In Which a Marriage Is Properly Consummated

And I learn what I've been missing.

*WARNING! Not Safe for Work Content*

By the time I reached our bedchamber—*our* bedchamber, a phrase that ignited a storm of anticipation and raw nerves within me—my hands trembled so violently that I fumbled the door handle twice, my fingers slick with sweat before I finally twisted it open.

The room had been utterly transformed while I'd been away. Mrs. Hathaway, bless her intuitive soul, had anticipated my unspoken desires once again, lighting what must have been a score of candles that bathed the space in a sultry, golden glow. The familiar furniture now seemed charged with intimacy, shadows dancing seductively across the walls. The bed was turned down, exposing sheets of the finest silk—far more luxurious than my usual sturdy linens—and scattered with crimson rose petals that screamed of romantic indulgence, making my cheeks burn with a heat that spread lower, pooling between my thighs.

But it was the man by the window who stole my breath entirely, like a predator poised in the flickering light.

Percy had shed his dinner jacket and waistcoat, standing there in nothing but his shirtsleeves and those sinfully tight dark trousers that accentuated every dangerous curve of his form. His cravat was gone, baring the strong, corded column of his throat, and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearms corded with muscle that I'd been stealing glances at for months, imagining how they'd feel pinning me down.

He turned at the click of the door, and the smile that curved his lips was laced with raw anticipation and a depth of emotion that bordered on worship—reverence mixed with unbridled hunger.

"Mrs. Raventhorn," he drawled, savoring my new name like a forbidden delicacy, sending a rush of molten heat straight to my core. "You look nervous as hell."

"I am nervous," I confessed, no point in hiding it when my hands shook like leaves in a gale and I stood rooted just inside the door, prey sensing the wolf's approach.

"Good nervous or the kind that has you bolting for the hills?" he asked, his voice a gentle rumble, making no move to close the distance. "Because if it's terror, we can just talk tonight. Hell, we can play cards if you want. No rush, Margot—no one's forcing this."

His offer was so damn kind, so patient in a world where men rarely were, that it eased the knot in my chest just a fraction. My previous husbands? They'd never bothered with my feelings. They'd stormed in, rutted like animals with all the finesse of a blunt instrument, and vanished to their own beds in under five minutes, leaving me sore and unsatisfied.

"I don't know," I admitted rawly. "I want you—God, do I want you. But I'm not sure what that truly entails. Or what you'll demand of me."

He studied me for a long moment, his gaze intense, piercing, but not uncomfortable—it felt like he was seeing straight into my soul, stripping away the layers.

"What I demand," he said at last, stepping closer with deliberate, predatory grace, "is to devote this night to uncovering every secret that makes my wife moan in ecstasy. I want to kiss, lick, and devour every inch of your skin you'll bare to me. I want to fuck you senseless until you know, deep in your bones, how utterly ravishing and desirable you are."

His words were liquid fire, scorching through my veins, chased by a flutter of doubt. "That sounds... ambitious. Exhausting, even."

"It will be," he promised, halting just inches away, his body heat enveloping me like a carnal embrace. "If you allow it."

"My previous marriages weren't..." I fumbled for words that didn't make me sound like a naive fool. "My husbands were more... expedient. Clinical."

Something feral flashed in his eyes. "Expedient?"

"Quick as a flash," I clarified, my face flaming. "They'd arrive, shove in, pump a few times, spill their seed, and leave. Rarely more than a handful of minutes, and never with any regard for me."

The silence that crashed down was thunderous, heavy with unspoken fury. When I dared look up, his jaw was clenched, veins throbbing in his neck like he was holding back a storm.

"They didn't... pleasure you? Make sure you came undone?" He bit out the words, then inhaled sharply. "Did they even try?"

"Pleasure?" I echoed, the concept foreign as a distant land. "That wasn't the goal. It was duty— heirs, not orgasms."

"Jesus Christ," he growled, and then his hands were on my face, cradling it with a firmness that demanded attention. "Margot, listen to me, darling. Tonight has fuck-all to do with duty or those pathetic excuses for men. This is about raw, unfiltered pleasure. *Your* pleasure. And I'll take all goddamn night if that's what it requires to shatter you with it."

His thumbs stroked my cheekbones like I was sacred, fragile yet unbreakable. "What if I'm hopeless at it?" I whispered, the fear clawing up. "What if I can't respond the way you envision? What if I'm broken?"

His smile was wicked, devastating, full of promise. "Then I'll teach you, step by filthy step. We'll explore together. There's no 'wrong' in pleasure, Margot—only what sets your body on fire."

When he claimed my mouth, it was with that same reverent intensity—slow at first, coaxing my lips apart, then delving deep with a tongue that danced and demanded. I sighed into him, and he growled, deepening the kiss until my knees buckled, the world spinning.

"That's the response I crave," he murmured against my swollen lips, his breath hot.

His fingers attacked the buttons of my gown with expert precision—far too skilled for a gentleman, making me wonder just how many women he'd undressed before. But when I tensed, he froze.

"Still with me?" he asked, voice husky.

"Yes," I breathed, my voice a needy whisper I barely recognized. "I'm just... unaccustomed to someone savoring this."

"Then prepare for a revelation," he said, his grin pure sin as the gown slithered off my shoulders, pooling at my feet in a silken heap.

