Page 110 of The Good Duke
Persephone glanced away first, casting her focus to the floor, and then when she lifted it once more, they remained frustratingly vague.
All business, Persephone reached for her leather satchel that rested on the bench beside her.
Simon made a show of petting Astrid.
All the while, he watched Persephone. She withdrew that same bloody book that’d infuriated him—her work journal dedicated to her charges and clients—the latter column of which Simon fell neatly into—and flipped it open on her lap.
She darted the tip of her tongue out and licked the corner of her index finger.
So attuned to even the most subtle of this woman’s movements, Simon’s gaze tunneled on the sight of that trace of delicate, pink flesh.
Persephone turned page after page, then gave that digit another tiny lick.
God, he envied that finger.
Simon’s lashes grew heavy.
And as he’d proven himself caddish time and time again since Persephone exploded back into his life, Simon let himself imagine her running her tongue up and down his aching shaft. She’d know just what to do. She’d trace him from tip to base, and then, after she’d driven him nearly mad with those tiny, teasing licks, she’d take him all the way into her mouth so that he touched the back of her throat.
His breathing grew shallower.
His cock ached.
Simon gritted his teeth.
He needed to fist himself.Nay, he wanted to undo the fall of his trousers and take Persephone’s long, nimble fingers in his and wrap them around his length.
Simon briefly closed his eyes.
“Splendid!” Persephone exclaimed, her voice hoarse.
Yes, itwouldbe splendid; he’d felt her satiny soft but solid grip before, and he hungered for those skillful ministrations now. And that throaty quality of her low contralto he recognized all too well as the unmistakable husk that coated her voice when he’d made her speak her wicked yearnings aloud.
“Now, perhaps we may begin by sharing whether or not you have any prior history with Lord Si—TheMarquessof Bute…and his sister.”
That matter-of-factness of both Persephone’s voice and question barely penetrated the dense wall of his desire.
He stared dumbly at her, who stared so very clearheadedly back.
Astrid whimpered, and he glanced doltishly down at the small pup. With a little yelp, she hopped off his lap and onto the opposite seat, joining Persephone instead.
Smart pup. He’d have liked to do the same.
This was an auspicious start to a possible courtship, he thought wryly. He sat contemplating marriage to one woman, while all the while drowning in lust for another.
Tap-tap-tap.
Persephone rapped the tip of her pencil on her page.
“The Marquess of Bute and Lady Isabelle,” she repeated like he’d not heard the first time.
In fairness, he hadn’t.
“What do you know of her, Your Grace?”
“Uh…” Simon shifted on his bench and attempted to get himself caught up. “The lady has two brothers.” He paused. “Obviously, you know that.”
Persephone blanched.
