Giselle nodded, a small, unsteady motion. Victor rose slightly in the water, his arms braced on the edge of the tub, steam rising around his shoulders as he watched her. His eyes traced the curve of her throat, the way her fingers fumbled with the laces of her nightgown.
"Come here," he murmured, his voice low and coaxing. She stepped closer, the hem of her nightgown brushing against the stone floor, her heart hammering in her chest. Victor's hand reached for her, his fingers firm against her waist as he guided her into the tub. The water was shockingly warm, enveloping her like a living thing. Her wet nightgown clung to her hips as her gently pulled it off her body, his skin felt like ice despite the warm water.
"You're cold." She shivered under his hands, though it wasn't from cold. His fingers traced the line of her collarbone before sliding down her arms, peeling away the fabric.
She helped him ease the damp material over her head, and now she stood naked before him, the water swirling around her thighs. Victor's breath caught as he took her in, the firelight catching the droplets on her skin. His eyes darkened as they traced the curves of her body, the shadowed hollows between her ribs, the swell of her breasts breaking the surface of the water. He lifted a hand from the tub and cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing the corner of her mouth.
"You're beautiful," he said, rough with want. Her eyes met his as she clung to his shoulders, "I think you may have lost your mind." She muttered.
His thumb traced the corner of her mouth, and the way his fingers trembled against her skin made her breath catch.
"You may be right," he murmured, though his gaze never left hers. "But I think I know what I want." His other hand slid down her arm, his fingers warm against the chill of her skin. The water swirled around them both, the steam rising thick between their faces.
Giselle should have pulled away. She should have said something cutting, turned this into a game of wit and distance like she had a hundred times before. But she couldn't not when the weight of his hands felt like victory, when the steam made his skin shine like silver, when the way he held her felt like something she had been waiting for all her life.
"You'll have to convince me," she whispered, though she pressed closer, her breath mingling with the heat rising from the water.
Victor's smile was slow and hungry as his hands moved to her waist, pulling her against him until her bare skin met his. She gasped at the contrast his chest still cold from the sea, her skin burning with want—his grip firm as he pressed her against him. "I think I can manage that," he murmured against her throat, his lips brushing the sensitive skin just below her ear.
Victor pulled back slightly, watching her face as his hands settled at the curve of her back. His grey eyes were dark with restrained need, but also something softer something that made Giselle's breath catch. His fingers traced the vertebrae down to the dip of her waist, pressing gently into the flesh there. The heat of the water made her skin hypersensitive to the touch, and every movement of his hands sent shivers across her back.
"You," she breathed, her voice uneven, "are insufferable."
His smile was slow, knowing. "And you love it," he murmured.
"Do I?" She bent closer to his face her lips inches from his, "What makes you so sure?" Victor's hands slid lower, his thumbs pressing into the dip of her back as he pulled her even closer. The water lapped at their joined bodies, a constant murmur of heat and motion.
"Because," he murmured, lips brushing hers, "you haven't pushed me away yet." His breath was warm against her mouth, his scent sea salt and pine filling her lungs. A sliver off annoyance swelled in response to his words. She pulled away but his hands tightened, holding her in place.
"Do not be smug," she warned, though she spoke breathlessly, betraying the effect he had on her. Victor's chuckle was low and pleased.
"Would I dare?" His fingers traced the curve of her waist, his touch light yet deliberate. The contrast of his cold fingers against her heated skin sent another shudder through her.
"I think you would," she said, even as she allowed him to guide her back into the kiss he had nearly stolen. His lips met hers with a possessiveness she felt in her bones. His hands framed her face, holding her steady as he deepened the kiss, his tongue teasing hers with a slow pressure that left her gasping.
His touch felt like fire in her veins his touch burned through her with every movement of his hands, every press of his lips against hers. She had never felt so alive, so undone, so this. Her fingers curled into his hair, tugging slightly as he deepened the kiss, as his tongue tangled with hers in slow, deliberate strokes that made her head spin. The water sloshed around them as he guided her back against the edge of the tub, his body pressing hers against the smooth stone behind her. The cool surface against her back felt inconsequential next to the heat of him surrounding her, the way his chest brushed against her hardened nipples, the way his thigh slipped between hers.
