Page 63 of His Enemy Duchess

Her muscles seized, and her neck arched, her skin flushed from head to toe, her lungs straining for each glorious breath. Her legs trembled on Thomas’s shoulders, her arms shaking with the effort to prop herself up, leaving her more wonderfully exhausted than when she used to take long rides in the countryside.

As her bliss ebbed, Thomas withdrew his fingers with teasing slowness and tasted her one last time before kissing his way back up her half-clad form. Her lovely dress lay on the floor, though he had been careful not to tear anything this time, leaving her in her petticoat, chemisette, and stays.

“I’ll never tire of hearing you cry out my name like that,” he murmured as he kissed her lips. “It surprises me every time.”

She kissed him back, running her hands through his dark hair. “Why does it surprise you?”

“To hear such pleasure where there used to be such loathing—how could it not?” he said with a wry chuckle.

“It is hard to loathe a man who makes me feel… such things,” she protested.

She was about to reprimand him further, but he hoisted her off the desk with one powerful arm. Her legs wrapped around his waist for balance, and as he carried her to the thick sheepskin rug that stretched before the crackling fireplace, their locked gazes crackled with far more ferocity.

Like this, she could have gazed into his lupine eyes forever, feeling the thrum of his hunger feeding her own until they were both starving—ravenous for one another.

But as he sank to the floor, taking her with him, a slight tremor of anxiety rippled through the still-pulsing haze of her bliss.Thiswas what she had actually asked for—not anything she had already experienced, but what she had not.

There is nothing to be afraid of,she told herself.He won’t hurt you.

The realization was a strange one, as was the certainty of her thought. Not too long ago, she had feared that he would exact a Pratt’s revenge on her. But instead, he had kissed her. Maybe he didn’t realize what he had actually done with that kiss—ridding her of the last bit of her fear of him. Maybeshehadn’t realized it until that moment.

Thomas held her in his lap, his fingers worked deftly at the fastenings of her stays, loosening them with ease. He tossed the undergarment and her chemisette to the side, before capturingher lips in a slow, sensual kiss that ignited fresh desire between her thighs. A need to feel him once more.

Her petticoat followed the undergarments, until she sat naked in his lap, feeling it was rather unfair.

“I think we ought to make this more equal,” she said quietly, reaching for the fastening of his trousers.

He caught her wrists with one hand and raised her arms above her head, his strength as thrilling as it was intimidating.

“There was no part of the favor that said you could touch me,” he teased, kissing her again. “I asked for clarity, so if you can’t feel the satisfaction of running your hands over my skin, over my manhood, then your wording is to blame.”

She blinked at him, gasping as he suddenly laid her down with her hands still above her head. “But how… are we to… you know… if I can’t touch you? Imusttouch you.”

“Then you’ll have to beg,” he replied, fire glinting in his eyes.

She didn’t know whether to knee him or plead immediately. “I told you, I don’t beg.”

“We shall see about that.” With his free hand, he tugged off his cravat and, with a smile, tied it around her wrists. “Move those hands without my say-so, and I’ll have to tie you more… decisively.”

She opened her mouth to complain, but the sight of him stopped her. He sank back on his haunches and, with tortuous, delicious slowness, began to peel away his clothing. He shrugged his tailcoat off his shoulders, unbuttoned his waistcoat, and then—the moment she had been longing for—he pulled his shirt up over hard, defined muscle.

Who sculpted you?

She savored the divine image of him, her eyes running over his ridged abdomen, his broad chest, those tempting dips that slanted diagonally from his hips to beneath his waistband.

Her hands curled into fists, determined not to beg for the singular pleasure of being able to touch him, being able to explore that warm skin at her leisure, trailing kisses across it as he had done to her.

“What do you say?” he asked, his hands falling to the fastening of his trousers.

“I am… quite content,” she replied, stifling the grin that wanted to curve her lips.

He shrugged and got to his feet, kicking off his boots. Standing there in the bronzed glow of the firelight, looking like a Greek statue, he held her gaze as he undid the fastening.

She gasped—she couldn’t help it—as he pushed his trousers down his muscular thighs and sculpted calves, and stepped outof them. There weresomany things she wished to touch, not least the swollen length of hard flesh that left her breathless. She knew the mechanics of copulation, more or less, and could not even begin to fathom how such a thing would fit inside her.

But I am eager to discover…

“If you can’t obey, perhaps this is all I will give,” he said.

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