Page 42 of The Duke and the Lady in Red
“But I enjoy touching you. I take pleasure from it.”
His face hovering mere inches from hers, his gaze delved into her eyes. “You’re remarkable.”
“Surely other ladies have wanted to touch you.”
“More out of obligation, I think. Because it was expected.”
She gave him a sultry smile. “They may have wanted you to think that, but I suspect they were quite delighted at the opportunity to run their hands amok over you. You’re quite splendid.”
His eyes narrowed.
“It’s not flattery when it’s the truth,” she added.
“For now simply relish what I am about to bestow.”
Releasing his hold on her, he grazed his mouth along her chin, down her throat, eliciting tiny bubbles of pleasure that caused her toes to curl. He licked his way along the center of her chest, between her breasts, lapping at her skin as though it were coated in sugar.
She tried to keep her hands where he’d placed them, to grant him that bit of abeyance, but when he cupped her breast and closed his mouth around her nipple, she couldn’t help but bury her fingers in the thick strands of his dark hair. Nor could she stop herself from moaning low, from arching her back. He suckled, lathed his tongue over the taut peak, suckled again, all the while kneading gently.
It was so marvelous, how he could touch her in one place and yet she seemed to feel it everywhere. She thought she might go mad with the sensations, and perhaps that was his intent: to drive her insane so she could no longer look out for herself, so she would have to surrender to his care for the remainder of her life.
What a silly thought. He didn’t want her forever. He’d made that clear enough. He wanted her for only a week, seven nights. Then he would be done with her. Then she would stagger from his residence, a woman forever changed.
But she would neither resent nor regret it.
Not when he had the power to carry her to such heights as he had that night in the coach, as she suspected he intended to take her now. With him she could fly, she could be free as she’d never been before.
Once more, he placed her hands on the pillow. She almost cursed him. No doubt she would when she left. He would ruin her for anyone else, and a small voice echoed through her mind that that was his plan. To give to her as no other man ever would. To take from her as no other man had the power.
He shifted that incredible body of his, and she watched the play of muscles with his movements. The bunching, the knotting, the smoothing out. She wanted to see him without clothing, engaged in every sort of activity imaginable. He was perfection, the possessor of a body that did not betray. If she believed in gods, she would believe him blessed, but she had looked in his eyes and she knew he was not a stranger to betrayal, that he carried the scars deeply within him. Yet for all the darkness that hovered below the surface, still he had the ability to gift her with the beauty of pleasure.
Wedged between her thighs, he folded his hands around the curve of her hips and trailed his lips over her stomach, licking, kissing as he progressed to her navel. He circled it with his tongue, dipped it inside.
“I’ll have brandy here later,” he rasped, and heat coursed through her with the image of him lapping at her flesh. Then he inched farther down until his breath was stirring the curls at the apex of her thighs.
It seemed decadent to see the top of his head between her parted legs. Reaching down, she threaded her fingers through his hair. She’d resisted touching him as long as she could.
Then his tongue laved a provocative path between the folds of her womanhood, and she pressed her thighs against him, tightened her hold on the strands of his hair. She’d thought he’d use his fingers again. Hadn’t expected him to fairly worship her with his mouth. He nibbled, nipped, drew her in, tugged gently. Her head came off the pillow, her shoulders rolled forward.
“Avendale, what are you doing?”
He lifted his head. Within his smoldering dark eyes, she saw passion, desire, and possession. He owned her at that moment and he damned well knew it. “What I should have done earlier. What I want to do now. What I intend to do a hundred times before you leave.”
“It can’t be proper behavior.”
“Do you want me to stop?” The challenge was there, but so was a flicker of doubt. He would cease his ministrations if she but asked.
She didn’t trust him with her heart, but that wasn’t fair because he didn’t know it was part of the bargain. She trusted him without reservations when it came to her body. “No.” It was a breathless sound, lower than a whisper, and yet it seemed to echo through the room like a shot fired from a rifle.
He gave her a devilish grin. “Then enjoy.”
She slumped back down, stared at the velvet canopy above, as his tongue circled and swirled. She didn’t want to take with her memories of velvet. She wanted memories of him. Lowering her eyes, she relished the sight of him between her spread thighs. Heat fanned out from her core to envelop her. Pleasure spiraled.
Sliding his hands between the mattress and her bottom, he lifted her slightly as though he were offering himself a tasty feast, and sensations zagged through her as though he’d delivered a lightning strike. She tightened her fingers in his hair. Her breathing became shallow, harsh. The pleasure ebbed and flowed as though he were the commander of the tides of hedonism.
She whispered his name, then screamed it as a tide of ecstasy enveloped her, carried her under, then lifted her up. She shuddered with a force that threatened to unhinge her bones. “Oh God, oh God.”
Sliding up her body, he took her into his arms and cradled her close, burying her face in the curve of his shoulder, running a hand along the length of her spine. After all he’d given her, how could she find even more pleasure in something so simple, so comforting?
