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  • Home > Gail Carriger > Blameless     

    “Very romantic, my dear,” was Alexia’s unhelpful comment.

    His face fel slightly at that, but Lady Maccon was not so immune to her husband’s charms that she could resist the tempting combination of big-muscled nudity and bashful expression.

    She divested herself of her overdress and skirts.

    He made the most delicious huffing noise when she cast herself, swanlike, on top of him. well , perhaps more beached-sea-mammal-like than swanlike, but it had the desirous upshot of plastering most of the length of her body against most of the length of his. It took him a moment to recover from several stone of wife suddenly settled atop him, but only a moment, for then he began a diligent quest to rid her of al her remaining layers of clothing in as little time as possible. He unlaced the back and popped open the front of her corset, and stripped off her chemise with al the consummate skil of a lady’s maid.

    “Steady on there,” protested Alexia mildly, though she was flattered by his haste.

    As though influenced by her comment, which she highly doubted, he suddenly switched tactics and jerked her against him tightly. Burying his face in the side of her neck, he took a deep, shuddering breath. The movement lifted her upward as his wide chest expanded. She felt almost as though she were floating.

    Then he rol ed her slightly off him and, incredibly gently, pul ed off her bloomers and began stroking over her slightly rounded bel y.

    “So, a soul-stealer, is that what we’re getting?”

    Alexia wriggled slightly, trying to get him back into his customary, rather more forceful handling. She would never admit it out loud, of course, but she enjoyed it when he became enthusiastical y rough. “One of the Roman tablets cal ed it a Stalker of Skins.”

    He paused, glowering thoughtful y. “Na, stil never heard of it. But, then, I’m na al that old.”

    “It certainly has the vampires in a tizzy.”

    “Fol owing in its mother’s footsteps already, the little pup. How verra charming.” His big hands began moving optimistical y in a northward direction.

    “Now what are you about?” wondered his wife.

    “I have some further reacquainting to do. Must evaluate size differentials,” he insisted.

    “I hardly see how you could tel the difference,” pointed out his wife, “considering their oversubstantial nature to start with.”

    “Oh, I believe I am more than equal to the task.”

    “We al must have goals in life,” agreed his wife, a slight tremor in her voice.

    “And to determine al the new particulars, I must apply al the available tools in my repertoire.” This comment apparently indicated Conal intended to switch and use his mouth rather than his hands.

    Alexia, it must be admitted, was running out of both token protests and the ability to breathe regularly. And since her husband’s mouth was occupied, and even a werewolf shouldn’t talk with his mouth ful , she determined that was the end of their conversation.

    So it proved to be the case, for some time at least.

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