Page 33 of The Matchmaker Meets her Duke
He stroked her breasts. They were round and full, made for succulent mouthfuls. Made for him. They fit perfectly into the cup of his hands.
"Emmett, goodness,"she whispered. Then she was moaning, whispering a barrage of gibberish, her hands roaming blindly through his hair. Then she was whispering nothing at all, still as stone under the strong weight of his body, her lungs seemingly emptied of breath as he wrapped his mouth over her flushed pink nipples, and swirled slow circles with his tongue, and sucked.
She gasped."No, yes, please."He slipped his other hand between her legs, his fingers reaching into wet flesh that no man had touched before. She writhed against him, lost to the pleasure. And they would have remained that way, hot and wild and moaning in the throes of desire had she not pushed his head back, gasping out from under him as if the pleasure was too much to bear, and, in a new stroke of confidence, tried to straddle his lap again.
Luck was not on their side tonight. Perhaps he should simply have taken off her gown first and foremost, but Emmett had wanted to make this night a slow, meaningful, and lasting one. A pace that she would be comfortable with, one that she would remember for a while.
It did not end well. Her pin caught on him again, this time digging too deeply as if an invisible hand had stabbed it with purpose, past his pants, right into the raging rod of his flesh. Afterward, when he had groaned small groans and swallowed large groans, Pandora clapped her hand over her mouth.
Emmett, his hand finally letting go of his clasp over his thigh, squinted his disapproval. "You do not dare," he said, to which Pandora nodded passionately. As if that would keep her from laughing at their misfortune. Twice. Twice, in one night.
It did not. Keep her from laughing, that is. And when her shoulders had finished rumbling and she had wiped the corners of her eyes dry, Emmett said, "Are you done now?"
"I am.''
"No, please, take your time. Heavens forbid that I curb this thrilling new hobby of yours."
"What hobby?"
"Finding the humor in my pain, Pandora. That hobby."
Pandora shook her head at him and laughed. It was a good laugh. It charged in the air like a mighty thing, free of inhibitions, of the slightest pretense. He wanted to catch the sound as it rang in his ears. He wanted to bottle it, to keep it in his pocket. He would make her laugh like that every day if he could.
Emmett caught his train of thought and stopped himself. How moony, but no. He wouldn't delude himself about what they might share between them, about what this was: a simple quest for an heir.
Nothing more, or less.
Pandora gathered herself up. He watched her dark, luscious hair cascade down her waist as she let it loose. She removed her pins and slid out of her gown, her engorged nipples poking through her chemise. He wanted to take those nipples into his mouth again and listen to her breathy moan fill his ears as she begged for more. He wanted to swoop her into his arms, and bury his face in her neck, bury his hands in the lovely curls of her hair.
But he did not.
He wanted her with every bone in his body. But even Emmett knew not to test luck. Tonight was not the night. Besides, theyweretaking things slow. His erection throbbed for her, and Emmett nearly cursed under his breath. Perhaps promising totake things slowhad not been the wisest of ideas.
Pandora changed into her nightdress. She joined him on the bed, a small, uncertain smile stretching tight on her lips. Gone was all that confidence inspired by the writhing of desire, and replaced by the prim, well-put-together matchmaker that he knew. Emmett smiled to himself.
They slept together but not with each other. The womanly heat of her body warmed his. Her body molded against his fit perfectly, as if they had been carved from the same clay, for the same purpose. Emmett could have lied next to her all day. There was no place he would rather be. Then remembered her headache.
"Do you feel better now?"
She lifted her gaze to his face, her eyebrows lowered in confusion. "What?"
"Earlier tonight. You felt ill."
"Oh, that," she said and turned away quickly before he could make out the strange look on her face. "Yes, much better."
"I'll have Barton ask Cook to make you some turtle soup tomorrow," Emmett said, and without really thinking about it, put a protective arm around Pandora. Under the slight weight of this simple yet intimate gesture, Pandora did not move at first. Then, gently, she slid closer to him.
"My aunt used to make that," she said after a while, wherein Emmett had assumed that she had fallen asleep.
"Turtle soup?"
"Yes. Whenever I was ill."
"Sounds like a sport." He failed to keep the drowsiness from his voice.
"Well, she did dribble her soup," said Pandora, quickly amending, "But only because she was missing teeth." Emmett shook with laughter.
"What about you? Was your governess missing teeth?"
