Page 51 of Her Beast of a Duke
“Your waistcoat,” she said.
He nodded, obliging her, not one to back down from a challenge. He made a display of unbuttoning it slowly, enjoying how she seemed to hold her breath, watching. He stripped it off and laid it over the arm of the sofa behind him. It joined his other items of clothing.
He had not had as many kisses as he had thought he would, and that rather disappointed him.
They continued playing, dancing around one another on the board. It was more intense than any ballroom dance floor could provide them.
The next item he knew she would go for would be his shirt, but he knew he could not strip that off, not yet. He was not ready for Isabella to see the patchwork of scars that marred his otherwise honed body. He had fought to be strong, but his past cut through his skin, and he was not sure she was ready for the sight.
He was not certain he was ready to bear it, either.
Looking down at his board, he chuckled darkly. “Oh, Isabella.” His voice lowered; he let it fall into a drawl. “It appears I have won.”
With a flourish, he stole her queen and looked up at her as he held the piece aloft between his thumb and forefinger. He barely let her get out a stuttered response before he caught her face properly in his hands, the queen piece clattering to the board, and he kissed her.
He kissed her as deeply as he had been yearning to for too long, and this time, he would not back away. He would not let his fear stop him—not when her gaze had been searing him up and down, both of them distracted from the thunderstorm outside.
The taste of the wine and chocolate on her tongue intoxicated him more than any brandy could, and he groaned into her mouth, barely breaking the kiss to rise from his seat. He was finished with holding himself back.
Isabella made a surprised noise as he shifted his body to stand over her, pulling her easily to her feet without ever parting from her mouth. His tongue against hers, twining with it. The noise she made, soft and breathy, only made his hands reach for her. He pressed her back against the chessboard, not caring if it would not hold.
Hewould hold her.
His fingers bunched in her dress at her hips, and his own deep moan responded to hers. His hand slid down the side of her thigh, pressing his fingers into fabric and flesh. Heavens, he felt like he could devour her. She smelled like sugar and honey, and he wonderedwhy, wondered how he might lick the scents from her skin.
His head spun at the sheer pressure of it all, and he unleashed his desires on her. Her body was tugged flush against his own, and he kissed her deeper, dipping her over the chessboard. The pieces scattered to the floor, but he didn’t care.
“I want you.” His voice was too ragged; his composure shot to pieces. “I cannot keep pulling away. I cannot keep pushing you away, either.”
“Then do not,” she whispered, and when he looked into her eyes, he found them earnest and beckoning. She truly did want him back.
“Isabella,” he groaned, pressing his forehead to hers. “If you want me to stop, you must say?—”
“I have been told too many times what I ought to do and not do,” she told him. “Do not do the same. I am not doing anything here that I have not craved for as long as you.”
“You truly mean it?”
“I have never meant anything more.”
Chapter Twelve
“Ihave never meant anything more.”
And that… that snapped something in him.
Oscar growled, lifting her into his arms to maneuver her over to his desk. He did not care what littered the furniture; he only cared to have her lying on the surface.
With his free hand, he swept the contents of his desk to the floor. His desire raged through him, and he growled as he pushed Isabella over the polished wood. She gave a small squeak, and he attempted to slow down the momentum of their movements, but she was already reaching back for him, grasping for his hands.
He pinned her by her hips, palming down her back, over her dress, to have her bend forward.
“I have watched you too often,” he murmured, looking down at her now. His length strained against his breeches, but he paidit no mind. He wanted her pleasure, hertaste.“But to have you like this… I do not know how I have withstood my need for you.”
“I do not know either,” she breathed. Her head fell forward, her forearms braced on the desk.
Oscar dropped to his knees behind her, and Isabella’s responding exhale made him smirk into the back of her thigh when he tugged up her dress. He bunched it at her waist, baring her backside. She possessed generous curves in her hips, while her waist and thighs remained rather slender.
Her whole body sang to him, beckoned him closer, and Oscar braced himself before he finally gave in.
