Page 100 of His Grace, the Duke
She gasped as he spun her around. His fingers feverishly worked the back of her gown. In moments he had it open, shoving the red satin off her shoulders to the floor. She turned as she stepped out of it, still wearing her stays and silk drawers. Her white stockings were tied with pink garter ribbons above the knee. Giving him a devilish smile, she raised her naked hand and brushed her fingers over the strands of pearls at her neck.
His response was immediate—a primal groan as he reached for her.
“You like seeing me in your family jewels, don’t you?” she whispered, rolling the pearls at her collarbone.
“Yes,” he growled, cupping her breasts over her stays.
“What if I was wearingonlythis? A Corbin at my neck... a Corbin in my cunt...”
That broke him. He worked fast, unfastening her stays as he kissed her senseless. As soon as the stays were loose enough, he shoved his hand between the laces, palming her naked breast for the first time. She arched into his touch, stifling the need to cry out as he pinched her aching nipple.
“Take it off,” she pleaded, tugging on the strings herself. “Off—”
Together they jerked the strings loose and the stays dropped to the floor. She dug her fingers in his hair as he lowered his head, kissing the swell of each breast, licking her nipples. She whimpered, core clenching tight, desperate for more. As he kissed her breasts, she undid the buttons at her hip holding her drawers in place. The silk slipped down herlegs, pooling on the floor. She stepped out of it, wearing nothing but stockings and the necklace.
James spun her around, one hand at her throat, holding her still while his other hand smoothed over her hip, pulling her tight against him. His fingers danced across her stomach, inching lower... lower. The anticipation nearly took her breath away. At the first slide of his fingers through her wetness, she moaned.
He dropped his forehead to her shoulder, panting with need. “You’re so wet, angel. It’s dripping down your thighs.”
“For you,” she sighed. “I’m wet for you. James, please—”
He stopped her plea with a hungry kiss, teasing her with his fingers. She felt no shame at her arousal. She wanted him. Any woman would be a fool not to want James Corbin. The sudden intrusive thought of another woman touching him made Rosalie feral. She reached around with one hand, gripping his hair as she opened her mouth to him in another claiming kiss.
She trembled as his fingers passed over the spot that ached, only to dance away. She tried to move her hips to get his hand where she wanted it. But then he curled two fingers inside her, lifting her up on her toes. With the first touch of his thumb on her sensitive bud, she shattered. Release rushed through her, weakening her knees as she sagged against him, clenching around his fingers.
“God, help me,” he muttered in her ear.
They clung to each other, both panting for breath. “Stop . . . have to stop . . .”
She heard his jumbled words and stilled, wrapping her hands around the arm at her waist. “What?”
He groaned, his face pressed against the warm skin of her back. “I’m losing control.”
She turned in his arms, placing her hands gently on either side of his face. One still wore an evening glove. “James... look at me.”
He met her gaze. Emotions warred on his face—desire, pain, guilt. Each one pulled at something different in her, causing her doubts to spiral.
“Let me in,” she whispered.
He let out a slow breath, running his hands down her arms, stopping at her elbows. “I’m not... I don’t do this. I don’t do casual sex.”
She bit her lip, holding back any sound of pain that wanted to escape. Is that what this was for him? Casual sex? Is that what she meant to him?
As if he could read her thoughts, he put a finger under her chin, tipping up her face. His expression was so unguarded. He was in pain, and it made her want to weep. “You mean too much to me,” he said fiercely. “I’m barely holding on.”
His truth pierced her heart, making her feel weak. Her hands dropped from his face to his shoulders.
“If we have sex now, I will lose myself completely,” he went on. “I’ll want more than you can give. I’ll want everything. And when you can’t give it, I will resent you. I will resent my friends their ease that they can be with you without conditions. I will resent myself that I cannot be someone other than who I am. Please, let me stop. Please—” He buried his face in the curve of her neck.
She soothed her hands up and down his back, feeling the tautness of his muscles. “It’s okay,” she murmured. “We can stop.”
“I don’t want to stop,” he rasped, his mouth on her lips, his taste on her tongue.
She pulled away, blinking back her tears. “No, we must stop.” The words tore her apart, but she had to respect his wishes. “Living with your resentment of me would be hard enough,” she murmured. “But watching you resent your friends would kill me.”
“I wish I were different,” he muttered, stroking her face with a gentle hand.
“I don’t,” she whispered. “Not for one moment.”
