Page 63 of A Bargain with the Rakish Duke
He broke the kiss, trailing his lips down her neck, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. Beatrice gasped, tilting her head back to givehim better access. Her nails dug into his shoulders, feeling the solid muscles beneath his skin.
“Kenneth,” she whispered, her voice breathless and filled with longing.
He pulled back slightly, his eyes meeting hers. “Beatrice,” he murmured, his voice husky with desire, “you have no idea what you do to me.”
Her response was a moan as his lips found hers again, more demanding this time. The world outside the morning room ceased to exist, leaving only the two of them, wrapped in a cocoon of desire and need.
The easel and canvas stood forgotten, the nude portrait a silent witness to their passion. At that moment, nothing else mattered but the heat between them, the desperate need to be as close to each other as possible.
Kenneth’s hands roamed lower, gripping her hips and pulling her against him. She could feel his hard length pressed against her, igniting a new wave of desire. She trailed her hands over his chest, feeling the rapid beating of his heart beneath her palms. He quickly unlaced her gown, dropping it to the floor.
“Kenneth,” she whispered again, her voice a plea.
With a growl, he lifted her, placing her on the edge of the worktable. He stepped between her legs, his hands never ceasingtheir exploration of her body. Their kisses grew more frantic, each touch, each caress fueling the fire that burned between them.
Kenneth pulled away, ignoring her protests. He reached over and grabbed a paintbrush from the table. Slowly, he painted an arrow on her belly pointing down. She gasped as the brush tip tickled her skin.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Just showing you where my tongue’s going,” he answered with a triumphant smirk.
He slid down and lowered his head between her thighs. His tongue delved deeply into her, possessing her intimately, and Beatrice moaned deeply, lost in the sensation.
He licked and nipped, his face buried between her thighs as he pulled her close to him, driving her to even higher levels of pleasure. She arched her back, clawing at him, her legs hooked around his neck as she came, her body bucking with the force of it.
When she stopped quivering, Kenneth straightened up, pulled her to the edge of the table, and then thrust into her. His grip on her hips tightened as he plunged deeper into her. The sound of their bodies moving together filled the room, mingling with her soft cries and his guttural groans.
He slammed into her again and again, and she moaned with his every thrust, bucking her hips against him. Her breathy moans of pleasure grew louder and louder until she screamed in ecstasy, pulling him deep into her as he spilled inside her.
They were both breathing heavily as they came down from their climax. Kenneth took her face in both of his hands and gave her a gentle kiss.
As they parted, Beatrice’s eyes fluttered open, a contented smile playing on her lips. In the aftermath of their lovemaking, amidst the scattered paints and brushes of her worktable, she felt a sense of wholeness that had eluded her for so long.
Kenneth’s acceptance of her identity as Eric Westback had been a turning point, a moment of profound vulnerability and trust.
As they stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, Beatrice felt a laugh bubble up from deep within her chest. Kenneth raised an eyebrow, curious about the sudden mirth dancing in her eyes.
“What’s so funny?” he asked, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
Beatrice reached up, her fingers lightly tracing a smudge of blue paint on his cheek. “It seems we both got a bit… carried away,” she said, her voice warm with affection.
Kenneth glanced down, noticing the streaks of color on their bare skin. Reds, blues, and greens mingled with the sheen ofsweat, creating an abstract masterpiece on the canvas of their bodies.
He chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Well, you did say you wanted to capture my essence on canvas. I’d say we achieved that quite literally.”
Beatrice grinned, trying to hold back a giggle but failing. “Indeed, we did. Although I must say, I prefer this method of artistic expression.”
Kenneth pulled her closer, his arms tightening around her waist. “As do I, Beatrice. As do I.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“Your Grace, breakfast is served,” a footman called softly from the doorway, breaking the morning’s stillness.
Kenneth stirred awake as the first light of dawn filtered through the heavy drapes of his bedchamber. He stretched, feeling the warmth of the early sun on his face.
With a sigh, he rose and dressed, his thoughts already turning to Beatrice as they so often did these days.
He quietly made his way to the morning room, the house still enveloped in tranquil silence, the only sound the soft padding of his footsteps on the plush carpet.
