Page 124 of The Duke's Dream
“I don’t have wings anymore,” she whispered.
“That’s not true.” He kissed the space between her shoulder blades, letting his lips linger. “When you visit me in my dreams, you always fly away.”
She made a sound—part gasp, part sob.
He pushed her legs farther apart and bent her over the piano. Taking his erection in hand, he brushed the head against her sex, preparing her for his invasion. Once, twice. He controlled himself, waiting for the right tempo. When she cried out, arching her back and widening her stance, he thrust forward in one long, gliding stroke, filling her to the hilt.
His groin met the round of her ass.
A sharp gasp left her lips. Her body clutched around him, tight and wet, claiming him right back.
He entered her from behind, her palms sliding forward with every stroke, fingers bracing against the polished lid of the piano. The surface reflected them in blur and motion, their bodies melting into one amorphous shape—writhing, fused, endlessly seeking. William caressed her goosebumps and cupped her breasts, rolling her nipples between his thumbs. Her soft sounds of pleasure ignited him, pumping his heart into vertiginous speed.
Her skin came alive. He craved the full of her blush skimming against his naked chest. Damned coat. Keeping him away from her. The wool chafed him, and it was an effort not to rip it to shreds. His control faltered. That side of him wanted out, wanted to wrestle out of his clothes, take her like a savage, and roll with her in the wilderness of their love.
But William didn’t give in.
He clenched his jaw, called every thread of discipline he had ever known, and forced himself to stay still, to hold the line. His thrusts slowed, became deliberate again. Precision where chaos wanted to reign.
He buried himself inside her until he felt her body begin to quake—inner muscles fluttering, gripping him with rhythmic desperation.
Her climax bloomed around him, and he held her through it, pulse roaring in his ears. Then he pulled away.
He withdrew with a groan, body trembling with the denial. Reaching into his coat pocket, he spent into his handkerchief, eyes locked on her trembling back. His breaths were ragged, uneven, the only music left in the room.
William caught her in his arms before she dissolved into the floor, his heart pounding still.
“You haunt me, Helene,” he whispered. “But I cannot let you go.”
He pulled her against his chest, holding her close. Their last dance? No. Unacceptable. The mere thought that this could be their last time made his muscles contract and a denial scream in his head. He could never have enough of her. The thought of her flying away hollowed him, yet he knew—they couldn’t go on as they had.
Their affair had led to chaos because he had allowed her to dictate the terms. She was his weakness, but control was his strength. He tightened his grip on her waist and kissed her neck, breathing easily for the first time in days. If he controlled the beast inside of him, he could keep her in his life.
Williampulledawayfromher. Cold air replaced his warm breaths, chilling her naked skin. She held still. She had climaxed, and the way he took her meant he desired her, didn’t he? Then why did her throat tingle with this need to cry?
Just when she was about to search for her dress, dreading the moment she would have to face him, he pulled her back into his chest. She listened to his heartbeat, so strong and dear to her. How she had missed it. A single tear rolled down her cheek.
She heard the rustling of clothes, and then his coat landed over her shoulders. He dressed her like a parent who protects a child from the cold, and when his scented warmth engulfed her, he caught her in his arms, one arm below her knees and the other underneath her shoulder blades. He performed the task without once looking into her eyes.
When he started walking, she wondered wildly if he would throw her out on the streets, and a hint of hysterical laughter bubbled inside of her, but even that faded when they took the stairs up instead of down. Up and up they went over darkened steps as if they were climbing to the very heaven of his home.
When he gave instructions to Baines, Helene hid her face in his neck, her cheeks flaming.
Not half an hour later, he carried her into a spacious bathing room with high ceilings adorned with intricate plasterwork. A bathtub, its copper surface gleaming like molten gold, perched atop a platform, waiting as though for a deity’s indulgence.
William set her on her feet. Helene stood naked in sixth position, as out of place as the girl who arrived from France at her first ballet class. He peeled the coat away, and before the chill could settle, he lowered her into the steaming bliss.
A sigh escaped her as she sank into the William-scented water. A fireplace dominated one wall, its flames creeping and flickering, filling the humid silence with warmth.
He settled on the platform and extended his hand toward a walnut table where assorted soaps and crystal bottles gleamed in the firelight. “I have wanted to give you a proper bath since I saw you washing back at the garret.”
Shame crept up her cheeks, and she covered the evidence with her palms. She had not experienced a bath like this, not even once while living in England.
She peeked at him from beneath her lashes. “You think I smell bad?”
“Not always.” A wry smile tugged at his lips as he rolled up his sleeves, revealing his muscular forearms.
Helene’s eyes drank in each exposed patch of skin. He lathered the washcloth, dipped it into the water, and moved behind her. With a soft touch, he swept her hair over her shoulder and began washing her back.
