Page 99 of When a Duke Loves a Woman
Pressing her hand to his chest, she pushed him back until she could gaze into his eyes, and there she saw he had come to the same conclusion as she.
“No,” he said quietly.
“I wanted you to tell me when it was our last night to be together.” She brushed the dark locks from his brow. “So I will give you the same courtesy. When you leave at dawn, you will not return.”
“What happened with Dearwood, whatever my dragon of a mother might have said—”
She pressed her fingers to his lips. “They have nothing to do with us, with this. It was the girls more than anything. One of them is your future, and I will not share you. Or perhaps it was all the portraits. One day one of them will be of your son,mustbe ofyourson. Before tonight I don’t think I truly understood the legacy for which you are responsible. You have to see to it, and you have to see to it without me.”
He closed his eyes. “Gillie—”
“I will not be your mistress and I cannot be your wife. Let me go, Thorne, let me go on my terms. Give me that.”
He opened his eyes. “I would give you the world if I could.”
She smiled as sweetly as she was able. “Give me tonight, every minute of every hour. And it will be enough.”
Without another word, he lifted her into his arms and carried her into her bedchamber.
It had taken her hours to put on the varying layers of clothing. It took him only minutes to remove them, took her less time than that to remove his. Then they fell on her bed as they had so many times before, a tangle of limbs, feet stroking calves, gliding sinuously up, thighs holding close, hands exploring, arms wrapping, capturing, embracing. All the while their mouths taunting and tasting, their tongues lapping and licking, their teeth nipping and biting.
He marked her with love bites in places no one would ever see: a shoulder, the swell of a breast, a hip, the inside of a thigh. She returned the favor, nuzzling his neck, leaving a mark that branded him as hers, but only temporarily, only for a few days. It would fade away, and she could only hope the memory of her wouldn’t.
Because, like a miser, she would hoard the remembrances of every moment spent with him. The way he had fought to reach the top of her stairs when surrendering to death’s knell would have been easier. The way his heated breath had first brushed over her breasts. The way he looked at her through his spectacles, the way he watched her without them. Their walks through Whitechapel when she could see he was viewing it for the first time as it truly was, when he was noticing how it differed from the other areas of London he visited. His gentleness with Robin. His kindness with her patrons.
What it had felt like to waltz within the circle of his arms. The absolute joy and sense of fulfillment that overcame her each time he joined his body to hers. And all the smaller moments that rested in between the larger ones.
She knew they would all come upon her at the oddest times, whether she wanted them to or not. He was part of her now, even when he wasn’t with her. She would hear him, feel him, taste him, smell him. She would see him in rumpled sheets and whisky poured and bath water steaming. When she sat on the landing outside her door to absorb the quiet, the shadow of his presence would be there with her.
He journeyed the length of her body, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, and she’d never been more grateful for her height, for every inch that made the sojourn one that happened without haste, that went on seemingly forever. When he started back up, kissing her calves, the backs of her knees, the inside of her thighs, he took a detour to the heavenly haven she would only ever share with him.
His mouth, his gloriously wicked mouth, worked his incredible magic, as she dug her fingers into his shoulders, wound her legs around his waist, gazed down on him as he lifted his eyes to hers, daring her not to look away, but to hold his gaze while he plundered.
Her breaths came in short shallow puffs, and his eyes darkened, letting her know how very much he enjoyed watching her come undone.Feel my rapidly pounding heart, she wanted to whisper,the scalding heat coursing through me, the nerve endings that seem to be shooting forth bursts of fireworks, small and large, all colors.
But even without giving voice to all the astonishing sensations traveling through her, she suspected he knew because he became more diligent in his efforts, applying pressure with his tongue, closing his lips tightly around her, sucking, soothing, swirling.
Watching, always watching. Witness to her nipples growing even more taut, to the fine layer of dew gathering between her breasts. Hearing, always hearing. The whimpers and moans that escaped unheeded through her parted lips. Feeling, always feeling. The trembling of her thighs as the pressure mounted. Tasting her, inhaling her fragrance. All of her sensations were wildly alive, and in his dark eyes, she could see he relished and shared in them as well.
He knew the torment she experienced because he did all in his power to increase it, to ensure when the release finally came—
She was screaming his name, bucking, her back arching, but always her gaze was locked with his.
Shooting upward, he plunged deep and sure, before her spasms could subside, while she was still lost in the throes of a cataclysm that was so intense, she might never recover. She wrapped her legs tightly around his hips, holding on as he pistoned into her, over and over, while he rained kisses over her breasts, her throat, her face.
And then he left her, and she clutched him tightly as shudders rocked him, and he spilled his seed in his hand. The temptation to urge him to stay inside her had never been stronger, but she understood the wisdom of his actions. With his head on her belly and one arm wound securely around her, he held her near while his tremors mingled with hers, eventually subsiding into oblivion.
She hadn’t meant to fall asleep, hadn’t wanted to miss a single minute of the time left to them. She knew a burst of panic when she realized he wasn’t in the bed, feared he’d left without a final goodbye, but then she saw him standing at her window, the curtain pulled back on one side allowing the moonlight to filter in and lovingly caress one half of his lovely backside. She did love the length and strength visible in his corded muscles, the way they all came together so beautifully to form such perfection. She loved even more how satisfying it felt to her hands to run them over all the abundant ropes of sinew.
His gaze was focused on some far-off object she couldn’t see, and she wondered if it were even visible to him or if he were seeing instead possibilities and impossibilities. “Thorne?”
“I was just thinking that I never had the opportunity to teach you to appreciate good horseflesh.”
Slipping out of bed, she padded quietly across the floor, pressed her chest to his back, and wrapped her arms around him. “We always knew we would never have more than this.”
Within her embrace, he turned and cupped her face between his hands. “But I want more. With you.”
“It was always to be temporary, Thorne.”
