Page 112 of Corrupting his Duchess
When their mouths parted, she pulled back just enough to whisper, “Please. No more waiting.”
And he answered her with hands that shook.
He undid the tiny buttons at the back of her gown with aching reverence, his breath catching each time a new inch of skin was revealed. She was trembling, whether from cold or anticipation, she couldn’t say. Her chemise slipped from one shoulder.
He pulled her close again, but this time his hands didn’t stop at her waist. They moved reverently to the ties of her gown.
She stiffened just slightly as he found the buttons at the back.
He paused. “May I?”
Anna nodded, her pulse fluttering.
His fingers were careful, undoing her piece by piece. The bodice gave way first, then the sleeves slipped from her shoulders. Her corset followed– her hands helped, shaking slightly.
And when the last layer fell, leaving her bare to the cool air and his gaze, she looked up at him.
He wasn’t smiling.
He looked shattered and in awe, as though she was something too exquisite to be real.
“You are…” he exhaled. “God, Anna, you are… everything.”
She undid his waistcoat next. Then his cravat. Then his shirt, her fingers skimming the hard lines of his chest as she pushed the fabric off his shoulders. His breeches followed.
And there he was. All hers.
For a breath, neither of them moved.
When he finally touched her skin to skin, it undid her.
He kissed her collarbone, her shoulder, down the inside of her arm, murmuring things she couldn’t hear but felt everywhere. His hands slid along her ribs, her hips, mapping her like a man trying to memorize the divine.
She gasped when his warm mouth found her breast. Her fingers tangled in his hair, breath ragged.
“Henry…”
He looked up. His eyes were dark with wanting, but still he asked– “Tell me to stop.”
She didn’t.
She kissed him instead, pulled him toward the bed, her body bare now but not afraid. He laid her down slowly and when her back met the cool linen of the sheets, his body hovering above hers, every inch of skin burned where it met his. His mouth never left hers, their limbs entangling with something more than urgency. Need, yes, but also trust.
Henry paused, his hand cupping her cheek, thumb brushing across her lower lip.
“You are certain?” he murmured.
Anna nodded, breathless. “Yes.”
His gaze swept down her body slowly.
Then, with aching care, he reached between them, guiding himself to her, pausing again when he felt the resistance. His brow furrowed, not with frustration, but with restraint.
“Anna,” he said softly. “You’re untouched.”
She flushed but didn’t look away.
“I didn’t– ” he started.
