““Iris tasted of red wine- the red wine she must have drunk at dinner- and all the reasons he shouldn't do this fled his mind. A vital chain broke in his psyche and everything he'd held back, everything he'd restrained with all his might, was suddenly set free. He surged into her mouth, desperate for the feel, for the taste of her, his wife, his duchess, his Iris. She was soft and sweet and warm and he wanted to devour her. To seize her and hold her and never let her go. The deep unfathomable well of his urges toward her frightened him, and he knew that if she became aware of them, they would frighten her as well. But that was the thing- she 'wasn't' aware of them. She thought she was simply consummating their marriage or some such rot, God help them both. She gripped his naked arms and the beast within him shuddered and stretched, claws scraping against the ground. Dear God, he wanted this woman.””
