Her passionate writhings on the sofa cushions had mussed her blonde hair into an enticing state of disarray, and her already full mouth was so plump and voluptuous from kissing, it was as much as he could do not to flatten her to the bed and devour her at once. But unless he was mistaken, he had an instinct, unchanged by his initial lustful exploration of her honeyed flesh, that his proud bride was a virgin, a condition it would be his fiercest pleasure to correct, though tenderly, as befitted a princess on her wedding night. She stood before him on the rug, eyeing the arrangement of the pillows on his bed. ‘You know, Sebastian,’ she said, with an uncertain laugh, ‘I know I seem incredibly cool and casual about all this…negotiating this deal to marry you, then doing it all in a hurry, going through with the wedding and kissing you so…so…often. But the truth is…’ There was the faintest tremor in her voice, and he stilled in the act of tearing off his shirt. ‘I can assure you,’ he said, ‘the linen’s clean.
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