When one is the rightful heir and the other wants everything just for himself. Josephine realised that she was caught in the middle of a succession war.
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Josephine knew a moment of uncertainty when she saw the desire suddenly smouldering in his eyes, as though he'd kept it banked and was now free to unleash it. She'd been unable to ignore the tenderness toward him that his time with Henry had stirred within her. She wanted to know him in every way possible. She was tired of being the patient wife.
She wanted to open her heart completely. Then his hand was cradling her face, his mouth was on hers, and she realised that she might very well be falling in love with her husband.
She'd never known a touch so tender, a kiss so enticing, both encouraging her to surrender to his seduction. Not with force or insistence, but with the simple act of granting what she'd asked for and taking no more.
Twisting around, she improved the angle, the positioning of their bodies, giving him permission to deepen the kiss, which he did with enthusiasm. She responded in kind, her arms going around his neck, vaguely aware that he was changing their position once again, carefully laying her on the thick carpet beneath them.
He had one arm around her, the other hand still on her face, his fingers inching up, becoming entangled in her hair which one of Eleanor's servants had pulled back and braided before she'd retired for bed.
He trailed kisses along her jaw, down her throat, murmuring her name as though it were a benediction. Then his mouth was again on hers, with a subtle difference.
He was no longer holding back.
It was as though he couldn't get enough, as though she'd never be able to satisfy the desire burning within him. His groans echoed around her while his tongue explored and his lips taunted.
"What do you want?" he asked, his breath mingling with hers, the kiss barely stopped as he asked.
"What do you want?" she replied.
"Everything you're willing and able to give this night." He pulled back slightly, his gaze near enough that she could see dark black flecks in his deep green eyes. She could see the passion and the doubts, but more she could see the fondness, the possibility for love.
"I want your hair unbound," he rasped, "your buttons undone. I want your touch on my bare chest, my back, in my hair. I want to look at you but be so close I can't see all of you. But mostly I want you to want what I have to offer. Give me permission and I will be as gentle as the night falling around you."
Permission? What an odd thing for a husband to ask for. Had she ever given him the impression that she wouldn't grant it, that she didn't want this moment? Wasn't she the one prodding and prompting and urging him on?
She would have never thought her husband, a duke, would be uncertain of her desire for him, that he would doubt that she wanted him. A man who ruled estates and was coming to rule her heart. She smiled warmly, and he dipped his head, kissing her cheek.
