Page 45 of The Duke's All That
His self-flagellation was blessedly halted in its tracks by a knock on the door. But his relief was short-lived when he recalled that the only person who would be knocking on that inside door was Seraphina.
He stared at it through the dark shadows of the room for a long moment, frozen, his heart beating heavy in his chest, even as he clutched the covers tighter over his lap, painfully aware that he wore nothing but a sheet. For a mad moment he considered not answering, feigning that he was asleep and did not hear. But she knocked again a minute later, and her husky voice called his name, and he could no more ignore her than he could fly to the moon on wings made of stardust.
“Come in,” he called out, his voice harsh and rough in the deep quiet of the room. And then she turned the handle, and opened the door, and he knew that the past and the future did not matter. The only thing that mattered was right now, with Seraphina standing before him in her prim nightgown that nonetheless had him aching for her, with the entire world in her bright blue eyes.
Chapter 20
There had been a moment when Seraphina had padded across the room that separated her bedroom from Iain’s when she had faltered. What if he no longer wanted her? And if he did still want her, what if he could not accept her terms, that this was purely physical, that it meant nothing in the grand scheme of things, that it would be a simple night of mutual pleasure and nothing more?
But that moment of uncertainty had not lasted long, the pull of Iain too strong for her to resist. And when she opened his door to find him sitting up in the massive bed, chest bare, skin burnished, and eyes glittering in the faint firelight, looking at her as if he were a parched man and she the sweetest wine, any lingering doubt was extinguished. He wanted her just as desperately as she wanted him.
Even so, she knew in the one small corner of her brain that still possessed clarity that she had to lay all her cards out on the table before they could continue.
“You know why I am here?” she asked quietly, her hand squeezing the door handle with such force she was certain she would see the impression of her fingers in the metal in the morning.
“I have an idea, aye,” he replied.
She swallowed hard. “And you also know this is purely physical? That it changes nothing? We shall still head on to Edinburgh to secure the divorce, will still separate when all this is over and done with.”
There was the smallest of pauses as what looked to be pain flashed in his eyes. But it must be the shifting light from the fire in the hearth. He did not love her, and so could not feel pain that she did not want emotions involved.
“Aye,” he finally replied, quieter now. “I understand.”
“Also,” she continued, “we shall do everything to prevent a pregnancy.”
“Of course,” he replied again.
“And you agree to those terms?” she continued, more forceful now, desperate to get this out of the way so she might lose herself in his embrace.
In answer, he threw the covers back, revealing his nakedness in all its glory. Her breath caught in her throat, her gaze roving hungrily over him as he swung his feet over the side of the bed and rose to his full height. Thickly corded muscles, a light dusting of hair across his broad chest, strong legs with feet planted wide. And at the center of it all, his member, standing thick and proud. Her knees went weak at the sight of it.
“Seraphina,” he said, his voice gruff, almost a caress on her feverish skin, “I will have you any way I can, for as long as you will allow me, and be thankful for it.”
A soft, needy sound escaped from her lips at that, andbefore she knew it, she was hurrying across the floor to him. He opened his arms, catching her up against him, his mouth crashing down on hers before she had time to gasp at the feel of him fully aroused against her. Their tongues tangled, breaths mingling, lips in concert, as if this single kiss could help them each reclaim their souls. His skin was unbearably smooth and rough all at once, hard plains silky under coarse hair, and not a bit of cloth to impede her hands from exploring every inch of him. She had explored him some that morning when they had woken in bed together. But it was nothing like this, where she had free rein over unencumbered skin, knowing where these kisses were leading, aching for it.
His hands were not idle either, one large hand splaying across her lower back while the other worked at her nightgown, inching the worn material up, up, until his fingers found her thigh. But he did not stop there, and thank God he did not. No, his hand dipped beneath the cotton, cupping her bare behind, pressing her lower belly into his erection, as if to give proof to his desire for her.
She gasped as the heat between her legs turned molten, ripping her lips from his, her head falling back, the weight too great under the onslaught of his touches. He took it for the invitation it was, his mouth trailing along her neck, tongue and teeth working in concert on her sensitive skin. And then he leveraged his other hand beneath her bottom and lifted her, guiding her legs about his lean hips, his arousal pressing to that most sensitive place.
“Iain,” she gasped. “I need you. Now.”
He obeyed immediately, walking toward the bed with her wrapped about him, his mouth hungry on the curve where her neck met her shoulder. Each shift of his body hadhis cock rubbing against her, the thin cotton that separated them only making her wilder to feel him inside her. In the few steps it took to reach the bed, she was writhing against him, silently begging for more.
He lowered her to the coverlet with infinite care. With quick yet achingly gentle movements he removed her spectacles, then lifted her nightgown over her head, baring her to the cool night air. But he did not lower himself over her and slide between her legs, as she yearned for him to do. No, he stretched out beside her, his eyes fairly scorching her skin where they caressed her, his gaze intense and consuming.
“By the saints, Seraphina,” he rasped. He reached out a hand then, trailing it over her skin, as light as a feather, leaving a trail of electricity in its wake. “You are beautiful.”
And for the first time in forever, she felt beautiful. Not that she had given her looks much thought, or even cared about them, in the past years. Yet now, here with Iain, she wanted to be beautiful to him, to be desirable. She shivered, her back arching as his fingers, incredibly gentle for the strength in them, traced from her collarbone to her breast. Her nipple puckered, begging for his touch. But he seemed intent on dragging this out for all it was worth. The tip of his finger brushed against her nipple, drawing a lazy circle around it, widening the circle before coming back to her nipple again. And she felt every touch straight at the junction between her thighs.
Finally—finally!—he cupped his large palm around her breast and lowered his head, his mouth warm as he closed it around her nipple. A soft cry escaped Seraphina’s lips, her hands finding and weaving into the soft curls of his overlong hair, as if she could bind him to her.
That simple, unconscious act seemed to unlock something in him. His movements became quicker, rougher, and she welcomed it. Each nip of his teeth on her skin sent her higher, each hard suck on her nipples making her press her legs together to try and ease the ache there. His hands skimmed down her rib cage to her hips, his grip on her urgent, massaging into her muscles as if he could not get close enough.
“Tell me what you want,” he begged, lifting his head to gaze up at her with eyes that reflected the low fire in the hearth.
That desperate plea should not have touched her as it did. Yet knowing he was willing to give up power to her, that he wanted her to take the lead, made not only her body cry out, but her heart as well. Unable to speak, she did the only thing she could think to do: she took hold of his head, and guided it down her body to that place that needed him the most.
The fire in his eyes flared hot with realization before, with a wicked smile, he did as he was bid. Moving down her body, kissing a path down her stomach and over her hip, he eased her legs apart and settled between them. His shoulders were wide, spreading her open, and she felt at once wonderfully exposed and incredibly cherished as he gently dragged his fingertips over the thatch of curls at the juncture of her thighs. He parted the hair there with reverence, as if he were unearthing the greatest treasure, his breath caressing her. The breath caught in her throat as he paused. Then, with a suddenness that sent a sensation akin to a lightning bolt through her body, he lowered his mouth to her.
