Page 69 of A Rescue by the Rakish Duke
The women Damian had been with had been open with their bodies but not their souls. They would coquettishly bat their lashes or cover their faces with fans, even though they were not shy under the sheets. They had never looked him in the eye—at least not in the way Gwendoline did.
“What? I like your plan, Gwendoline, but there is no way I’m taking you to this warehouse. It was one thing to sneak intoan empty shell of an estate, but venturing into a possibly well-guarded warehouse containing smuggled goods was another. “How will you do it, anyway? Fight Montrose’s men? Seduce them?”
Damian shuddered at the thought of using his wife for revenge. It made him think of the times Gwendoline believed she was merely a pawn in his game. Seeing it in her eyes had made him feel disgusted with himself.
“I can pick locks, Damian,” she said, shifting on his lap. “Even though Montrose believes I’m a fat hog?—”
“Stop talking about yourself like that,” he interrupted, pulling at his hair in exasperation.
He wasn’t angry at her. He was angry at Montrose, and even at himself for not being in her life when he should have been.
An irrational thought, but a genuine feeling.
“I can slip into the warehouse, Damian. I am nimble-footed even though?—”
Damian fixed her with a glare, and she stopped. But then she giggled. Her laughter died down when his hand shot out and gripped her hips, pressing her against him.
What was wrong with him? Perhaps he needed a physician to examine him. He was always hard when she was near. Hecouldn’t focus in her presence. He couldn’t focus when she wasn’t there.
“It’s too dangerous. If Montrose catches you, he will do much worse. The rumors are nothing. They had not harmed us. Words are nothing because we know what is true. But risking physical injury? We may not be able to come back from that, Gwendoline.”
She looked at him sharply, though he swore he could read the worry in her eyes. Unshed tears. Furrowed brow. Pouty bow-shaped lips. He was far too gone. But what was it? A sense of possession? Lust?
“This is our fight, Damian. Don’t shield me from it because we both know that he’ll keep trying. He will break through our defenses. So, why can’t we do the same to him?”
His grip on her loosened, his thumbs stroking her hips over and over. It was like that with her. Whatever he did with her, he wanted to do it repeatedly.
She shivered and sighed, confirming that she was not immune to him. It wasn’t long ago that she was still a maiden. Now, she had become bold with her movements, rocking her hips against his as he tried to stifle a groan.
“I’m going to straddle you,” Gwendoline murmured.
She wasn’t asking for permission. She lifted the skirt of her dress and straddled him. Then, she moved over him again, her heavy-lidded eyes watching him closely.
“You’re impossible,” Damian groaned as he felt the last of his resolve shatter.
His hand reached up to her cheek and caressed it oh-so gently. His voice was thick with frustration and something else. Did he dare mention it?
Need.
Affection.
Gwendoline’s lips curled into a smirk he was getting used to. They began their acquaintanceship with scowls and glares. He was thankful that they were past that.
“Yet, here you are, letting me do what I want with you,” she murmured. Her lips hovered over his own, and their breaths mingled.
“What do you want with me?” Damian asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes,” she breathed. “Admit it, Damian. You want me, don’t you? You want me as much as you crave revenge.”
Of course, he did. God help him and anyone who came between him and his cravings, but he did.
His eyes widened at the confidence of the woman before him. He loved how she was able to transform herself into something else. Something bolder.
It was enough for him to pull her lips toward his and kiss her with desperation and hunger. His fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her close and molding her to him as much as he could. But he was also reminding himself that she was here. She was safe. Alive. Warm and breathing. Panting and kissing him.
Gwendoline clutched at his shirt as if she felt the same way, afraid that he would suddenly disappear. With the desperation they felt, they clung to each other. She had wrapped her arms around his neck, not wanting to let go. And he didn’t want to let go either.
When they finally pulled apart, they were breathless, their foreheads pressed against each other. It was a gesture that had become familiar to them. It made Damian feel close to her. They felt like one, and at the same time, they felt like equals.
