Page 38 of The Duke of Fire
Before she could answer, he was guiding her backward, step by slow step, until her spine brushed against a rose-covered arbor. Her vision blurred. Suddenly, all she could see was his silhouette. So close. So dangerous. The scent of petals seemed to juxtapose against that danger, which was evident in the wildness in his eyes.
“I should be screaming right now,” she admitted, her body trembling.
But I do not want to.
She did not say it aloud, but it hung in the air between them. She swayed. Reflexively, his arm slid around her waist, anchoring her with one large hand against the small of her back. It was not like when they danced. Then, his touch had been controlled. Polished. Possessive, yes—but with the elegance of a gentleman playing by society’s rules.
Now, there were no rules. No watchers. No orchestra to hide behind. Only them.
“You know that nobody would hear you from here,” he murmured, brushing his gloved thumb along the edge of her jaw, then tracing it lightly over her lower lip. “Even if they did, I doubt anyone would interrupt. They are far too distracted by their own little trysts. Besides…” His mouth tilted in a devilish smirk. “They all know that screaming, here inThe Arrangement, usually means pleasure.”
Amelia’s heart pounded, but she did not pull away.
Sheknewthis was part of the game. That he had promised—explicitly—that nothing would happen she did not want. And, perhaps more shockingly, shebelievedhim. He had not touched her without permission. He had not even kissed her—yet.
“Tell me, Amelia. Do you want me to stop?”
She shook her head a little more eagerly than she should.
He did not make her wait.
He closed the distance between them and kissed her—not tentatively, not with polite hesitation, but with deep, consuming hunger. Like a man who had been imagining this moment far longer than he cared to admit.
Amelia did not resist. The duke’s hands cupped her face. His hands framed her face at first, firm but reverent. Then they slid lower, down her arms, leaving trails of heat in their wake. She clutched at his shirt, needing something to hold on to. She knew a part of her wanted to be caught, but she did not expect that she would react like this. Like a woman starved for pleasure.
She knew it by the way heat pooled in her lower belly, and the way her limbs felt weak. His tongue touched hers, making her toes curl in her damp slippers. She moaned at the contact,tightening her fists around the fabric of his shirt.Then, his hand slid up the back of her neck, threading into her hair.
In one swift, sure movement, he fisted the silken strands, tilting her head back just enough to deepen the kiss. Amelia gasped into his mouth, and he took the sound like a gift, answering with a low, hungry growl.
His other hand gripped her hip, anchoring her as his mouth trailed down her neck, teeth scraping just lightly enough to tease. She shivered and felt the brush of his lips at her collarbone. His thigh pressed harder between her legs, and her hips moved without her permission—seeking, pleading, the friction maddening.
“Sebastian,” she breathed, her voice barely a whisper, but full of need.
He lifted his head, then. His eyes were dark, dilated, wild.
Then—too soon—he pulled back. Not entirely, but just enough for her to feel the loss. He looked at her with heavy-lidded eyes even as he panted. Disappointment coursed through her. She wanted more. Shehadwanted to be caught all along. And now she knew why. It was her chance to feel desire. Lust. Being wanted.
“Sebastian—”
This time, his name was a protest. Her body was still trembling even from the slight caresses he gave her, and her lips trembled from his kisses. Why would he stop?
Without a word, he took her hand and led her back to the house. Every step made her chest ache. Did she do anything wrong? Was she that undesirable?
Still, he did not release her hand. They entered the house, where some couplings continued or resumed after the chase. All of these other people seemed to be getting what they wanted tonight.
“Where are we going?” she asked, her voice higher in pitch as she realized that he was leading her up the stairs.
“You are very demanding today,” he chuckled as he continued to go up. His hand was still warm around hers. Firm, yes, but also protective.
They soon entered a private room. He closed the door behind them. Amelia realized that her palms had begun to sweat as he took a bottle of wine from a cabinet and poured her a glass. He then sat next to her and began to massage her shoulders, sending fresh goosebumps across her arms.
“Why did you stop?” she asked, trying to keep her voice even. Then, he kissed the back of her neck and took a sip of the wine.
“Because I wanted you to think about it. I want you hungry, Amelia. I want you to ache for me.”
Amelia did not know what to say to that. She drank more of her wine, feeling the buzz relax her a little. However, even the wine could not dampen her desire. She did ache. He knew it. But he wanted more. He wanted her to be at the very brink of insanity—or at least it felt like it.
“Do you do this often? This little game of yours?” she finally asked, setting down the empty glass of wine.