"V-Victor I-" She broke the kiss, her breath coming in quick, uneven gasps. His lips followed hers down, tracing the line of her jaw to the sensitive spot just below her ear.
"Tell me," he murmured, his voice rough with need. "Tell me what you want." Her fingers curled tighter into his shoulders, nails biting into muscle. She could scarcely think, let alone form words.
The water lapped at their joined bodies, the steam rising thick between their faces. His hands slid down her sides, his thumbs pressing into the soft curve of her hips.
"You," she finally whispered, her voice little more than a breath. "I want you." The words escaped her as if ripped from her throat, raw and aching with need.
Victor's grip on her hips tightened, his grey eyes darkening as they burned into hers. Without another word, he shifted her onto the wide ledge that bordered the bathing tub, the smooth stone cool against her back. His hands never left her, tracing the line of her thigh as he knelt before her in the water, his gaze never wavering from hers. The steam swirled around them, thick and oppressive, making his skin glisten like molten silver. "Show me," he murmured, his voice rough with restrained need. "Show me how much you want me."
Her fingers slid through his damp hair, guiding his face closer to where she sat on the ledge. His lips brushed the inside of her thigh, his breath hot against her skin. Every nerve in her body ignited at the touch, at the promise of what was to come.
"You are relentless," she gasped, though her grip on his shoulders drew him nearer.
Victor smiled against her skin, the corner of his mouth curving as he placed one kiss, then another, higher along her inner thigh. His hands rested on her knees, fingers spreading the folds of her skin with careful precision, holding her just so. Her eyes glazed over as she drank him in, the way he moved against her, the deliberate press of his mouth, the way his teeth grazed her sensitive skin. His breath was hot through the water's steam, his mouth open as he kissed her, as he pulled her closer. When his tongue finally found her center, she cried out, her back arching against the stone. His hands tightened on her thighs, keeping her steady as he tasted her, as he consumed her with slow, deliberate strokes. The pressure of his tongue was exquisite, maddening, curling around her swollen bud with precision. His mouth sucked at her with a rhythm that made her toes curl, her fingers tangling in his hair. She felt as though she were the universe being reborn and shaped a new she never imagined she could feel this. The tension inside her built, coiling tighter as Victor's tongue worked against her with relentless precision. His hands held her firmly in place, fingers pressing into the soft flesh of her inner thighs as he worshipped her. Her breath came in sharp gasps, her hips shifting under his touch.
"Victor—" she broke, the word dissolving into a moan as he increased the pressure, his tongue flicking against her swollen bud in rapid, maddening circles. His fingers flexed against her skin, his breathing ragged as he felt her tightening beneath him.
"Let go," he murmured against her, his words vibrating against her most sensitive flesh. She shattered. Her back arched off the stone ledge, a choked cry tearing from her lips as her body convulsed with pleasure. Victor's grip on her thighs tightened, holding her steady as he continued to taste her, his tongue relentless against her pulsing center. Her fingers clawed at his hair, tugging sharply as she rode out the intense waves of her climax, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps. He lifted his face from between her thighs, his eyes dark and intense as he watched her come undone, his lips glistening with her essence. His hands slid up her body, tracing the curve of her hips, her waist, before cupping her breasts. His thumbs brushed over her hardened nipples, teasing them in slow circles that made her shudder with oversensitivity. She whimpered, her body still shuddering from the aftereffects of his attentions.
"That's it," he murmured, his words rough but soft. "Let me hear you." His thumbs continued their maddening circles, his fingers pressing lightly into the soft flesh of her breasts as he kneaded them gently.
