Page 85 of His Duchess of Scandal
“No,” he uttered, answering her question. “No, I did not get my fill. I do not think I ever will, Hermia. Not when it comes to you. I could feast on you for hours, and I do not think it will be enough to quench the thirst I have for you.”
Slowly, he stalked towards her, forcing her to back up against the wall.
“Then do not stop until your thirst is quenched,” Hermia breathed.
The challenge was like a wildfire that was lit in his veins.
“You do not know what you are asking for.”
“I do.” Her eyes darkened with memories of their night together a year ago.
If Charles could coax even half the noises she had made that night, then he would sleep just fine.
When he stopped before her, her focus remained on his cravat. He grabbed her chin and tilted her head up.
“Do you remember what I told you that night?” he asked quietly. “About where to look.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “You told me to keep my eyes on you.”
He gave her one long look of warning before he kissed her.
It was deeper than the kiss at the cottage. This was an unfettered desire that he let snap between them, knowing they would not be disturbed. Knowing that nothing would stop him from feasting on her the way he craved.
“Then do it,” he murmured.
And then he was kissing her again, but not for long.
He moved to her neck, kissing down that slender, pretty column that he ached to lick up. He moved to her collarbones, nudged her sleeve down her arm, and kissed the curve of her shoulder.
He pressed open-mouth kisses down her decolletage, her ribs, her belly, pretending her gown was her skin, until he was kneeling before her. His eyes flicked up, finding hers still on him as he had ordered.
It stirred his arousal such that his length twitched in his breeches. He fought back the urge to simply take her. He would not rush it, and certainly not in a side room in someone else’s house.
But he could allow himself this: kissing her calf, trailing his lips over the side of her knee, the inside of her thigh, until he finally reached the apex of her thighs, that sweet flesh that called to him.
“Will you let me quench my thirst, Duchess?” he asked.
“Yes.”
Heavens, he could get drunk on how her voice cracked.
Charles wasted no time in pushing up her skirts, so he had full access.
“Hold them,” he ordered quietly.
And once Hermia did, once she bared herself to him, he became a starved, helpless man.
Her scent drew him closer. A groan slipped past his lips as he fell into her heat. Another escaped as he pressed his tongue to the wet flesh he had been craving ever since that night a year ago.
“I could get drunk on you,” he muttered, before closing his eyes and diving in.
His tongue licked from her entrance to her bud. His breath shuddered out of him at her heavenly taste. Charles knew no taste would ever be enough to sate his need, but he needed this.
Hewantedthis.
Heavens, he wantedher.
His tongue slipped into her, and he moaned quietly when he was rewarded with a burst of her juices. In response, Hermia made a muffled noise.
