“In the hall,” he said. “You walked right past me, but you were too busy swaying that ass to notice.”
His hand slid down my back and cupped my ass and squeezed it. Warmth trickled through my hips and pulsed between my legs. His fingers slid lower and slipped up under my hem. His palm ran hot over the naked back of my thigh and I let my head fall back and moaned softly.
“Do you need me to fuck you before dinner?” he murmured into my neck.
“No,” I gasped, pulling back. “Dinner is ready. It’ll be cold if we wait.”
“I’d rather have pussy than hot dinner.”
“I spent a long time making this for you.”
He caught the edge in my voice and laughed softly. “Dinner it is then.”
He sat at the head of the table in his dark purple shirt and black pants with his legs spread and his glittering eyes on me. He held a glass of wine in his left hand and the sight was incredibly distracting. He had the most beautiful hands, lean and lined with heavy veins, his nails cut short. The gold wedding band around his finger reflected the candlelight, glittering against his skin.
“How is the food?” I asked, eyeing his empty plate.
“Perfect.”
“What do you want to do this evening?” I said lightly.
He cocked his head. “You’ve never been in my studio.”
I shook my head.
“Perhaps I’ll take you there after dinner,” he mused. “Get a few glasses of wine in you and show you my angels. Show you who takes me away from our bed at night.”
I chose to ignore the last part of his statement. Instead, I glowed, elated that he would show me something so personal. No one had ever voluntarily opened their personal life to me, in fact, they didn’t usually volunteer to talk to me at all. Warmth blossomed in my body and in that moment, he could have clipped a leash around my neck and I would have tripped after him down to his studio. I swallowed, my throat dry, and forced my face to remain casual.
“I’d like that,” I said.
His gaze stayed on me until I shifted uncomfortably in my seat and poured myself a glass of wine. There was an intensity in his face that hadn’t been there this morning. He’d always been an overwhelming person, but sometimes he kicked it up a notch the way he had on our wedding night. And it sent a thrill up my spine and down to the space between my legs.
I finished my wine. The candlelight glimmered. And through it Peregrine watched me with a contemplative expression on his face. Like he was studying every line of my body to memorize it for later. And perhaps he was—he was an artist at his core.
I set aside my empty glass and pushed back my chair.
“Are you finished?” he asked softly.
“For now.”
His mouth split in a crooked smile and my stomach fluttered. The chair creaked and he rose, holding out a hand and I took it. Letting him slide his fingers through mine and lead me out into the dark hallway.
I’d only ever explored the first and second floors of the house, but now Peregrine drew me down the hall to a door I’d never gone through. It was a wide entrance with a bolt across it. We paused and he slid the lock aside, swinging the heavy wood inward.
I gasped. On the other side was a spiral staircase going down two floors and extending another three floors overhead. Each stair was big and tall—almost as wide as two of my steps—and made of marble. The railing was thick, twisted steel with widely spaced bars.
“I had no idea this was here,” I said.
“It’s hidden in the back, northeast corner of the house,” he said, stepping through the door. “You can see it if you’re looking for it. Come on then.”
I followed him out onto the stairs, peering over the edge. It was only two stories down, but my stomach still flopped with nerves. I’d never had a fear of heights, but this stairwell triggered something in me. Perhaps it was the pale marble, perhaps it was the spiraling, wrought iron. A shiver moved down my spine and I wrapped my arms around my body.
“Are you cold?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “I do wish I’d worn different shoes though.”
“Take them off, the floor is clean enough,” he said.