Page 51 of A Rescue by the Rakish Duke
“Yes, break. Fall apart. Let go and climax. I promised you that I would protect you, which includes protecting you from myself, Gwendoline.”
His words sent a jolt through her, a mix of fear and arousal that made her gasp.
Her thighs were nudged apart, ready to welcome him into that wet heat that she had never dared to explore before. Not even on her own. Her hand had hovered there on occasion, wondering what it would feel like, but she was mostly innocent.
But she didn’t look away. She couldn’t.
Gwendoline wanted to commit his face to memory. He would leave a mark on her no matter what, but she was greedy and wanted everything she could get.
His burning eyes. His skin on hers. His hardness pressed urgently against her belly. She wanted to remember everything.
His lips found her neck again, kissing a path down her throat, each press of his mouth sending sparks through her.
How could that be? He had not even touched herthere, but the tension in her could cut through steel.
Damian’s free hand wandered lower, skimming the outside of her thigh, teasing her in a way that made her squirm. His fingers would venture further inside but then flutter back to where they were resting.
She wanted more, but he refused to give it to her.
“Damian,” she panted, raising her head a little, her voice breaking on his name.
He chuckled. It was a low, seductive sound.
“Patience, wife,” he almost groaned. “We have all night.”
She responded with her own groan, frustration, and desire battling inside her as his hand slipped between her legs. Itbrushed against the sensitive flesh hidden there, a part of herself she had only been recently acquainted with. Damian was the one who had introduced it to her when he touched her there over and over again.
Tonight, his touch was fleeting, maddeningly brief, and she cried out in protest. Her hips jerked toward him in a desperate attempt to prolong the contact. He was so strong that she could not free her wrists from his grasp. She sobbed.
But Damian only laughed darkly, withdrawing his hand and leaving her aching, desperate.
“Not yet,” he breathed. “I want to savor this. To watch you fall apart little by little.”
Gwendoline wanted to hate him for this, for the way he was toying with her, for the way he pleasured her without giving her release, driving her mad. But she couldn’t. He set her on fire, and she would gladly give him more matches.
His lips returned to her neck, licking, nibbling, and sucking on the tender flesh until she was sure he would leave marks. Marks she had seen on a woman Timothy brought home once. A loose woman, someone had whispered.
She didn’t care.
At that moment, she only cared about the way her husband’s body felt against hers. Everything else about him—his breath, his voice, his sensual words.
Her marriage had also saved her from vile accusations, she thought smugly.
Please,” she gasped weakly.
She didn’t even know what she was asking for. Not really. Justsomething.Anything. Something more than the helplessness that had washed over her.
Damian paused, lifting his head to reveal eyes flashing with the same hunger. The same desire.
Slowly and deliberately, he released her wrists. He finally let her arms fall to the rug. She sighed in relief.
Finally.
But before she could move, his hands gripped her hips tightly as he positioned himself between her legs.
“Tell me what you want,” he said, his voice rough, but it almost sounded like he was the one begging this time. Begging her to ask for what she wanted.
“You.”
