Page 55 of The Duchess Trap
Her mind begged her to resist, to remember propriety, to cling to dignity. But her body rose to meet him, hips tilting helplessly toward the heat of his mouth. Her fingers clutched at his hair through the fabric of her gown, pulling, holding, begging without words.
Each moment pulled her further from reason. His tongue traced her again and again, changing pace, circling, then pressing with precision until her thighs trembled against the strength of his hold.
Her breath came ragged and sharp, her lips parted in sounds she did not recognize as her own. The night air was cool, but her skin burned, every nerve alive, every sense consumed.
“Please…” she gasped, though she did not know if she begged for him to stop or continue.
He answered with a growl that vibrated through her.
Catherine clung to the bench, to herself, to anything that might anchor her against the storm he unleashed. But when his pace shifted, when his tongue pressed with greater force…
Her body shattered.
The cry tore from her lips before she could silence it. Her head tipped back, sending her eyes rolling with the sheer force of release. Her whole body convulsed, trembling, surrendering to the waves that overtook her.
She sagged against the bench, breathless, undone, her chest heaving with every desperate gulp of air.
Beneath her skirts, he lingered still, his mouth pressing one last reverent kiss to her quivering flesh before he withdrew.
When his head finally emerged, his hair disheveled, his mouth glistening, his eyes alight with satisfaction, Catherine could scarcely meet his gaze. Her body still trembled with aftershocks, and her heart thumped too wild to be tamed.
“Duncan…” she whispered as she found the strength to reach for him and grab hold of his hand.
His smile was slow, and it betrayed the boastful, proud, flirtatious gentleman she had always heard he could be. “That’s right, darling. Only my name should linger on these lips. Only mine.”
CHAPTER 17
“That was…inappropriate.” Catherine’s voice trembled, her cheeks still burning, her body refusing to steady itself after what he had just done.
Duncan leaned back on his heels, his hair tousled, his mouth curved in the smuggest of smirks. “You are satisfied, aren’t you?”
She gasped, scandalized. “Do not—do not look at me that way.”
“What way?” His tone was wicked, self-satisfied. “As though I have just given you precisely what you craved?”
Heat blazed in her face. Her skin still tingled, her breath still caught in uneven bursts, and… she knew he was right.
Before she could force a retort, footsteps echoed faintly across the gravel path.
Her blood turned to ice. She scrambled upright, clutching at her skirts, panic flashing across her features. “Someone is coming—oh God, Duncan—what if they?—”
“Be still.” His voice remained laconic as though he were not at all surprised by this intrusion. He stood slowly, then caught her wrists, lowering them with a touch of gentleness. “Look at me,” he said softly.
“I cannot,” she hissed, eyes darting wildly toward the pathway where lantern-light flickered. “If they see me—like this?—”
“They will see a husband and a wife, enjoying a moment of privacy.” He released her wrists only to smooth the bodice of her gown, deft fingers righting what his hunger had disarrayed.
The brush of his knuckles against her skin sent her pulse leaping again, even in her panic.
Her hair—she reached up in desperation, fumbling at the loosened strands. He caught her hands once more, steadying them.
“Enough.” He tucked a curl back into place with a precision that startled her.
His touch lingered longer than necessary, tracing her temple, and her breath stuttered.
The footsteps drew nearer. Catherine’s heart galloped; she could scarcely breathe for the terror of being found disheveled and discovered in this place. She pressed back against the bench, her body rigid, her pulse roaring in her ears.
And then?—
