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Authors: Jillian Eaton
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quite put her finger to. So different than the men who powdered their hair and wore women’s perfume.
She had been so worried that Traverson would never be seen as a man due to his lowly title, when she should have realized all along it was not the title who made the man, but rather the man who made the title. No, her husband was not a Duke or a Marquess and she would never be a Duchess, but when one could have so much more than that, how could they complain? Traverson loved her unconditionally. Or at least, he had. And I shall make him love me anew , she promised herself as she stared into the smoky depths of his gray eyes.
“W-what are you getting at?” he asked, clearing his throat.
Josephine could not help but smile. Here was a man who would never take advantage of her. A man who would never use her and discard her, as William had done. A man who saw past her beauty to what was inside, dark and troubled as it was. A man so imperfectly perfect for her that it was astounding she had not seen it before. Or perhaps she simply had not been ready to see what had been right in front of her the entire time. Not until now. Not until this very moment in time.
“Kiss me,” she repeated softly. Standing on her tiptoes she grazed her lips across the curve of his jaw, delighting in the rough feel of his beard. Traverson had not shaved since coming to Kensington, and she found the shadow that covered his chin to be quite…
arousing. “When a woman asks you to kiss her, ‘tis best not to spend too much time contemplating your answer,” she murmured against his ear.
Traverson hissed out a breath between his teeth, his body fairly vibrating with tension. “Josephine…” he said, the warning note in his tone unmistakable.
“What?” All innocence, she hooked one finger inside of her collar and trailed the edge of her nail against his skin, leaving a path of goose bumps behind. “No one can see us. We are all alone, just you and I. Have you not dreamed of this moment?”
“A thousand times,” he replied raggedly.
Josephine arched one eyebrow. “Just a thousand? Well, we will have to change that, will we not? Kiss me, Traverson. Kiss me as if you never want to let me go.” She offered him her body, pushing against him until they were perfectly aligned, chest to chest, belly to belly, thigh to thigh. Tipping up her chin she closed her eyes and waited.
“This is a terrible idea,” he said.
“I know,” she whispered. “But let’s do it anyway.”
On a savage oath, he pressed his lips to hers.
CHAPTER EIGHT
It felt like he was sinking. Sinking into dark, tumultuous waters. Sinking into Josephine. She curved around him, her slender body sinuous as a serpent’s as her arms wound up on either side of his neck and her fingers tangled in the ends of his hair.
She smelled of honeysuckle and something darker. Something dangerous. He breathed her in as they came together, her lips against his lips, her tongue against his tongue. She whimpered low in her throat, and every inch of him grew hard.
There was no gentleness as Traverson skimmed his hands through her tightly wound coiffure and scattered the pins across the grass. No soft wooing as he wound his fingers through her tangled waterfall of golden mane and pulled, forcing her mouth to slant against his at a new angle that allowed him to plunder and punish.
Undaunted by his aggressiveness she met him stroke for stroke, her nails digging into his back through the thin linen of his shirt.
There was a fire within him, burning from the inside out. The flames licked away his inhibitions. Scorched his doubts. There were no what ifs. There were no questions. There was only lust and love and Josephine.
“Take me,” she pleaded, breaking free to nip at his neck where his pulse fluttered. “Take me, Traverson. Here. Now.”
Together they sank down to the earth. Wildflowers were Josephine’s pillow, Traverson’s long, lean body her blanket. She smiled coyly at him,
She had been so worried that Traverson would never be seen as a man due to his lowly title, when she should have realized all along it was not the title who made the man, but rather the man who made the title. No, her husband was not a Duke or a Marquess and she would never be a Duchess, but when one could have so much more than that, how could they complain? Traverson loved her unconditionally. Or at least, he had. And I shall make him love me anew , she promised herself as she stared into the smoky depths of his gray eyes.
“W-what are you getting at?” he asked, clearing his throat.
Josephine could not help but smile. Here was a man who would never take advantage of her. A man who would never use her and discard her, as William had done. A man who saw past her beauty to what was inside, dark and troubled as it was. A man so imperfectly perfect for her that it was astounding she had not seen it before. Or perhaps she simply had not been ready to see what had been right in front of her the entire time. Not until now. Not until this very moment in time.
“Kiss me,” she repeated softly. Standing on her tiptoes she grazed her lips across the curve of his jaw, delighting in the rough feel of his beard. Traverson had not shaved since coming to Kensington, and she found the shadow that covered his chin to be quite…
arousing. “When a woman asks you to kiss her, ‘tis best not to spend too much time contemplating your answer,” she murmured against his ear.
Traverson hissed out a breath between his teeth, his body fairly vibrating with tension. “Josephine…” he said, the warning note in his tone unmistakable.
“What?” All innocence, she hooked one finger inside of her collar and trailed the edge of her nail against his skin, leaving a path of goose bumps behind. “No one can see us. We are all alone, just you and I. Have you not dreamed of this moment?”
“A thousand times,” he replied raggedly.
Josephine arched one eyebrow. “Just a thousand? Well, we will have to change that, will we not? Kiss me, Traverson. Kiss me as if you never want to let me go.” She offered him her body, pushing against him until they were perfectly aligned, chest to chest, belly to belly, thigh to thigh. Tipping up her chin she closed her eyes and waited.
“This is a terrible idea,” he said.
“I know,” she whispered. “But let’s do it anyway.”
On a savage oath, he pressed his lips to hers.
CHAPTER EIGHT
It felt like he was sinking. Sinking into dark, tumultuous waters. Sinking into Josephine. She curved around him, her slender body sinuous as a serpent’s as her arms wound up on either side of his neck and her fingers tangled in the ends of his hair.
She smelled of honeysuckle and something darker. Something dangerous. He breathed her in as they came together, her lips against his lips, her tongue against his tongue. She whimpered low in her throat, and every inch of him grew hard.
There was no gentleness as Traverson skimmed his hands through her tightly wound coiffure and scattered the pins across the grass. No soft wooing as he wound his fingers through her tangled waterfall of golden mane and pulled, forcing her mouth to slant against his at a new angle that allowed him to plunder and punish.
Undaunted by his aggressiveness she met him stroke for stroke, her nails digging into his back through the thin linen of his shirt.
There was a fire within him, burning from the inside out. The flames licked away his inhibitions. Scorched his doubts. There were no what ifs. There were no questions. There was only lust and love and Josephine.
“Take me,” she pleaded, breaking free to nip at his neck where his pulse fluttered. “Take me, Traverson. Here. Now.”
Together they sank down to the earth. Wildflowers were Josephine’s pillow, Traverson’s long, lean body her blanket. She smiled coyly at him,
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