Page 87 of His Duchess of Scandal
He lapped at her quicker, alternating between licking into her and curling his finger, until her thighs clamped around his head and she climaxed.
She let out a cry—that sweet, loud cry that had haunted his dreams so many a night—only to clamp her hand over her mouth and muffle it. Charles smiled against her folds, for he knew how loud she could be.
Still, he licked and feasted on her as he had promised, and he didn’t stop until her hips bucked against his face one last time. To watch her come apart completely would be a spectacle, but to feel such a thing had him utterly unmoored.
He lapped up her juices, giving one last, deep suck before pulling back. Hooded eyes looked back at him as her face flushed a deep red.
“Beautiful,” he said quietly, standing up. “Perfect.Perfect.”
Her breath came in ragged pants as she pulled him to her, taking his lips in a hard kiss. Her tongue slid against his, and she shuddered against him in the aftermath of her climax.
“I want more,” she whispered.
Charles stepped back, smirking. He slowly fixed her skirts, letting them fall back to the floor as if nothing had ever happened.
“Then you will have more,” he promised. Her hand brushed his erection, and he gritted his teeth. “But I will take you to my bed, Hermia. No more turning you away at that infernal door that blocks us from one another. I will take you as you want, as you deserve, but only in my bed.”
Hermia nodded slowly, her eyes unfocused as if she couldn’t quite get her bearings. Charles stroked her hair back where it had come loose and kissed her forehead.
“Let me take you home, Duchess,” he said.
“Then take me,” she answered quietly, meeting his gaze.
And that was when Charles knew his wife would be the death of him.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Imust have you,” Charles murmured against her skin, his mouth already finding a spot on her neck, newly exposed by his roving hands.
He had pushed aside her sleeve without care, as if the lack of skin on display pained him.
Hermia’s back hit his chamber door with athud, and she reveled in the force of it—the roughness that was slipping through, now that her husband had finally given in to his desire.
How many nights had she lain awake, thinking herself undesirable?
How many moments had she agonized over his rejection on their wedding night, cringing and hurting?
Now, she realized that her husband had been held back by that steely grip on duty and honor.
“I have wanted you ever since that night,” Charles whispered, lifting his head so he could look her in the eye.
His fingers grazed her chin, tilting her face up. He kissed her once, not the bruising, passionate way he had done earlier, but a tantalizing brush of lips and tongue.
“I have craved to have your body beneath mine, craved to have your thighs wrapped around me, craved to hear your beautiful moans.”
“Charles,” she whimpered, her fingers tangling in his dark hair.
Her heart was pounding so hard she thought she might pass out. Heavens, even just the way he stared at her made her avert her gaze, made her spiral.
His mouth quirked in a smirk. “Do not be shy now, Hermia. I have you exactly where we both want you to be, no?”
Another whine caught in her throat, desire trying to break through her defenses, as she nodded.
“Then do not look away,” he purred. “I wantyou, and having your eyes on me as I pleasure you is one of the many gifts you have already given me.”
His fingers toyed with her sleeves further, running over her shoulders in a way that had her shivering against the door, needy breaths escaping her.
“You are beautiful,” he continued, as if he knew she couldn’t quite believe this was truly happening. That she wasdesired.
