Page 37 of The Untamed Duke
"Fuck..." His broken breaths melted into her tangled hair while she remained limp, obedient and boneless. "This...this is insanity..."
It wasn’t long before his explosion occurred, and when it did, it was an empty, frustrated release entwined with faint resentment.
His body found satisfaction. His mind did not. He wanted inside her. He wanted Grace clenching around him. He wanted her moving, her legs wrapped about his waist, moaning his name as he soared with her, high above the Earth and into the heavens. He did not want her still as a piece of driftwood because of his threats. Restraining her now seemed an abomination. He wanted her willing and eager for all he could show her, all he could teach her...all they could experience together.
Crushing her, he kissed her slender neck, breathing deep of her perfume.Heather, thunderstorms and lemons.She fits within my arms as though crafted for me.
He'd not pleasured himself like that since he was a boy of sixteen. Not long following that birthday, he, Ravenswood, and Bentley all had a go at a lass in a London tavern. The barmaid was comically willing, eagerly teaching three fine young lords what the equipment in their breeches could do. From that day on, whatever sexual desires Nicholas had, a woman tended to it.
Now, as his seed joined their flesh, warm and sticky, his lust pacified for the moment, he felt cheated. This was not how he envisioned their first time. Not pressed against her sleek backside, his own hand providing the pressure and friction needed for release.
With a ragged sigh, he moved from the bed, and when he returned with a damp cloth, Grace lay in the same position. As he silently wiped away the evidence of his passion, she remained motionless, barely breathing.
Slipping beneath the covers beside her, he gathered her close, her back against his chest. She relaxed, apparently undisturbed they were both naked. She seemed quite content, cradled in his arms. Nicholas overlooked his habit of not sleeping with the women he used, and moments of silence dripped by, the air heavy with drowsy warmth.
It surprised him. He never held a woman afterward. Usually he was on his back and his companion sprawled across him, perhaps attempting to insert herself into his life by pressing onto his skin. That behavior was allowed for a few moments before he hustled the woman from his bed, unwilling for the intimacy to proceed any further than the sexual act itself.
"Your Grace?" Her whisper was lethargic.
"Yes?" His hands migrated between her breasts. Grace clasped them, holding them tight as their bodies spooned together. Like lovers. It felt right, holding her like this. He almost felt content.
"Thank you."
Her quiet gratitude stunned Nicholas.After what I just did? The graphic things I said?He'd spread her, tasted her, bound her to his bed. Using his damned cravats, for Christ's sake. Violated her with his fingers, in places only a husband should be allowed to touch, then masturbated to an orgasm against the silky curve of her buttocks. And she thanked him.
"Why the hell would you say that, Grace?"
"You kept your promise." With a shy softness, her lips dragged over his knuckles, kissing the small wounds she'd inflicted.
Nicholas's lips twisted. He was a monster. A cold, heartless devil. He had no right touching such purity.
It wouldn’t stop him. The remaining four nights may damn his soul for all eternity, and he would probably go stark, raving mad before they were through, but he would have his nights with her.
And the devil take him, he would enjoy every goddamn moment.
Chapter 14
Tangled in the sheets, Grace rolled until she faced the fireplace. For a moment, she was disoriented. Before ruthless memories flooded her brain.
She was in Nicholas’s bed. Naked. She willingly placed herself there for his pleasure. And her own.
Pushing herself up on one arm, she scanned the room. Rain still pounded outside the windows. It lashed against the floor-to-ceiling glass behind closed drapes. Two lamps were lit, one by the bed, the other on a table near a door, illuminating the room in a golden glow. Searching the shadows where the light did not reach, she realized she was alone.
Where was he? Running a hand through her tangled hair, she wondered if she should retreat into the connecting room or stay where she was. Had he moved to another bedchamber? His bed surrendered so she might sleep with no fear of further sexual encounters? That seemed unlikely and out of character for such a man.
Propping herself against the headboard, she winced at the ache lingering between her legs caused by his finger stretching her. The remembrance of his tongue sliding over the secret triangle there sent a tremble racing through her limbs. How had she survived that? Even worse, how could she want more? Dear lord, how could she have lain with such complacency while he expended himself across against her lower back?
Images bombarded her without mercy until she groaned, dropping her head into her hands. Nicholas March was a gilded, tousled archangel, twisting their bargain to his own liking while somehow ensuring she longed for the remaining nights in his bed.
I truly am as wicked as he is.
"I hope your despair is not on my account."
Grace clutched the covers. She'd not heard the door open and silently close, nor his approach from the far end of the room.
Carrying a silver tray and wearing a black silk robe, which thankfully covered his magnificent form, Nicholas’s brow arched when she slumped against the mound of pillows.
"We missed supper. I, for one, am starving." He set the tray down on a mahogany table in front of the fireplace. Two chairs were pulled up, forming a makeshift dining table. "It's not much, just what I could find in the kitchens without making too much of a clatter. It’ll tide us over until breakfast, I think."