She was still quivering with pleasure when he leaned in, capturing one peaked nipple between his lips. A gasp tore from her as his tongue flicked over the sensitive bud, his teeth grazing the edge before sucking gently. He shifted his aching cock He shifted his aching cock against her thigh, the water lapping around them both as he pressed closer. His chest heaved with ragged breaths, his eyes locked on hers as he positioned himself between her spread legs. With a slow, deliberate thrust, he entered her, the tight heat of her body enveloping him completely. A low groan escaped his lips as he buried himself to the hilt, his hands gripping her hips tightly. The water sloshed around them, the steam rising in thick clouds as he began to move. His hips rolled in a steady, rhythmic motion, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through them both. His fingers dug into her soft flesh, holding her steady as he claimed her with relentless intensity. She screamed unable to hold back the sensation as Victor thrust into her, the water sloshing wildly around them. Her nails raked down his back, leaving red welts as she pulled him impossibly closer, her teeth sinking into his shoulder as her body convulsed around him. His answering growl reverberated through the chamber, his own climax imminent as he felt her tighten around him, her body milking his cock for every drop of pleasure he had to give. He drove into her harder, faster, his hips slapping against hers as the world narrowed to the point where they joined. Their shared moans filled the steam-filled chamber, echoing off the stone walls as their bodies moved in perfect, desperate rhythm.
The water churns around them, waves of steam rising like a living thing between their skin. Victor's hands slide beneath her, palms flattening against the cool stone ledge as he angles her hips, changing the angle of every thrust. His movements become deliberate, measured, as if he's determined to wring every last shivering gasp from her body. Giselle can feel him everywhere—his chest pressing against her aching nipples, his breath ragged against her throat, his cock filling her with relentless precision.
"Victor—" she manages, the word half plea, half prayer.
He answers by biting down gently on her shoulder, his tongue flicking over the skin after. "Feel this," he growls, his voice thick with need. "All of it."
Her body obeys him before her mind can form a protest. The angle shifts again, and suddenly he's rubbing against something inside her that makes stars burst behind her eyelids. She clings to him, her nails scoring his shoulders, her legs wrapping tight around his waist as he drives into her again and again. The stone ledge bites into her back, a sharp contrast to the heat of his skin, the relentless rhythm of his hips.
Victor's breathing turns ragged, his control slipping in fragments. His hands slide from beneath her, gripping her hips with bruising force as he pulls her down to meet his thrusts. She sobbed, "Too- g-good!" His chuckle is dark and approving, and the sound sends another tremor through her. "Good," he murmurs again, his words scarcely more than breath against her skin. "Let it be good."
He doesn't relent. He doesn't slow. Victor's body moves against hers with a rhythm that feels both practiced and desperate, each thrust drawing from her a response she can't control. Her fingers find purchase in his hair again, gripping as her body arches beneath him. The water has gone still around them, disturbed only by the violence of their coupling, steam rising like a curtain between them and the rest of the world.
"Look at me," he commands, his voice rough with effort. Her glass eyes lock with his and for a moment she sees it, what she has wanted all this time. His face is fierce, consumed, his storm-grey eyes darkened to near black. A shudder runs through him as he moves into her, his grip on her hips tightening. His thumb brushes over the damp skin where her thigh meets her hip, the touch almost tender against the roughness of his thrusts. "You're mine," he growls, his breath hot against her ear.
"I will ruin you for anyone else."
The words send fresh shudders through her, even as her body screams with overstimulation. His pace stutters, his rhythm faltering as pleasure claws up his spine. Giselle feels the moment he starts to come his cock pulsing deep inside her, his hips jerking against hers. His teeth clench as a ragged groan tears from his throat, the sound sending fresh quivers through her body. He buries himself deep, pouring into her with a final, powerful thrust that wrings another cry from her lips. Her body clamps around him, milking every last drop as pleasure wracks her nerves. Victor shudders above her, his forehead pressing against hers as he catches his breath. The water ripples around them in time with their slowing breaths. Slowly, carefully, he withdraws from her, though he keeps himself close, his arms still caging her against the stone ledge. She slumps against the ledge clenching her eyes shut she can't dare to look at him she questioned if wanting someone so this badly was normal. Victor shifts his weight, resting his hands on the ledge beside her as the water slowly stills around them. He is still breathing hard, his chest rising and falling against hers, his skin damp from sweat and steam. His thumb brushes lightly against her hip, where he had gripped her so firmly moments before.
