Page 84 of The Duchess Trap
No hiding,that touch seemed to tell her, and something inside her obeyed.
He steadied her even as it made her pulse quicken, the balance between fear and trust dissolving into a single, breathless need. She had never felt so exposed, nor so strangely safe.
He bent down, kneeling between her legs. His breath brushed the inside of her thighs, a slow, deliberate claiming that made her tremble before his lips even touched. Then his mouthtouched her skin, and each kiss he laid upon her was patient, a promise in motion; each pause between them a command for her to yield.
The warmth of his tongue lingered where it touched, spreading through her like wine, loosening every thought, until the tremor in her limbs had nothing to do with the chill of the room.
She had never known that tenderness could feel so consuming.
His lips trailed upward until his tongue finally found the folds of the skin between her legs.
She gasped, moaning his name. “Duncan.”
He didn’t stop. His rhythm was measured and mercilessly slow, the kind of tenderness that demanded surrender. Pleasure built by degrees, steady and insistent, until the edges of thought began to blur with each stroke of his tongue.
She remembered feeling this same sense of elation when they were in the garden together, but then she had also been worried that someone might happen upon them and ruin their tryst. Now, in the privacy of the Duke’s bedchambers, she was free to experience this moment fully and feel all that he offered her.
She could no longer tell whether she was drawing breath or merely moving in time with him, every inhale matching the rise and fall of his.
When release came, it was quiet and devastating all at once. Not a single cry, but a series of soft, broken breaths. The world seemed to tilt and steady beneath her as his hands anchored her, holding her through the trembling, as though he alone knew how to keep her from falling apart.
“Breathe,” he said softly, when she forgot. “Just breathe, Catherine. Look at me.”
Her eyes fluttered open. He had stealthily moved to a standing position so that his face hovered just above hers. The candlelight broke against the hard planes of his cheek and softened them.
“Do you…want more?” he asked, his pupils dilated, dark, hungry.
“Yes,” she whispered.
Duncan’s mouth curved faintly, as though that small act undid him more completely than any vow could.
He brushed a damp strand of hair from her temple, his thumb lingering at her pulse. “Good.”
When he finally moved, it wasn’t with command but with reverence. His hand traveled down the curve of her arm, tracing the faint line of veins beneath her skin as though committing them to memory.
Catherine shivered. She could feel her heart racing beneath his palm, an erratic flutter she couldn’t disguise.
“Are you frightened?” he asked quietly.
She wanted to deny it, to summon the proud retort he so often drew from her, but the truth hovered too close to her lips. “Not anymore.”
He gave a small nod, a quiet exhale that sounded almost like relief, then bent to kiss the hollow of her throat. The touch stole her breath all over again—soft, searing, unhurried. Each brush of his mouth swept away the last trace of fear, replacing it with something far more dangerous: trust, awe, the dizzying certainty that she wanted whatever he offered.
When his arms closed around her, he lifted her as though she weighed nothing at all, carrying her to the bed carefully.
He kissed her again, slower this time, his lips tasting of salt and devotion.
When he drew back, his forehead rested against hers. “Tell me to stop if you don’t want any more.”
She shook her head.
“No. Don’t.” Her voice broke; she caught it again. “Please… don’t stop.”
His arms came around her, gathering her to him as though she was something precious he could no longer risk letting go. The movement made her gasp; every nerve seemed to ignite where their bodies met.
She clung to him, fingers sliding into his hair, holding him there when her body might have faltered. The world blurred, the room tilting around them; all she knew was the heat of him, the sound of his voice low against her ear, the way he whispered her name as though it was a prayer.
“Relax for me, darling,” he reminded again, softer this time.
