Page 71 of The Duke's Forbidden Bride
As if he was enamored by her.
As if she was ridiculous to declare that their marriage was only for Charlotte’s safety.
As if he was angry with her for not acknowledging what had already begun growing between them.
“I-I… That is what we agreed on.”
“Do you truly think I do not care about you? Not just your safety, butyou, Eleanor.”
Eleanor didn’t know what to say. For all their teasing and pretending to be a doting couple, she had lost herself in the confusion of where they stood with one another.
“There…” Her voice was tight, so she tried again. “There is nobody here. We do not need to pretend.”
“I am not pretending any longer,” Spencer countered. “I do notneedto pretend. You… you make me wish to be bolder. Perhaps the wall between us is the flimsy excuse of my sister’s safety, of my way of watching over you. But that does not explain why I think of you when I am alone. Why the mere thought of youstirs something within me I cannot control. Why I cannot stop—” He swallowed hard, leaning in, his voice rough with longing. “Cannot stop wanting to feel you pressed against me. Wanting to hear the sounds of your pleasure. Let me claim that, Eleanor. Let me—Heavens, let me touch you.”
She had barely whispered ayes, before his mouth was on hers, before her breath was stolen by her husband, who she had ached to kiss again ever since that kiss in the drawing room.
His lips were soft and warm against hers, knowing in their rhythm. He kissed her steadily yet deeply, angling his head for more access.
The hand he had untied her mask with sank into her hair, cupping her head as he moved closer to her. Her back hit the glass wall behind her, and she gasped as the cold seeped through her layers.
“More,” Spencer murmured against the corner of her lips, the soft fullness of her cheek, the tip of her chin. His teeth nipped her skin, and she stifled a moan. “We’re far enough from the ballroom. No one will hear you.” His voice dropped, low and commanding. “So let me hear you, Eleanor. Let me hear your pleasure.”
His hand dropped to her hip, his thumb drawing circles above her dress, and she inhaled sharply as he pulled up her skirts. He did it slowly, as if giving her a chance to say no. And even though she knew she should have said that, insisted that it was not proper to do there, she did not stop him.
In fact, she craved him.
She craved his touch.
For that hole in the wall they spoke to, allowing each other a glimpse into something more between them, was growing. And Eleanor wondered if her husband’s confession may have very well blown the wall to pieces.
“You have not been touched here,” he purred, his hand brushing the back of her thigh.
Briefly, he skimmed over her knees, and she shivered at the phantom ache there.
“Or here.” His hand moved higher, grazing the inside of her thigh this time.
Eleanor tensed, awaiting the moment he finally touched her where pressure bloomed pleasurably and yet unbearably between her legs.
“Answer me,” he urged, stilling his fingers long enough to stir her impatience.
“You—you did not ask a question,” she pointed out, catching his gaze for a moment.
But her wit failed her when she saw the look in his eyes.
If he had been angry at her when he first came in, there was no trace of it now. All that was left was desire.Need. And it seemed as though it had overtaken him.
Eleanor’s breath caught at the sight. That he would desire her body even though his own remained untouched.
“Then allow me to ask you one,” he all but growled. “CanI touch you here?”
His fingertips grazed the very place Eleanor herself had never touched, too ashamed in the convent, and too proper before that to even think of exploring, dutifully saving her body for her husband.
“Y-Yes,” she stammered.
Spencer made a rough noise in the back of his throat. She recalled how gently he had tended to her wounds in the inn the night he had saved her.
And then all thoughts fled, like a blanket of calm as Spencer’s hand cupped her between her legs, gentle and slow, letting her adjust to the feeling.