"You're did well tonight the banquet was a success," he murmurs, speaking with the roughness of a man who has recently spent himself. He shifts his gaze to where his thumb moves, tracing the edge of her hipbone through the water. His touch remains light, almost tender.
Giselle keeps her eyes closed, her face turned slightly away from him. She swallows hard, willing her body to steady itself.
Giselle keeps her eyes closed, her face turned slightly away from him. She swallows hard, willing her body to steady itself. She opened her eyes at his praise, "I don't want to talk about that."
She flinched feeling warm water spill in between her thighs, he cleaned her gently. His fingers moved between her thighs, gently wiping away the evidence of their union. The motion sent another weak ripple through her, though the intensity had faded to a dull ache. She shifted against the stone ledge, her body heavy and exhausted, but unable to relax fully beneath his persistent touch.
"You don't want to talk?" he murmured, his eyes flicking up to meet hers for a brief moment before returning to his task. "But you're always talking. Always challenging."
He rinsed the cloth in the warm water, then brought it back to clean her with meticulous care. His touch was delicate, almost worshipful at odds with the rough intensity of moments ago.
She turned her face away, biting her lower lip. "That woman.....she was-" She swallowed hard, the words catching in her throat. The woman Elena Loris had been watching her at the banquet with calculated interest, her dark eyes following Giselle's every movement. She had felt it then, and she could still feel it now, like a cold spot at the edge of her vision. The memory of Elena's smirk, of the way she had spoken to Victor, of how she had leaned into him with her honeyed words it pricked at Giselle like a persistent irritation.
She shifted again beneath his touch, avoiding his gaze. He lifted her chin with two fingers, turning her face toward him. His touch is gentle, but the insistence behind it is unmistakable. His eyes darken, a hint of challenge in them. "You're still thinking of her," he observes quietly. "Of how she looks at me."
Giselle exhales sharply, her face flushing despite herself. She tries to pull away, but Victor simply follows, keeping his grip on her chin as he studies her. "I don't have to think of her at all," she says, the words coming out more defensive than she intends.
Victor's mouth twitches at the corner, not quite a smile, but something close. His thumb brushes along her lower lip before he speaks again. "You're lying."
"Is my wife jealous?"
Giselle's flush deepened as she opened her eyes to meet his, the firelight casting golden shadows across his cheekbones. She swallowed hard, feeling the truth in his words even as she tried to deny them. Her hand came up to push his away, taking the cloth she gripped his length with out warning.
"Jealousy is for fools," she replied, her voice lower than she intended. Victor's storm-grey eyes held hers with quiet intensity, and she felt the challenge in his gaze.
The Duke allowed her to grip him, his body still sensitive from their recent coupling. He made no move to stop her, though he let out a low chuckle at her sudden aggression. "Is that so?" he murmured, his hips shifting ever so slightly, encouraging her hand's movements.
"Then why do you cling to me like a drowning woman, wife?" His free hand came up to wrap around her wrist, not to remove her grip but to steady it, guiding her strokes with deliberate slowness. His chest rose and fell against hers, his skin burning hot in the steam-filled chamber. The atmosphere began to grow increasingly erotic She was acutely aware of his cock hardening in her grip, of the subtle changes in his breathing, of the way his eyelids grew heavy as she touched him. The way he shifted, the way his hand guided hers with patient precision—it all sent fresh waves of heat through her body, even as she felt foolish for her outburst.
"I don't cling to you," she protested weakly, though the firmness of her grip belied her words. Her fingers flexed around him, her thumb sliding across the tip where a bead of moisture had already gathered. Victor's breath left him in a low hiss, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment before snapping back open to meet hers.
"Then what is this?" He speaks quietly, rough-edged, but carrying unmistakable intent. His hips roll forward, pushing his growing erection deeper into her grip. His free hand moves to cradle the back of her head, fingers threading through her damp hair. The heat of the water, the steam, the firelight everything in the room feels suffocating, overwhelming.
