Page 76 of Never Beguile a Duke
Leading her toward the bed, he helped her step up onto the platform and climb onto the mattress.
“Lean back and close your eyes,” he said, guiding her head onto his pillow.
“How—”
He placed a finger to her lips. “If you cheat, I’ll blindfold you.”
“You wouldn’t!” She sat up, her eyes flying open.
“I would,” he replied, untying his cravat and pulling the strip of cloth from his throat. “I will also fasten your arms to the bedposts if you interfere in my seduction.”
She swallowed, her eyes jumping to the key.
“The moment you request I stop, I will,” he said, following her gaze. “It doesn’t bode well for my offer of employment if you’re afraid of me.”
“I’m not afraid of you, Your Grace,” she retorted, jutting out her chin.
Holding out the cravat, he sank onto the bed. Dropping her eyes to his hand, Miss Fernsby-Webb chewed her lower lip, then nodded.
He tied the fabric around her head, then pushed her down on the bed.
“Do not move,” he said, brushing his lips across hers.
Then, he stepped backward and stripped down to his drawers. Each time an article of clothing rustled, Miss Fernsby-Webb’s body stiffened, and he began a commentary of exactly what item he removed, which seemed to ease her trepidation.
However, when he knelt on the bed, her breathing intensified, her chest rising and falling at a rapid pace, and he found it necessary to continue the description of his actions.
He began at her foot, sliding his fingers along her instep, over her heel, and up her calf, swirling random patterns across her skin, which warmed under his touch. His fingers brushed over her knee, catching the hem of her nightgown and pushing the flimsy material higher on her legs.
She gasped as his hand dipped between her thighs and skated toward her center. However, he bypassed her most intimate region and drew her nightgown up her body, yanking the cloth over her head and discarding the thin fabric on the floor.
Shivering, she covered herself with her arms.
“Uh-uh,” he chastised, moving her hands aside. “Do that again, and I will restrain you.”
“Your Grace?—”
“Silas.” He bent his head and placed a kiss on her collarbone.
“Silas,” she gasped as his mouth moved down, kissing the swell of her breast. “If I cannot see you and I cannot touch you, what do you expect me to do?”
“Scream,” he said, his lips closing around her nipple.
She cried out, rising an inch off the bed and squirming as he nipped the sensitive bud. One hand slid down her body, caressing her skin and scattering goosebumps across her abdomen. His fingers slipped between her thighs, brushing against her center and drawing a moan from her lips before gliding toward her hip.
A low growl vibrated through her body.
He chuckled, his tongue swirling across her breast, and she arched off the bed, gasping as her fingernails scraped the bedsheets. Nudging her legs apart with his knee, he settled between her thighs, his mouth continuing its assault on her breast.
Her hands jumped to his drawers, blindly shoving the material down his hips and exposing his thickening member. Grabbing her wrists, he clucked his tongue and pinned her arms above her head.
“Interfering, Winifred,” he murmured against her skin.
“Silas,” she panted, raising her hips and grinding against him.
“I love hearing you call my name,” he replied, his lips traveling toward her throat. “However, I prefer it at a louder volume.”
He released one wrist, then reached between them, positioning himself at her entrance. Then, he recaptured her arm and drove himself—millimeter by millimeter—into her center. She moaned, quivering between him and tried to free her hands, but he held her fast to the bed.
