Page 8 of The Duke
Imogen thought she’d been kissed before, but she’d been utterly mistaken. His siege of her mouth went on and on until she lost her breath and didn’t care. Her thoughts scattered like a flock of panicked birds chased out of their roost. Even inebriated, his skill with his mouth pushed her beyond her wits. He tasted of Scotch and sin, and Imogen wondered if intoxication was as contagious as a fever, because she felt quite funny.
Just when she thought there was no other place for him to lick, he would begin to suck and nip. To sample and savor. First her bottom lip, then the top before gently capturing her tongue. She thought she’d go mad from the busy sensations.
Eventually he relented, pulling his tongue away and dragging his mouth across hers in great, gentle sweeps, letting some of his evening stubble rasp at her tender lips.
His hands didn’t remain idle. They tested the garters securing her stockings to her thighs. They spanned her hips again, apparently enjoying that particular part of her anatomy, and then molded to the curve of her bottom before reaching beneath and—
Imogen surged away and tried unsuccessfully to clamp her thighs shut as questing fingers found a wellspring of moisture between her legs.
“Hold still,” he breathed out on a shudder.
Scandalized and overstimulated, Imogen blinked back a few confused tears. “You don’t have to… We can just… get to it.” She wanted—no—neededthis to be over before she lost her nerve. A heated curiosity had bloomed within her, and crawled over her skin. She felt like a wanton. Not like a whore, but like a lover. And she knew whatever he did to her just now was utterly dangerous.
Dangerous, because she didn’t want him to stop.
He’d awakened something, some wicked need, and she knew that feeling anything but revulsion with him would only intensify her shame later.
He blinked her into focus, scrutinizing her with his unsettlingly astute eyes for someone in his state, while his hands steadied her at her waist. “I assume you don’t have many… customers who care to give you pleasure.”
Imogen bit her kiss-abraded lip before answering carefully. “I… can’t say that I have.”
His eyes warmed, melting the copper to a smoldering liquid. He pressed his nose against hers before kissing her lightly in an affectionate gesture that nearly undid her.
“Do you want to know why I chose you tonight? Why I paid the twenty quid? I mean, other than your exotic beauty, of course?”
He was being a flirt, but Imogen still couldn’t stop the pleased blush from claiming her flesh.
“Your eyes.” He reached up, running a thumb beneath where thick kohl liner accentuated the shape. “While they are lovely, they are tired. Strained. You looked as though you’ve had a rather difficult go of things.”
Imogen swept her lashes down, disturbed that she’d given away so much. She pressed her lips together against the tide of tears his kindness threatened to unleash, and swallowed them down, nearly forgetting their intimate pose for a moment.
“I’ve had a rather trying week,” he muttered. “I’m certain you’ve heard about it.”
She nodded, a pang of sympathy permeating her own misery.
His finger trailed down her cheek, to her jaw, and across the bare expanse of her chest, encouraging her to look up at him again now that she’d composed herself.
Lord, but she’d never accustom herself to the beauty that assaulted her each time she saw his face.
“I came here tonight hoping to drink enough to forget…” His own eyes became suspiciously liquid, and he took his own moment to grapple with his composure. His voice was huskier as he continued, deeper, if at all possible. “I want usbothto enjoy this indulgence. This oblivion. I want this night to be a reprieve… because the dawn brings everything back, doesn’t it? Duty does not allow for sorrow or weariness. I’ll have to go to—” He caught himself in time, clenching his teeth against words that would escape him. “It doesn’t matter where I’m going. What I’m saying is that the world will churn on, despite what we’ve lost. Despite what we’ve gained… what we want or—don’t want, in any case.”
Brimming with empathy for the naked grief in his eyes, Imogen brought her hands to his face, cupping his hard jaw. The man had lost his family, and even the coldest soldier or spy had to mourn in his own way.
“Take your pleasure, Cole,” she whispered. “Don’t worry about mine.”
He was right about one thing, no one else ever did.
He breathed out on a shudder. “Here.” Grasping her hand, he guided it down between their bodies until he wrapped her fingers around the surprisingly hot flesh of his cock. Her small hand barely fit around the velvety skin encasing the rod of steel beneath.
Her eyes widened in alarm. What did he want her to do with it?
“Now you see,” he said on a breathless groan. “It’s better that I make you come. That I make you ready. Even the most experienced… ladies have difficulty sometimes.”
Imogen swallowed her apprehension and pulled her fingers from around him.
Though she appreciated that he’d done his best to avoid referring to her as a whore.
His arms snaked around her as he pulled her close. “Let me,” he commanded, and stole her breath with another kiss. “Let ussharepleasure, as though we were lovers instead of strangers.”
