Page 85 of Duke of Wickedness
But she didn’t realize that such a thing waspossible.
“Oh, yes,” he said, pressing another kiss to her throat, like he couldn’t bear not touching her, not even for a moment. It felt almost as good as the way he was touching her to realize that.
“One of the marvelous things about women,” he said, continuing his lazy caresses, “is that you are capable of taking as much pleasure as you desire. Gentlemen, alas, have certain physical limitations that prevent such a thing.”
Ariadne didn’t know what that meant, but she planned to find out.
Later, though. All that would wait for later.
For now, she had a far more pressing concern, one that became extremely evident when she felt the cool touch of one of his buttons against her stomach.
“Why are you dressed?” she demanded hotly.
He paused only briefly at this abrupt change of topic, then offered her a dazzling smile.
“Well, that’s actually related, little bird,” he said, resuming the maddening touch of his fingertips—against her hip, now. “I am still dressed, because you drive me half mad with want, and if you drive me all the way mad—if you make me spill before I am ready to do so—I shall be finished for the evening.”
He tilted his head, as if considering. “Well, I’ll still have fingers and a tongue, but you asked me to show you everything, and I wouldn’t be able to do that. I’m not as young as I once was, alas.”
This information was fascinating, even if Ariadne wasn’t entirely certain that she understood its full import. Nevertheless, her fantasies were starting to veer in the direction of ripping his clothes apart with her bare hands, so she decided it was worth the risk.
“Clothes off,” she demanded. “Now.”
Heat flared in his gaze. “As my lady commands.”
He leaned back so he was hovering above her again, then reached behind himself and pulled his shirt off in a fluid motion. One of his buttons popped off, though he didn’t seem to notice. Nor did she, not really, once he lowered himself again, and she felt the expanse of his bare skin against hers.
“I can feel you,” she said nonsensically, giddily.
“Sweetheart,” he said into the crook of her neck, “if you keep saying things to me in that breathless little voice of yours, we’re going to have that problem I was just talking to you about.” He kissed her neck, her shoulder, her arm.
“Really,” he said between kisses. Elbow, forearm, wrist. “It’s all your own fault for being so goddamned desirable.” A kiss tothe palm of her hand, on the muscle at the base of her thumb, against her knuckles.
“Oh, yes,” she said, letting herself sound a little more breathless, just to torment him. “Blame me.”
She traced her nails down the muscles in his back. He bucked against her.
He fixed her with an accusatory look, then stopped kissing her hand to bite gently against her hipbone.
This time, she was the one to jolt.
“You won’t win this game, Ariadne,” he warned just before he pressed his mouth to her center.
She was already primed from her previous crisis; he didn’t need to be gentle or soft with her, and he didn’t try. He dove upon her, fingers and tongue and ardent desire, and she fought against the impulse to press herself even more firmly against him. Eventually, though, she lost the willpower to hold herself back, and it took David’s free hand, pressed firmly on her lower abdomen, to keep her in place.
That pressure heightened everything else, and again, she toppled. It was a little different, this second crisis, perhaps not as shocking, perhaps not as sudden.
But good God, did it still feel incredible.
“You look so gorgeous like this,” David praised, running his hands gently up and down her legs, the gesture soothing rather than arousing.
She was, alas, still rather aroused.
She felt as though she had no bones in her body, and her mind had long since turned to that soft, giggly stuff that went into blancmange. She did not feel at all confident that she could raise her head if she tried.
But some primal part of her body remembered that he had promised her something more, and so the languor that had previously affected her after her climax did not take hold. An energy hummed inside her, keeping her ready—eager—for more.
“Gorgeous. Perfect. A dream,” he said, sounding a little dreamy himself. There was a thread of iron beneath his worshipful tone, though, and it reminded Ariadne that though she’d taken her pleasure twice, he hadn’t gotten the same chance.