"Exquisite," he rasped, his eyes devouring me in my chemise and stays, hunger etched in every line of his face. "So fucking beautiful."

No man had ever uttered such words while stripping me bare. No one had looked at me like I was a feast to be savored, not a chore to endure.

"Your turn," I bolded, shocking myself with the command.

His brows arched in delighted surprise. "Bossy, are we, Lady Raventhorn?"

"A plea for equity," I shot back, emboldened. "Strip."

He chuckled, the sound vibrating through the room like thunder, and unbuttoned his shirt with tantalizing slowness, revealing a chest sculpted like a Greek god—broad, dusted with dark hair that trailed down to his navel, muscles rippling under golden skin.

I'd never seen a man fully bare; my ex-husbands had kept their nightshirts on for their hasty thrusts. But Percy? He was a masterpiece, making my mouth water and my core clench with want.

"Like what you see?" he teased, noting my stare.

"Immensely," I admitted, then reached out, tracing his collarbone with a trembling finger.

He sucked in a breath, eyes blackening with lust. "Careful, love. I'm reining it in for you—going slow."

"And if I crave fast? Rough?" The words tumbled out, wild and unbidden.

"Then," he growled, yanking at my stays' laces with fierce intent, "we'll test your limits—see how much ecstasy you can endure before you beg for mercy."

The stays dropped, leaving me in thin chemise and stockings, his sharp gasp empowering me like never before.

"Margot," he breathed, hands hovering, seeking consent.

"Yes—God, yes," I moaned, and his palms claimed me, scorching through the fabric, cupping my waist, thumbs circling my hardening nipples until I arched, gasping at the electric jolt straight to my pussy.

"Does that ignite you?" he whispered, eyes locked on mine.

"More than I dreamed," I panted, pressing into him shamelessly.

Triumph lit his face as he explored bolder, hands roaming, pinching, teasing until my chemise joined the pile on the floor. Bare but for stockings, I felt no shame—only a throbbing ache for more under his adoring gaze.

"On the bed," he ordered softly, guiding me with firm hands.

I reclined against the pillows, exposed and alive, his eyes drinking me in like fine wine.

He shed his trousers in a blur, his cock springing free—thick, veined, erect and weeping at the tip. Magnificent. Intimidating. Thrilling.

He prowled onto the bed, kissing me fiercely, then trailed lower. "I'm going to worship you," he vowed against my neck, teeth grazing. "Touch every inch. Taste you. And you tell me what drives you wild."

His hands mapped me ruthlessly—kneading breasts, pinching nipples until I whimpered, then sliding down to part my thighs. Fingers traced my slick folds, circling my clit with maddening precision, dipping inside my wetness.

When his mouth joined—lips sucking a nipple, tongue flicking— I bucked, fire exploding. He lavished each breast, biting gently, soothing with licks, until I was a writhing mess.

"Percy," I keened as he descended, kissing my belly, thighs. "Please..."

"Too intense?" he asked, pausing.

"Not enough—more, damn you!"

His dark laugh vibrated against my skin as his fingers plunged deeper, curling to hit that secret spot, thumb rubbing my clit. Then his mouth—oh God—tongue lapping at my entrance, sucking my pearl until stars burst behind my eyes.

I clawed the sheets, hips grinding against his face. "I can't—it's building—"

"You can," he commanded, voice muffled in my heat. "Come for me, Margot. Drench my tongue."

The orgasm ripped through me like a tempest, my pussy clenching around his fingers, waves of bliss leaving me shattered, screaming his name.

"Gorgeous," he purred, kissing my quivering thighs. "Watching you shatter—pure perfection."

Breath ragged, I stared down in awe. "That was... indescribable."

"Just the prelude," he smirked, cock twitching against my leg.

He positioned himself, tip nudging my entrance. "It's been ages for you—say the word if it's too much."

But as he sank in, inch by throbbing inch, the stretch was exquisite—filling me completely, no pain, only fullness and fire.

"Perfect?" he grated, muscles taut.

"Beyond," I moaned, legs locking around him, pulling him deeper.

He thrust with controlled power, each stroke hitting deep, grinding against my clit. I met him thrust for thrust, nails raking his back.

"Touch your clit," he rasped, pace quickening. "Chase your peak."

Shameless, I obeyed, fingers circling as he pounded harder, the wet slap of skin echoing.

"Yes—fuck, like that," he groaned.

My second climax hit like lightning, walls milking him, and he followed, cock pulsing, flooding me with heat as he roared my name.

We collapsed, tangled, his heart thundering under my ear, fingers stroking my skin.

"Well," I murmured, sated yet stirring, "that eclipsed any expectation."

His chuckle was wicked. "Lesson one, darling. We've got all night—and I've hoarded fantasies for years."

"Years?" I teased, hand drifting to his hardening cock.

"Since you first snapped at me over that damned wallpaper," he confessed, flipping me under him. "Imagined you like this—wet, wanton, mine to claim."

"Yours," I echoed, surrendering.

"Mine," he sealed with a bruising kiss, his cock already nudging me open again.

And as he plunged back in, teaching me the depths of passion, I knew my old life was ashes. This? This was awakening. And I was ravenous for more.

🔥 Some wedding nights are perfunctory. This one left the sheets tangled, the candles burned low… and Margot gasping out a version of herself she never thought existed.

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