"Is this anger?" he asks, his thumb brushing against the corner of her mouth. "Or is it something else?"
Giselle's breath catches as he speaks, his words wrapping around her like the steam curling between them. She can feel the evidence of his arousal against her palm, feel the way his body tenses under her touch. The cloth slips from her hands as she glares at the man staring down at her without leaving his eyes she brings his cock to her lips, her tongue darting out taking a tentative taste. Salt and musk, all him. She drags her tongue along the shaft before taking the tip fully into her mouth, his sharp intake of breath fueling her resolve. His hand tightens in her hair not pulling, just holding while the other grips the ledge behind her. She swirls her tongue around the head, savoring the way his breathing falters, the way his hips twitch involuntarily toward her mouth. When she glances up through her lashes, his gaze burns down at her, pupils blown wide with arousal. She hollows her cheeks and sucks, the wet heat enveloping him as her fingers press into his hips to hold him still. Victor's head falls back with a groan, his fingers curling against the ledge hard enough that his knuckles whiten.
"Fuck," he rasps, the sound rough with want. His other hand finally, finally moves from the back of her head to cradle the nape of her neck. Not guiding, not forcing just feeling. His thumb brushes over the sensitive skin there as he shifts his hips, testing how much control he can give her. When she swirls her tongue around the tip and draws another slow pull, his body tenses, a tremor running through his frame. He speaks with forced steadiness, though his breathing is uneven. "You're cruel, wife." He exhales shakily, his hips flexing against the pressure of her mouth. His grip tightens slightly in her hair, not pulling but anchoring himself as she takes him deeper. The heat of the steam and the firelight flicker across his face, his jaw clenched in pleasure and restraint. "Cruel and perfect," he murmurs, his words laced with arousal and admiration. His free hand comes down to brush over her cheek, his thumb tracing her lower lip as she pulls back slightly, her mouth glistening with her efforts. The way she moves deliberate, teasing drives him to the edge.
But she rises grabbing a towel, her thumb wiping his essence from her lips, she glanced at him, "Don't forget that you also belong to me, husband."
The words strike him like a physical blow, his chest heaving as he stares at her with something akin to shock and awe. His cock, still hard and glistening from her attentions, twitches involuntarily at the claim. He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again, his throat working as he swallows hard. His hand remains pressed against the ledge, fingers still curled around the stone as he processes her words. A slow, dangerous smile curls his lips.
"Are you going to leave me wanting and unspent for you?" She wrapped the towel around her body her back facing him. The towel clings to her curves, damp and revealing where it molds against her skin. She knows he's watching her, senses the way his gaze burns into her as she moves deliberately toward the brazier drying herself, "If you want more you'll have to join me in bed." She glances over her shoulder a fire in her eyes.
For the first time in their new marriage the two spent the night seeking the greatest heights of pleasure. Their bodies tangled with each other for hours, no stopping or desire to be stopped until their primal need for sleep won the next round.
*****
The next morning Giselle cradled her sheets as she felt the coldness of a still morning air, the bed linens had shifted during the night, leaving her exposed to the coolness of the room. The fire had died to embers, casting an orange glow that flickered against the stone walls. She pulled the sheets tighter around her body, her mind still heavy with sleep as she breathed in the musky scent of sex and sweat clinging to the blankets. Victor was gone, though the evidence of his presence remained impressions on the mattress, his discarded clothes on the floor, the faint pressure of where his body had been curled around hers only moments ago. She lay still for a long moment, listening to the quiet of the castle around her.
She felt her skin buzz a small smile forming on her lips, memories of the night flooding back. She remembered his hands—how they had moved over her body, strong and confident. How he had murmured against her skin, words half-lost in passion. The way his breath had heated her neck when he buried himself inside her. A pleasant ache lingered between her thighs, a reminder of his presence even after he had gone. The sheets were cool where the fire had died, but beneath them, she still felt the ghost of his body, the phantom press of his fingertips against her back. Outside, the castle hummed with the beginnings of a new day. The door creaked open, "Are you awake yet mistress?"
