out as he bit down on the tendon where her neck met her shoulder. Heat flooded her core as he muttered profanities in her ear.
The pleasant haze around her brain lifted, the sounds of their ragged breathing intruding. His weight was heavy against her, his heat her only warmth as her body rapidly cooled. She released her hold on her husband, realizing that she was digging her nails into his back hard enough to draw blood.
Which he only deserved. Her body felt bruised, from the inside out, pleasure and soreness warring with each other for dominance. Her muscles were limp with fatigue from the pleasure he’d unwillingly wrung from her.
She’d lost control. Again. Tears burned the backs of her eyes. Was this how it started for her mother? The beginning of the end?
Sinclair pulled out of her body, the feeling as foreign as it was good. He rolled to sitting, planting his legs on the ground off the side of the bed. Looking over his shoulder, his dark blue gaze pinned her in place.
“Wife. We need to talk.”