Upon A Midnight Dream (London Fairy Tales #1)(44)
Author: Rachel Van Dyken

His wicked smile widened. "What are you doing?"

Voice trembling, she answered, "You’ve been teaching me lessons, have you not? What kind of student would I be if I didn’t learn from my teacher? I’m merely mirroring your actions." Her hands moved to his jacket, but they betrayed her, shaking as she helped him out of it, softly pressing her palm to his chest feeling the warmth through his shirtsleeves and trying with all her might not to tremble with desire as his eyes turned black. His teasing gaze was all but gone, and in its place something far fiercer. Fear fought with excitement as Stefan grabbed her hands and thrust them above her head, tumbling her onto the bed with little effort. His hands still held hers. Breathing ragged, she noticed how her breath seemed to come out in shorts gasps as he gazed upon her face then lower and lower until she knew she had to be bright red. Never had she been more nervous. Not knowing what to say, she merely stared at his muscular form as he hovered over her.

"Tonight, I am still the teacher, and you, my sweet Rose, will be the pupil. Have you any complaints with that?"

Rosalind shook her head as Stefan’s head closed in around hers, his lips caressing hers as he spoke.

"Good, because I have a lot to teach you and apparently a lot to prove. After all, my sonnets are stupid, my manners horrendous, my proposals ridiculous, and my romance in dire need of improvement. It appears I have only this one night, this one chance to prove to you that I can truly be the prince who rescues the princess. The one to make you scream out with pleasure — first seeking yours then my own… yes, this will be the night that you, my beauty, will sleep a deep sleep of satisfaction, for I lay myself — all of me — at your very feet."

Would it be terribly rude for her to tell him to stop talking? For at that moment she was ready for anything he wanted to give to her. And his talking, his romancing, was driving her mad. Possession and desire overwhelmed her.

Moved to tears, Rosalind closed her eyes. If she could not see him, then perhaps her heart would not become more engaged. And then he kissed her, very softly across her lips. A more reverent kiss she had never experienced, for it spoke of promises, of love, and devotion. It was the way she had always wanted to be kissed, and when she opened her eyes, a single tear fell. For Stefan, the brute of a duke was looking at her the way she had always wanted to be looked at.

With adoration. So instead of closing her eyes again, or fighting his onslaught of passion. She lifted, very slightly, her head towards his and returned his soft kiss, allowing her tongue to run across his bottom lip. Scared out of her wits, she finally decided, she would give him all — everything she had — and hope it would be enough.

Stefan watched the torment of emotions play across Rosalind’s face. A decision had been made, and he could tell the very second it happened. For Rosalind arched, reached towards him and kissed him. A more innocent and beautiful kiss Stefan had never encountered. Her velvet tongue ran across his lips and then slowly, agonizingly she opened her mouth to him. Everything seemed new and alive. The smell of roses drifted around him dancing across the room. The fire roared and spat in the distance, the snow fell lightly across the ground when he glanced out the window. And his wife, his beautiful treasure, was irresistible. Her large green eyes and soft porcelain skin caused him to ache to touch her forever, to never let his hands leave her body. He would never get tired of the way her silky skin felt beneath his rough hands. Or the way her hair appeared to be on fire.

He reached out and grabbed handful of hair thrusting his hands deeper into the mass of red perfection and let out a groan as he lifted it and at the same time lifted Rosalind to a sitting position on the bed. With little effort, he had her leaning against the large wooden bed. Like a perfect doll, she sat. With a mischievous grin, that he couldn’t have helped even if he wanted to, he stripped himself of his shirt. Rosalind’s eyes widened. A smile quirked at her lips. The minx, he had forgotten she had already seen him in all his glory. And now he wondered, would the thrill still be present?

Her hand reached out and caressed his muscled stomach. He let out a short gasp as her nails dug into his flesh as she reached around and pulled him down to her.

"Has the lesson then commenced?"

With a smug grin, he shook his head. "Not even close, my love, not even close."

Laughing, he pulled at her dress. Scandalized, she was not. With a joint effort, he stripped her until all that was left was her corset and chemise. He could see the outline of her body through the moonlight and firelight. And wondered if a man could truly die when he gazed upon such beauty. Soft curves framed her tall form and he found his mouth run completely dry as his eyes took in the glorious picture in front of him.

"Stefan?" she asked, slightly covering herself. Cursing himself for openly gawking at her, he made quick work of her corset, all the while hoping she wouldn’t lose her nerve, not now.

"You are—" he said untying the first of her several laces "—by far—" another was loosened "—the most tantalizing woman I have ever seen."

She let out a gasp as he roughly pulled another lace. Fingers numbly went about loosening the rest of her laces. For a half moment, he wondered if Rosalind would be terribly upset if he decided upon cutting up her corset rather than unlacing her. Surely he could have saved time.

As his brain was getting used to the idea, he noticed a shiver run through Rosalind. It was quick, her head was bowed, and the thought hit him. Could she possibly be afraid? Perhaps fearful of him? Laying a hand on her shoulder, he allowed his other hand to untie the last of the laces. A rapid heartbeat pulsed through the heat of his hand.

Feeling slightly guilty for being so rough with her before, and tossing her on the bed like some Cyprian, Stefan took a deep breath and braced her shoulders, turning her towards him as her corset slipped to the floor, leaving the beauty in nothing save her chemise and silk stockings.

As he gazed upon the woman who had so captured his heart, he realized he must truly humble himself before her. Not in a proposal, not even because he was trying to be romantic, but because his heart demanded he give fully to her what was hers.

So, on his knees he went, taking a bow as he pressed a kiss to her palm and then her wrist. At a slow pace, Stefan took hold of the chemise and lifted it higher and higher until his eyes rested on the most beautiful expanse of creamy white leg, he had ever seen in his existence. Bestowing a kiss upon her thigh, he continued to lift, until he was face to face with his wife and the chemise was tossed away from her body.