Page 83 of She Tempts the Duke
“Are you disappointed?” she asked.
“God, no. I should have known you wouldn’t be shy about this.”
“It’s notthis,Sebastian. It’s you. I’ve never been shy with you.”
He felt her hand traveling up his arm, exploring. He closed his eye, imagining her exploring everything. She might be a novice at lovemaking, but he suspected she’d be a quick study.
He followed the curve of her hip, her side, until in his mind, he could see her clearly stretched out beside him. He rolled until he was half-covering her, until her luscious swells met the flat planes of his body. Heated velvet warmed his flesh.
Unerringly he plowed his fingers into her hair, cupped the back of her head, and blanketed her mouth with his. Inwardly he smiled at the flavor of brandy on her tongue. It added a dark richness to the kiss. But beneath it was the taste of Mary, and he sought it out like a man who had been denied drink for most of his life.
For that was how he felt. He’d been in a desert searching for an oasis and she was it. Her eyes were the green of lush vegetation, her hair the red of ripe fruit, her sighs the soft wind cooling his fevered skin.
He couldn’t deny that he wished other circumstances had led to this moment, that she’d had a choice, that it was not scandal that had brought her to his arms. But neither could he deny that he was damned glad that she was here. And not because it had been so long that his body ached for want of a woman. But because the woman was Mary.
Lush Mary, whose hands trailed over him, tentatively exploring. Everywhere that she touched he felt as though a dead part of him was being brought back to life. He couldn’t remember the last time that he had yearned for a woman’s touch to this degree. It was as though he would die if she stopped touching him, if he were forced to stop touching her.
He trailed his mouth along the slope of her throat and closed a hand around a pliant breast. He relished the weight of it against his palm. Easing down, he circled his tongue around her nipple.
Gasping, she dug her fingers into his scalp.
Closing his mouth over her areola, he wondered at the shade, cursed himself for insisting on darkness. What an utter fool he was. But he could no more leave her now to light lamps than he could cease to breathe.
If only there could be a way to shine the light on her without shining it on him.
She whispered his name, spurring him on to greater pleasures. The sole of her foot traveled along his leg.
He slid lower, bracketing his hands on either side of her ribs. How could she be so slender, yet so voluptuous? He moved down, dipping his tongue in her navel. Someday he would pour wine there and sip it. But for now it was enough to experience the saltiness of her skin against his tongue.
He slid down further, nestled himself between her thighs. The fragrance of her sex wafted around him. He blew at the curls. She sighed.
She did not question, she did not object. He lowered his face and kissed the very heart of her womanhood. He swirled his tongue over her, felt her quiver beneath him. So sensitive, so ready for his plunder.
He was aching with the need to plow into her, but not yet, not until he revealed what she could have. With mouth, tongue, and fingers, he taunted and teased, urged her toward greater heights. Her mewling cries echoed around them, trapped within their curtained confines. He heard her gasping, could feel her writhing.
Her fingers became entangled in his hair, tugged and soothed. His body was tense with need, but he fought it back. He would have her, but he would have her so slick and wet that he would slide in smoothly and save her discomfort.
He didn’t want to hurt her, considered pleasuring her and denying himself, but she was a temptation he hadn’t the strength to resist. He wanted to know how it felt to sink into her heated depths. He wanted to feel her pulsing around him, drawing out the last of his seed. He needed her to make himself complete.
He didn’t know where that thought came from. Didn’t want to acknowledge the truth of it. He had been too long on his own. He needed no one. Yet the declaration mocked him.
Unlike Mary, who never mocked him. Who accepted him faults and all.
Who was crying out and bucking beneath him, whose nails were scoring his shoulders.
Mary, Mary, Mary. Dear sweet glorious Mary, lost in the throes of passion.
Rising above her, he plunged into her and released a harsh curse when she screamed.
He stilled, but holding him as close as she was Mary could feel the tremors cascading through the entire length of his body. He had taken her on a journey of exquisite rapture. But it hadn’t been enough to distract her from the pain of her maidenhead being breached.
Perhaps it wouldn’t have been so bad if he hadn’t been so large, but the fullness of him astounded her.
“Forgive me, Mary. Dear God.” His face was buried in the curve of her shoulder.
“Shh. It’s all right.”
“I didn’t want to hurt you.”
