Page 75 of Duke of Destruction
Percy let out a choking sound that strongly indicated that it had started its life as an oath.
“If you feel me more like this, we aren’t going to get much further,” he informed her. She was only somewhat clear on what he meant, the image of his pleasure beneath her on that garden bench never truly very far from her mind, but it was enough warning. She wanted to seeeverythinghe had to give her this time.
“Then show me,” she said, clutching furiously at his hair. “Don’ttease.”
He did pull all the way back at that, but fortunately only far enough so that he could prop a hand next to her head and stare down at her incredulously. Any further, and he would have been forced to fight her over it.
“You are,” he said, sounding faintly nonplussed, “the most difficult woman.”
“It doesn’t seem to bother you overmuch,” she said. The effect was only slightly diminished by her breathless tone.
His responding chuckle was scarcely more than a breath of air.
“On the contrary,” he said, shaking his head at her in amazement. “It bothers me constantly.”
And then he grabbed her wrists and yanked her to a seated position so that he could kiss her some more, this time with him nearly straddling her lap. It was almost a perfect inversion of their encounter on the Duke of Wilds’ verandah, but Catherine was quickly distracted from this juxtaposition by the feeling of Percy’s searching hands along her back.
“No,” she said, “here.” She tugged at the front laces, which came apart in a trice—she hadn’t tied them particularly tightly. Just as quickly, his hands replaced hers, and he yanked the ties the rest of the way free, then pulled her gown off her shoulders and her chemise down over her breasts.
“For Christ’s sake, woman,” he said through gritted teeth. She did so like it when he swore. “Do you know that I used to be a controlled, reasonable man?” He cupped her in his hand, guiding her back down until she was flat on the bed.
“And then you arrive, with your retorts and your perfect damned bosom.” He pinched a nipple, and she squeaked and arched her back. He used the space to guide the gown down over her stomach, then past her hips. He dropped it unceremoniously on the ground.
“And now look at me,” he demanded—as if she could have spent her time doing anything else. “I’m half beast over you. You probably ought to be apologizing.”
“I think not,” she sniffed, just because being difficult with Percy hadn’t led her astray yet. “You ought to be thanking me.”
He had gone to work on his own clothing, now, and his came off far more easily than hers. He’d scarcely been dressed, after all, and she wondered, with a shiver of delight, if he slept entirely unclothed.
“You’re right,” he said. It was the most shocking thing he’d ever said to her, frankly. “I ought to.” He trailed reverent fingers down her stomach. “But I won’t. And what’s more, I don’t think you really want me to.”
“I might,” she retorted, but it was halfhearted, because she was watching him avidly, too entranced by the sight of his body to put much attention into quibbling. All that restless energy, theway he always seemed to be holding himself from springing into action—it had written itself on his rangy, athletic frame. He was all long lines and lithe muscles, strength without bulk. She wanted to run her fingers over the planes of his abdomen to feel where soft skin met hard muscle and was disconsolate to find that, from her position half-beneath him, she could not reach.
Then he lowered his weight more firmly onto her, and she wasn’t bothered by much of anything. It was all too fascinating, the prickle where the hair on his legs—and on his lower stomach, leading down to his hard, blisteringly hot length—lightly abraded her tender skin. His hips weren’t pronounced, not the way even hers were, and she was narrow for a woman. And there was less softness to his stomach, to his chest.
“I think,” Percy said, peppering her with kisses in between each word, “that you would much rather meshowyou my gratitude than say it out loud.”
“Yes,” she said. “Yes. Absolutely, I would.”
He smiled, and so did she. And their lips met that way, curve to curve.
Their hands roamed, too, and she found that every part of him fascinated her. Every part of this act, too. It was strange and base, combining two bodies into one. It was something that even the most unintelligent beasts of the field managed to do without any real difficulty.
But it also felt…almost sacred. She understood why people had taken this act and named it a sacrament. They were building something beautiful here. That much was obvious to her. Something beautiful and unbreakable.
Eventually, however, the longing of her body began to overwhelm the considerations of her mind. She found herself thinking less and less and feeling more and more. She clutched at the muscles of his back; he cupped his hands around the outside of her thighs and used the hold to slide her more firmly beneath him, to draw her legs out wider, to give him easier access to settle against her.
He wasn’twithinher, not yet; she knew that was part of what had to come between them. But the way their bodies rubbed and ground together was making her nearly as hot and liquid inside as the feeling of his mouth and fingers inside her had done. The feeling kept growing, kept building, until she felt like a volcano, certain that she was going to erupt soon, no matter what was demolished in her wake.
“Are you ready for me, Catherine?” he asked, voice hoarse with longing. She bit her lip lightly until he kissed her teeth free from her flesh. “Tell me.”
“Yes,” she whimpered. “Yes, yes. I want you so much.”
He pressed his forehead against her temple hard, as if he was trying to connect his mind to hers as firmly and intimately as they were about to connect their bodies.
“You must come for me quickly,” he told her. “I don’t know that I shall be able to last very long once you have me.”
Catherine didn’t think that would be a problem; even the mere idea of herhavinghim made her feel dizzy with longing. The heat of the feeling traveled straight to the sensitive spot at the apex of the thighs, the place he’d touched before.