Giselle internally moaned, "No. Go away." Clara's soft chuckle carries through the doorway. "I've brought tea, Your Grace. And fresh water for washing." Her footsteps draw closer. Giselle pulls the sheets over her head, burrowing deeper into the mattress. The blankets smell like him. The aroma of him makes her inhale the smell, savoring it, remembering how he'd murmured against her skin last night.
Clara appears at the edge of the bed, setting the tray with care. "You must be starving after—" She stops herself, clearing her throat delicately. Her cheeks flush slightly as she straightens the already perfect tea set. Giselle peeks out from beneath the covers, meeting Clara's knowing look with narrowed eyes. Giselle stifled a laugh, then to her mortification she wondered how loud they were. Clara's lips twitch, and she hands Giselle the cup with practiced ease, careful not to let her fingers linger. "Your tea, my lady," she says softly, her words carrying the tiniest undercurrent of amusement. "Though it seems you found other sustenance last night."
Giselle's face burns hot as she accepts the cup, cradling it between her palms to ward off the chill. She sips slowly, savoring the heat that spreads through her chest. The tea is strong and rich, perfectly steeped the kind a dutiful attendant might prepare for a woman who had just spent an entire night in passionate union with her husband.
"Clara please if you go on I will die from embarrassment! How do you know?" Clara stifles a laugh as she kneels to refill the basin with fresh water. "Your Grace," she begins, her tone carefully neutral even as she smirks. "I can hear the Duke moving about the halls. He walks like a man... content. And then there's this—" She gestures to the tumbled sheets, the rumpled blankets, the way the bed is shifted askew. "Your Grace left quite a mark on him."
Giselle burrows deeper under the covers, hiding her face even as she speaks. "That's—" She clears her throat, trying to sound dignified despite the flush that spreads across her face. "That's hardly my doing."
"Oh?" Clara raises a brow, feigning innocence as she reaches for a fresh cloth. "Not your doing, my lady? But I've never seen the Duke look so thoroughly... well, satisfied."
She dips the cloth into the warm water, wringing it out with practiced ease. "And the state of this room—" She sweeps a hand over the disheveled bed, the discarded clothing, the subtle musk of sweat and arousal that still clings to the air. "It tells quite a story, Your Grace. One that suggests you were very... attentive to your husband's needs."
"Enough. Tell me the day's agenda." Clara smirks as she sets the damp cloth on the tray. "The Duke is meeting with the shipwrights this morning. Lord Darion and Lady Isolde have already breakfasted and departed for the Sunken Keep."
She folds the sheet with swift precision, smoothing it over the mattress. "Elena Loris has sent word that she intends to call upon you later today."
Giselle's fingers tighten around her tea. "Did she say why?"
Clara shakes her head. "Only that she wished to discuss matters of propriety." She pauses, choosing her words carefully. "She seems eager to ensure you know your place here at Greyhaven."
"And what place is that?"
Giselle speaks, sharp and cutting as she sets the tea aside.
Clara hesitates. "She does not think of you as a Duchess yet, my lady. You have the title but she—" She sighs, adjusting the collar of Giselle's nightgown with careful fingers. "She believes the Duke married you to secure an alliance, not because he loves you."
The words settle between them like a weight. Giselle's lips press into a thin line, her jaw tightening. She stares at the fire's dying embers, her mind conjuring the look in Elena's dark eyes when they last spoke—mocking, calculating, utterly certain of her place here at Greyhaven. She rolled her eyes, "If that vile woman had her way she would be one in his chambers." She groaned, "How much longer are they going to stay?" Clara folded a pair of stockings with careful deliberation, the morning sun cutting across her hands as she worked. "Elena's ship departs at week's end, my lady," she replied, her voice carefully neutral. "Though I suspect she may linger longer if she finds some excuse."
Giselle reached for the teacup, her fingers wrapping around the warm ceramic. "Great. This will be the longest week of my life."