Page 122 of The Duke's Dream
Helene’s heart sped, and she would’ve stepped back if his arms were not clasping her. He looked at her as if she were a butterfly he couldn’t catch—and might rather crush than let her escape. His eyes were like blue flames, burning with desire and something darker, that hatred he couldn’t always hide from her. It was dangerous to her, that blue fire, and she desperately needed to shy away from him.
But she was so cold…
He cradled her face with his hands and brushed the pad of his finger over her lips. Warmth spread over her, and she leaned closer. She desperately needed to get away from him, but her body didn’t care. Her body was desperate for him.
Onelastdance,Williamtold himself as he kissed her. One. Last. Dance. Why couldn’t he stay detached? Why couldn’t he abide by his resolutions? What otherworldly hold had she over his will? The weariness of traveling through the night from Albemarle to London, unable to breathe unless he saw her again, faded. He became alive at her lips. One last dance. He cradled her face and tilted his head to better reach her.
“You haunt me, Helene, but how I want you.”
William pressed open-mouthed kisses to her neck, biting her chin, then trailing his tongue along her cheek.
A flush spread where his mouth traveled, and moaning, she yielded to him. William reveled in her flexibility, her body bending to accommodate his. Breathing heavily, control in tatters, he peeled away her simple day dress. Chemise and underclothing went next, making a heap of cloth atop the piano. An inferno coursed through his veins. Above the flame of his passion, deathbed vows, legacy, duty—all became ashes.
She reached for his shirt, her fingers working his buttons. Closing his eyes, he stilled her hands. He had obeyed her wishes, and it had them wrecked.
Now, he would do it his way.
William shoved the music sheets to the floor. Holding her waist, he lifted her high. She looked at him from above, her hair cascading down her cheeks and sweeping his chest. He rested his forehead on her belly, and after he had controlled his breathing, he lowered her, smelling her skin from navel to neck. He had to force his arms to let go and settle her over the keyboard. Desperate notes poured forth as she shifted. Her eyes never left him, as if to lose eye contact would end this interlude.
His heart pounded, each beat a clash between control and surrender. William stepped back, his breath ragged, waiting for her to deny him, to demand he be as naked as she. She didn’t. Lips parting in a mute invitation, she poised her elbows over the lid, watching him with heavy-lidded eyes. Her silent acceptance blessed his desire, cursed his restraint.
His nude muse sprawled across the piano, candlelight dancing over the curve of her ivory thighs, the soft swell of her breasts rising and falling with each breath.
William brushed his knuckles along her cheek—a restrained touch when every wicked part of him screamed to devour her.
“I wish to set you in music,” he murmured.
Then he could keep her—this moment—forever.
Sighing, she licked her rose lips. “How would it start?”
He answered not with words, but with sound. His fingers drifted to a key just beside her thigh, pressing it gently, then moving up the scale.
“Your melody is sultry—a whispered secret shared in the dark.”
He coaxed out a line of notes so rich they trembled in the air, lingered, then dissolved like breath on skin. The rhythm he set was unhurried—heavy with heat—like the way she stretched in the morning, half-awake and already wanting.
Then William weaved in an undercurrent of tension—a slow burn building with each passing phrase. He let the music breathe, allowing the space between notes to stretch, like the anticipation before penetrating her. His left hand set a throbbing bass, sultry, insistent, almost touching her, but never there, while the right hand enticed a melody that curled, flirting with her skin when he neared her thigh.
William bent forward to speak in her ear. “Open for me.”
He bit her earlobe, then kissed the sting away.
Her breath caught, a soft gasp escaping her lips. Her legs played the sweetest song as they made space for his hips.
“More.”
Her knees stretched wider, as he knew she could, displaying her stunning sex. William stepped closer, careful not to touch her yet. Instead, he pressed the keys between her thighs—notes that shimmered into the air like heat off skin. The melody unfurled, thick and heady, wrapping the room in smoke and musk, filling every breath with want.
Her eyes were on him, their weight an intimate caress. The melody climbed higher, more urgent now. He gave her pauses so sharp they sliced, glissandos that touched and vanished.
She shifted her hips in response—a slow, aching tilt—like a question posed in the language only they spoke. His fingers teased the dominant chord, circling it, never letting it fall into the relief of resolution.
She arched her back. Her breasts were swollen, a flush rising over her chest.
He stopped mid-phrase, letting the echo trail off unfinished, like a kiss denied. The silence that followed was heavy, charged with electricity.
“William,” she breathed.
