Page 61 of A Bargain with the Rakish Duke
His teeth grazed her nipple, sending waves of pleasure to her core. She could feel herself growing wetter by the second, and she could tell from the growing bulge in his trousers that he wanted her just as badly.
With trembling hands, she undid the buttons on his waistcoat, revealing a taut, muscular chest. She ran her hands over his firm pectorals, feeling his heart beating rapidly beneath her fingertips.
Kenneth’s fingers trailed down her abdomen before pushing down her pantaloons. She stepped out of them, revealing herself to him. She was bare and vulnerable, and it felt exhilarating.
His fingers brushed against the curls at the apex of her sex, and she shuddered with anticipation as he began to caress her. His touch was slow and deliberate, like a master artist painting a beautiful masterpiece.
Kenneth leaned closer, his breath hot and heavy against her ear. “Are you ready for me?” he asked, his voice low and husky.
Beatrice looked into his eyes, her heart pounding in her chest. “Yes,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
He slid his fingers inside her, and she gasped at the intrusion. He started to move his fingers in and out of her, creating a rhythm that had her rocking her hips against him. Her breath came in ragged gasps as pleasure shot through her body.
She opened her legs wider for him, giving him better access to her most intimate place. His fingers teased and tormented her, building her need for him with every stroke.
Beatrice protested as he stopped and stepped away from her. Kenneth kicked off his trousers before grabbing her around the waist and pulling her tight against his length.
“Please,” she begged.
He nuzzled her neck and then trailed kisses down to her shoulder, his hands still moving between her legs, watching her body shake with pleasure.
Then, with a groan, he lifted her and pushed inside her.
Beatrice gripped his shoulders hard and let out a low moan as he slid into her slowly until he was buried all the way inside.
She gasped at the delicious fullness. His strong arms held her tight as he thrust deep inside her. Their cries of pleasure blended with the sounds in the moonlit garden.
They remained intertwined for several moments, savoring the aftermath of their passion. Sweat trickled down their bodies, mixing together as he held her in his arms, their heartbeats slowing down to a steady rhythm once more.
“That was amazing,” Kenneth murmured.
Beatrice smiled softly, feeling her chest rise and fall against his as she took in deep, shaky breaths.
“And you were incredible,” she whispered back, her voice raw and husky.
Kenneth chuckled softly, his breath warm against her ear.
“As much as I enjoy our garden rendezvous,” he murmured, his voice low and seductive, “perhaps we should continue in the privacy of our bedchambers before we shock the servants.”
Beatrice laughed quietly, the sound a sweet melody in the night air.
“That might be wise,” she agreed, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest.
Chapter Twenty
Beatrice stood in the morning room, lost in the strokes of her brush as she worked on her latest painting.
The room was filled with the scent of fresh paint and the soft, rhythmic sound of her brush gliding across the canvas. She wore an old, paint-stained dress that had seen many such sessions, her hair tied back loosely to keep it out of her face. The world outside faded away as she immersed herself in her art.
A few hours later, just as she was adding the finishing touches to the rough draft, a knock on the door jolted her out of her reverie.
Startled, she stepped back, her heart racing. She glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was around the time Mrs. Whitfield usually brought her tea.
“Coming,” she called out, her voice steady.
She wiped her hands on a rag and moved towards the door, her footsteps echoing in the quiet room.
But before she reached the door, she heard a voice that sent a chill down her spine.
