Page 99 of The Duke's Forbidden Bride
She moaned at that fact alone, and when Spencer licked her into a climax, her shout was muffled enough. At least she hoped. Her pulse fluttered, her head spinning as she came down from her high and Spencer stood up to remove his cravat.
He paused before slipping it into her corset, right between her breasts.
“Safekeeping,” he murmured, before planting a light kiss on her lips.
Eleanor could only gape at this adventurous, daring husband of hers, a man who was unlocking so many more doors than she could have ever thought.
“My aunt has taken Charlotte to the theater, so we are—Heavens, Eleanor, what a mess.”
Spencer’s voice had Eleanor looking up from the counter she had been working at, her hands covered in flour. She grinned, finding him staring around the kitchen in mock horror.
A smile tugged at his mouth when he looked back at her. “Did you manage to get any flour on your dough?”
“Yes,” she insisted. “Some. We already agree that I am clumsy, am I not?”
He took in the flour covering the counters, her apron, and her hair. He said nothing, where he once would have chided her for being a duchess in a kitchen, baking.
“Indeed.”
He strode over to her and pressed a tender kiss to her temple. Eleanor leaned into him without realizing just how much she gravitated toward him.
“What are you baking?”
“I was going to bake honey cakes,” she said. “For it is an old favorite, of course.”
“No honey cakes?” he asked, and she could swear she heard a note of disappointment in his voice.
“I could not find the honey, and I did not really want to venture out.”
“I could have?—”
“Spencer.” She laughed. “I am perfectly capable of doing things alone. I merely wanted to say that I took the opportunity to try another flavor. Here, taste.”
She went to pick up a spoon and dip it into the mixture that would go into the dough, but Spencer caught her wrist and guided a fingertip lightly through the sweet goodness. He brought it to his lips and sucked it gently into his mouth.
Eleanor blinked, aware she should not be surprised anymore, but she was nonetheless.
He hummed, his tongue wrapping around her digit for a moment before releasing her. “Delicious. The filling is very good, too.”
Eleanor blushed furiously. “It is raspberry and almond.”
“That explains why you smell so good,” he murmured, leaning into her neck.
“You have an infatuation with my scent.” She giggled, pushing him away. “Shoo, I must continue baking. I have missed it.”
“Gardening, baking—is there anything else you love to do that is not exactly conventional for a duchess?”
“I can think ofsomethingI would like,” she teased, her eyes running over the length of his body, lingering just below his waistband. “That would be unconventional.”
“Careful,” he warned. “Do not tease me with such suggestions, or else you might find yourself on your k—” He stopped right as her desire flared slightly.
Of course that would have been the best position for such an act, as he did for her, but her hands shook and she swallowed. She returned to kneading her dough.
“There are—there are other ways to do such a thing,” Spencer said, realizing where her mind had gone.
Eleanor was torn by the desire to please and taste her husband. But the thought of being on her knees brought only memories of cold stone floors beneath her, the feel of pebbles digging into her ruined skin, and prayers chanted until her throat was hoarse. She heard the sharp voice of a pious woman calling her too many names as she wove her shroud of shame.
“We can experiment,” she allowed, though her voice was shaky. “It is something I want to do.”
