Page 79 of A Bride for the Forbidden Duke
Oh, how he enjoyed the look on her face. Her cheeks flooded with a pretty blush, and she swallowed, likely thinking he did not know her cues. But he had learned them. It was what had driven him to pursue their intimacy in the first place, finally caving in after her plaguing his thoughts over and over.
“And how is that?” she asked, smiling with a tilt of her head.
“Let us go to our room, and I shall show you instead,” he stood and extended a hand to her.
Veronica’s eyes were wide as she let him pull her to standing. They left the crowded dining area of the Hoof’s Inn, where only weeks ago Henry had sat with Thomas, unable to get her out of his head.
He took her up to their shared room, his hand never leaving her. Whether it was her arm he grasped, her waist, or he slid his handthrough hers in a strangely intimate gesture that felt strange doing but somehow…right, he did not let go of his wife.
When they made it to their room, Henry closed the door behind him.
“Get on the bed,” he instructed. “And face me. I plan to use those pretty hands tonight, Duchess.”
She swallowed, her eyes searching his face. He searched hers right back, looking for any moment of fear, hesitancy, or reluctance. But all he saw was open anticipation. Her full lips parted prettily in that way he loved her doing.
She looked so innocent—and he was very much enjoying tarnishing that at every chance he got. He held her gaze as he unfastened his breeches, slowly pulling them down.
“I do love that expression when you look at me,” he told her, smirking. “It is as though you wish to give into your desires, but you think you should not. Let me help you, Duchess.”
Slowly, he pulled off his clothing as he strolled forward, sauntering towards her. By the time he reached her, he was half aroused, excited purely by how her legs had naturally parted to let him stand in front of her, and how that doe-eyed look utterly undone him every time.
“Give me your hand,” he told her.
Veronica obeyed without hesitation. He had enjoyed instilling that in her over time. Her eyes went slightly glassy, a sign he had learned of her arousal. Gripping her wrist, Henry guided her hand to his length.
“Close your fist gently.”
She did, her fingers wrapping loosely around him in such a way that her touch was light enough to cause him to twitch. Her sharp intake of breath made him smile indulgently.
“It is… warmer than I thought it would be,” she confessed, her laugh a quiet exhale. Her eyes lifted to his, and she swallowed. “It is harder, too. I did not realize quite how it would feel. It… pleases me.”
“How does it please you?” he asked her. “Tell me.” His eyes dropped to her skirt-clad legs. “Touch yourself as you tell me.”Veronica’s chest heaved with the order but she did not waste a second before she was reaching beneath her own skirts with her other hand, as Henry guided her loose fist up and down his length.
Her eyes were wide, fixed on him in wonder, in pleasure, as she touched herself beneath her skirts. Her soft moan only spiked his arousal more.
“It—the feel of it…” she closed her eyes, her mouth parting on a clearly pleasurable touch. “It arouses me. As if my body knows that I am ready to receive it.”
“Good,” he told her, his voice low. “Guide your thumb over the tip. Just like this.”
He showed her how to properly caress the head of his length, and with her touches so light and questioning, Henry could not resist bucking into her, naturally forming a harder stroke.
“Tighten your fist,” he told her, his breaths shallower as he fought not to chase his pleasure selfishly in her fist. “And move it up and down.”
She did as he instructed, and Henry cursed under his breath, especially when Veronica’s own soft moans chorused with his own deeper ones. Her dress rustled, and the sight of her own hand moving against herself, drove him half mad with desire.
With his hands, he pushed aside her skirts, exposing her. He moaned at the sight of her own fingers coated with her pleasure as she slid them in and out of herself, setting her own speed when he had neglected to tell her.
“Slow down,” he ordered, just to tease her. “We have all night, do we not?”
“We—” she gasped, angling her fingers in such a way that clearly felt good. “We do but—I cannot slow down. It feels too good.”
He smiled wickedly. “Then speed up. And when you reach your peak, do not stop, nor slow down. If your hand tires, I shall takeover, but I shall have you quivering for more. If you do not wish to wait, then you shall not wait.”
She gasped, looking up at him. He bent down to kiss her, the kiss only having him hardening fully in her grasp. She hastened her strokes—both on him and within herself. Veronica’s fingers worked inside of herself, and he fought the urge to sheath himself in her immediately.
But he wanted to draw this out. He wanted her to bring him to pleasure using only her hand, even if he guided her. There was an extra layer of pleasure to it: taking her hand in such a way when she performed this for him.
Her thumb sought out the tip of his length, brushing over it, smearing the pearl of arousal that gathered there. With her legs spread so, and her chest heaving, her face flushed, Henry was only getting nearer and nearer his climax.
