Page 84 of Undercover Duke
“God, no.” He smoothed his hands up her thighs to her garters. “I like you in stockings.”
“You like seeing mealmostnaked,” she teased. “In pearls. Or stockings.”
“Oh, yes.” He gazed at her breasts. “I certainly do.”
“And I like seeing you . . . beneath me.”
“Witch,” he said, and smiled. “Now it’s time you see me, feel me . . . inside of you.”
Sheridan had never imagined a picture as erotic as Vanessa perched naked atop him in stockings, which somehow made the image even more erotic. His duchess proved a quick study, too. All he had to do was give her a few instructions and guide her down his rigid cock to have her encasing it in pure, delectable heat.
God save him, he could die happy with her like this, on top of him, around him. Filling his senses with her delicious taste, musky scent, and her sweet, sweet doe-eyed wonder at having learned something new about bedsport.
“Now you have to . . . move, my wanton goddess,” he choked out. “Up and down. The way I moved in you . . . last night.”
“Ohhh. Of course,” she said, her breath quickening. “Makes sense.”
She did as he asked, and he nearly erupted right then and there. She was like hot satin, sparking flames, setting him ablaze. He filled his hands with her bountiful breasts—he did love how buxom she was—and thrust up into her, now impatient for her to move faster.
But she didn’t take the hint. And when he saw the teasing smile on her lips, he knew she was doing it on purpose just to torture him.
“You’re . . . enjoying this . . . aren’t you, minx?” he rasped.
“A little.” Squirming atop him, she broadened her smile. “Mostly, I am . . . figuring out . . . what you like.”
“I like faster,” he growled. That was what he got for lettingherset the pace.
She gave a throaty laugh and increased her rhythm. Shimmying and twisting, she rode him as if he were a Thoroughbred, seeming to be searching for the best way to find her own pleasure and ignite his. He let her have whatever she wanted. Because he wanted what she wanted.
And because the fact that she enjoyed lovemaking relieved him. He’d been told plenty of respectable ladies did not. But she was a natural-born wanton, driving him slowly insane.
“Oh, Sheridan . . .” she whispered, as she spread her hands over his chest and even thumbed his nipples, giving him a taste of what it must feel like when he did it to her . . . or she did it to herself.
The memory of how she’d looked while touching herself inflamed him even more. She was moving quicker on his cock now, and his hips took over, pumping up into her hard as he gripped her arms and stampeded toward his own release. “Ah . . . my sweet duchess . . . you’re mine now . . . always. Mine.”
“Yours . . .” she breathed. “Forever.”
The words were a vow. They ought to alarm him. Instead, they roused a fierce possessiveness as he neared his release. He felt her tightening around his cock seconds before she uttered an inarticulate cry and he exploded inside her.
As she slumped against him, his seed still spilling into her, and her mass of curls spilling over him, he uttered his own vow. “You’re mine. Under the covers. Over the covers. Everywhere.”
“Yes.” She nuzzled his neck. “Oh, yes, my darling.”
Only later did he realize, after carrying her to bed, that she’d never answered his question about Juncker. Instead, she had tried—successfully—to seduce him. Only later did he wonder, as he threw his arm over his still naked and already sleeping wife, if she’d thought of Juncker while she was making love to him.
God, what if she had? What if Juncker had her heart while Sheridan only had her body? He had to know. But asking her about Juncker again was liable to get him nowhere. She’d already evaded the question of how she felt about the bastard once. Nor did he have the right to ask her, when the memory of Helene still haunted him.
Or rather, the memory of the pain of losing her. After six years, he could barely remember Helene herself. That bothered him. Shouldn’t the woman he’d once been in love with have earned more of a place in his heart than this . . . this faint echo of her presence?
For God’s sake, his own mother had lionized Thorn’s father. Her former love had stood between her and Sheridan’s own father. That was why Mother and Father had never been in love with each other, never even had a chance to be in love with each other . . . because she’d still been clinging to the memory of the man she’d been married to for merely a year. Even after twenty-nine years, that had never changed.
Yet he couldn’t even mourn Helene for more than six years.
You’ll deprive yourself of one of life’s greatest joys out of a determination not to experience the pain love can also bring? That’s like refusing to ride because you fear falling off.
He laid back to stare up at the ceiling. How could Vanessa have the audacity to spout her opinions about love when she didn’t love him either? She certainly hadn’t said she loved him.Did she really expect him to take that leap when she wouldn’t take it herself?
Unless she’d already taken it with Juncker.
