Page 58 of A Bargain with the Rakish Duke
Growing impatient, he proceeded to lift her up and place her gently on his lap where she could feel his arousal. Despite the surprise that flashed in her eyes, she did not hesitate to take action. With a rocking motion, she sank down onto him, her chest becoming flushed with pleasure.
Kenneth watched her with half-lidded eyes, waiting for her to climax. When her movements quickened, and he felt her insides begin to pulse around his shaft, he spilled into her.
The world narrowed down to this single moment where their bodies moved in perfect synchrony in that perfect, delicious dance.
As the waves of pleasure subsided, Kenneth pulled Beatrice close, his arms wrapping around her in a tender embrace. She sighed contentedly, her head resting on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
For a few moments, they simply held each other, basking in the afterglow of their lovemaking. Kenneth’s hand traced lazy patterns on Beatrice’s back, his touch gentle and soothing. Beatrice nuzzled closer, her own hand resting over his heart, feeling the strong, steady beat beneath her palm.
“That was…” Kenneth murmured, his voice low and intimate, “incredible.”
Beatrice smiled against his chest, a warmth spreading through her that had nothing to do with their physical exertion.
“It was,” she agreed softly, tilting her head to look up at him.
Kenneth’s gaze met hers, and in that moment, something shifted between them. The usual intensity in his eyes was tempered by a softness, a vulnerability that Beatrice had never seen before.
His hand came up to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over her lips.
“You’re amazing, Beatrice,” he whispered, his words filled with a quiet reverence. “I must admit… I’ve felt nothing like this before.”
Beatrice’s heart swelled, a lump forming in her throat. She leaned into his touch, her own hand coming up to cover his.
“Neither have I,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
For a long moment, they simply looked at each other, their eyes saying what their words could not.
Finally, Kenneth leaned in, his lips brushing against Beatrice’s in a soft, tender kiss. It was different from the passionate, hungry kisses they had shared before. This was a kiss of affection.
As they parted, Beatrice settled back into his arms, her body molding perfectly to his. Kenneth pulled her into his strong arms, cocooning them in warmth and comfort. They lay there, limbs entwined as a peaceful silence settled over the room.
“We should return soon,” Beatrice murmured as she nuzzled into Kenneth’s neck.
“Mmhm. In a bit,” Kenneth mumbled back and she nodded; she wanted to revel in the moment just as much.
Right there, as she lay secure in her husband’s embrace, Beatrice felt a flicker of hope in her heart.
Perhaps, just perhaps, their marriage could be something more than just a practical arrangement.
The next afternoon, Kenneth took Beatrice to the gallery, a place she had been eager to see since her arrival at Dunford Castle. As they reached the grand doors, Kenneth paused, his hand resting on the ornate handle.
“This is where I keep my collection. Some of these pieces have been in the family for generations.”
He pushed open the doors, revealing a room, bathed in soft light from high, arched windows. The walls were lined with paintings of various sizes, each one meticulously framed. Beatrice’s eyes widened as she took in the sheer number of artworks.
Kenneth led her through the gallery, stopping occasionally to point out a piece of particular significance. His knowledge of art was evident in the way he spoke, his passion shining through despite his usually stoic demeanor.
As they paused in front of a particularly striking landscape, Kenneth turned to her. “The brushstrokes convey such movement and depth.”
Beatrice nodded, her eyes tracing the lines of the painting. “It’s the way the strokes blend together, creating a sense of fluidity. Each one is deliberate yet effortless.”
As they stopped in front of another painting, Kenneth leaned in closer.
“Do you remember when we argued about brushstrokes?” he murmured, a teasing smile playing on his lips.
Beatrice laughed softly, the memory bringing a warm flush to her cheeks. “Yes, I remember. You were quite insistent that without shadow, the light loses its meaning.”
“And you were adamant that light emphasizes hope and beauty even in the face of darkness,” he countered, his tone light. “I must admit, your words have made me appreciate the beauty in both.”
