Page 59 of Duke of Wickedness
But David had more good luck than a man like him deserved, for his little bird took pity on him.
“Show me what he was doing to her,” she said, the most fetching blush crossing her cheeks. “The woman downstairs. With the man. Beneath her skirts.”
Her words stuttered, but the conviction in her eyes didn’t waver.
And this was something David could do without fear that he was compromising more than he could stand to give.
For tonight, he pushed it aside. For tonight, he would be what she needed. Nothing more, nothing less.
He bent down and stole a kiss; she melted beneath his touch—just as she always did, the perfect little thing.
“As my lady commands,” he told her.
Maybe Ariadne should have been alarmed at the efficiency with which David began divesting her of that beautiful gown. But she’d known from the start what this dress was designed for, hadn’t she? She’d been thrilled by it. She’d been waiting for this moment the whole evening.
So instead of feeling anything like a pang of concern that this suggested how very many times he’d done this before, all she felt was a rush of excitement.
Excitement and a bizarre sense of safety. David wouldn’t hurt her. And he would show her what she needed to know.
He hadn’t failed her yet, and she knew that he wouldn’t do so now.
It was like a drug, that certainty.
“How did you get so brave?” he asked her approvingly as he unknotted the tie that held her dress together, then unfolded the layers of fabric like she was the most wonderful gift he’d ever been given. “All the things you saw tonight, and you never blinked, not once.”
She smiled. “Is curiosity the same as bravery?” She knew she was the former; she didn’t think she was the latter.
“Not always,” he allowed. “But for you?” He kissed her lips. “Yes.” Her cheek. “Yes.” The notch of her collarbone. “Yes, absolutely.”
And just like that, he had reduced her to a pile of purewanting. Perhaps the atmosphere of the party could have taken some of the credit, but here, her senses filled with his touch, his warm, woodsy scent? She couldn’t think of anything but David.
He kissed across the neckline of her dress as he finished pulling at the ties. When they were loose, the gown unwrapped in a fluid line, leaving her entirely open to his gaze.
He stopped, looked at her, then reached up and tore off his mask like he needed an unobstructed view just to stare at her.
When he ran a hand absently over his mouth, his eyes never once leaving her body, she felt like the most beautiful, most powerful woman alive.
“Fuck,” he said, and his profanity delighted her. “You are…incredible.”
This time, not even the quietest, most doubtful voice in the back of her mind put up an argument. How could she argue with that look in his eyes, after all?
Maybe, then, she could trust his comment about bravery, too.
So she gathered her courage, raised her chin, and said, “Then show me.”
Never let it be said that the Duke of Wilds was too high in the instep to follow orders. He fell upon her, all gentle kisses and caressing hands.
“Who should I be, then?” he asked. “Of the lady’s two admirers, which would you like me to play? The stern commander, or the worshipful acolyte?”
She shuddered beneath him at the reference to the worshipper. He chuckled before she could speak.
“Ah, well, then. That’s my answer, isn’t it?” He dropped to his knees on the floor, and Ariadne practically wrenched her headoff her neck as she craned it to look at him. He grinned wickedly up from his place, and her breath left her in a shakywhoosh.
“Let me see how well I can please you, then, Lady Ariadne,” he said.
And then he reached up to her knees and spread them apart.
Ariadne let out a little cry as he stared, entirely brazen, at her center, his hands grounding her enough that she didn’t snap her legs closed again on bashful instinct alone.
