Page 26 of Duke of Destruction
He left one hand with her braid wrapped around it, holding her to him like a tether, while the other slid down over her shoulder, down her back, across her hip until it rested against the curve of her bottom. His touch was light, more instruction than command, but Catherine felt it like a brand against her flesh as he used his grip there to guide her into a rhythmic motion that ground her core against his lap again and again andagain.
“Oh,” she cried quietly as the repeated cycle of pressure, retreat, pressure, retreat caused the warmth in her low belly to grow bigger even as it coiled tighter.
Her head fell back and her eyes fluttered closed, but she opened them again a moment later, when she felt something warm and wet cover her nipple through the whisper-thin fabric of her nightdress.
He was—ohGod. He was licking her where her dressing gown had fallen open, sucking, tugging lightly with his teeth. She jolted at the sensation, then again, harder when the movement led to the slightest pinch of pain.
“You’re the most wicked temptress, aren’t you?” he crooned as he pressed a kiss against her nipple before moving over to the other breast. “Absolutely fucking irresistible.”
Catherine had never been called wicked before, nor a temptress—and she’d certainly never heard someone call herabsolutely fucking irresistible.Something inside her thrilled to no end that she, Catherine Lightholder, the girl who always strove to be perfectly acceptable, could be sounacceptablein this way.
She’d broken his composure. More than that, she’d broken through his irritation. She was so alluring to him that he wanted her even though he hated her.
And that made her feel as powerful as a queen.
“More,” she demanded, putting her hands on his shoulders so she could grind against his lap even more effectively. “More, now.”
She didn’t ask. She didn’t sayplease.
Sheheld the power, and she would take her due.
“Yes,” he gasped, seizing her mouth again. He finally dropped her braid so that he could bring his hand down to her hip, could thrust up into her as hard as she was thrusting down on him. “Christ, Catherine. Fuck. Yes.”
Goodness, he had a mouth on him, did her duke. Inwardly, she preened over it, while outwardly she was focused on speeding the rhythm of her movements, each grind against him bringing her closer and closer to something she felt certain was just out of her reach.
The coil clenched and clenched until, all at once, it snapped. She cried out, hardly even caring that they could be overheard, just as the duke’s movements beneath her grew erratic.
“Oh, bollocks, Catherine, I’m going to?—”
He bit the place where her neck met her shoulder as he found his release, grinding her hips down against him with bruising force as he did so. She, lost in a spiral that left her unable to think of anything except for the pleasure coursing through her in waves, found that the pain only sent more little shocks of arousal through her, ones that were satisfied in an instant as her crisis went on and on.
They both stilled gradually, their panting breaths the only thing breaking the silence of the night.
I’ll definitely be able to sleep now, Catherine thought, her mind sounding not unlike how she imagined a cat in a sunbeam might sound. It was one perfect moment of bliss.
And then she registered that the place beneath her was damp—from her exertions or his, she knew not—and reality came crashing back in.
What had theydone? What hadshedone?
She shoved backward, nearly falling on her rear as she scrambled to her feet. The duke was only a beat behind her, leaping up with more elegance and then backing away, wide-eyed, as if he feared that she might attack him if he let her grow too close.
“This was—” she began.
“A mistake,” he interrupted. She’d been about to say something much the same, so it startled her how much it hurt to hear those words. “A mistake. One that will not—cannot—happen again.”
She agreed. She did. She really did.
But she feared that if she stood there for a moment longer, she would start to cry. And then her humiliation would be too complete to even contemplate.
So she said nothing at all. Instead, she turned on her heel and left, knowing that she had no destination possible except for her own bedchamber…and knowing that she would not get a single moment’s rest for the remainder of the night.
CHAPTER 7
Catherine tugged at the high collar of the gown she’d chosen for the day.
Ariadne cast her a sidelong glance. “Are you sure you don’t want to change, Kitty, dear? It’s supposed to be unseasonably warm today.”
“I’m sure,” Catherine said, praying that she seemed calm, unbothered.
