Eleven Scandals to Start to Win a Duke's Heart
Page 88
She exhaled on a long, shaky breath, and the sound went straight to the hard, straining length of him. He gritted his teeth. No. This was for her. She would find her pleasure. He would give it to her, and take his from that.
“Simon,” she said, her accent thick, wrapping around the syllables of his name like a fist. “Please.”
“Lie back,” he whispered, pressing her to the bed with his kiss before trailing down to where he desperately wanted to be. He pressed a soft kiss on one of her knuckles. “Let me in.” When she did, revealing the folds of her sex, he groaned his pleasure. He spread her soft lips gently, and she lifted her hips toward him. She was so tender, so ready for him. Slick and wet and perfect.
He ran one finger down the center of her, listening to her breathing, to the little cries she made as he explored. He discovered her, pressing and stroking to the sound of her pleasure, then sliding one finger into the hot, wet core of her. She was so tight, she came off the edge of the bed at the sensation.
He looked up her body as she lifted herself off the bed and drank in the vision of her, her gorgeous black hair, eyes like sapphires gleaming with pleasure, full, pink lips barely open as she gasped for breath.
He had never wanted anything like he wanted her.
He moved his hand, loving the way her eyes closed, then opened in time to the movement. He leaned forward, blew a long stream of air directly on the center of her pleasure, and gloried in the little cry of passion that she could not keep from escaping.
He was going to die if he didn’t have his mouth on her soon.
He rubbed his thumb across the swollen, pulsing heart of her, and she gasped her answer, her shyness gone. “Kiss me.”
“As you wish,” he said, and settled his lips to her, holding her wide as he pressed his tongue to the place where his thumb had been, making love to her with slow, savoring strokes. She arched off the bed, plunging her fingers into his hair and holding him to her as she moved against his mouth. She was wine, and he was instantly obsessed with her taste, with learning the things that she loved, wanting only to give her pleasure. To drive her wild.
He did. Slow circles became gradually faster, tongue working in time to the flexing of her fingers in his hair, and then she lifted herself from the bed offering herself to him. He took her, holding her to him while she found her pleasure, masculine satisfaction rippling through him.
And when she shattered in his arms, he was there, holding her, stroking her, bringing her back to earth.
He lifted his head after the last ripple of pleasure coursed through her, and he moved to lie beside her, wanting to hold her, to keep her safe.
He kissed her neck, sucking gently at the delicate skin there until she sighed. He could pleasure her forever. He could lie abed and worship her for an eternity. He took a nipple into his mouth, worrying it until she whispered his name, then kissed her, sliding his hand between her thighs in an undeniable urge to brand her as his.
Her legs parted against the weight of his hand, and her fingers slid down his torso to the waistband of his breeches. “Simon,” she said, and the low, sated pleasure in her voice made him agonizingly hard. “Remove your pants.”
God, yes.
He closed his eyes against the thought. “Are you certain?” If he was naked with her, there would be no going back.
She nodded, her sapphire eyes dark with passion. “Very.”
She would have him. Again and again, for the rest of their days.
He kissed her again, slow and deep. “I could not deny you anything.”
And as the words echoed between them, he knew they were true. She was everything he had ever wanted. And he would do everything in his power to keep her in his world. Nothing else mattered.
Her hands worked inexpertly at the buttons of his breeches until he could not bear the fumbling pressure anymore, and he lifted himself off the bed to divest himself of pants and boots as quickly as possible. Returning to her, he groaned his pleasure as he settled between her silken thighs, desperate to be inside her.
“Wait,” she whispered, scooting backward, away from him. “I want to see.”
He narrowed his gaze on her and followed her across the bed. “Not now. Next time.”
He took hold of her legs and pulled her to him, rubbing himself against her until she sighed at the friction. “But . . . we only have one night. This is my only opportunity to see you.”
He froze at the words, his hands coming to her face, holding her firmly so he could look into her eyes. He saw the sadness there, the desperation, overwhelmed by passion.
This would not be one night. She had to know that.
He would never let her go.
Everything had changed.
“Juliana,” he whispered, low and dark, thrusting through her wetness so that the tip of him rubbed her most sensitive spot. He watched her eyes widen, then cloud with pleasure. “Don’t make me stop.”
He repeated the motion, and her lids lowered. “No. Don’t stop.”
He pressed himself to the entrance of her, easing just inside her tight, blazing sheath before he paused—the hardest thing he had ever done—and looked down at her. “Is this all right?”
She nodded once, taking her bottom lip between her teeth, and the movement sent a shiver of desire straight to the core of him. But he would not ruin her first taste of passion. He held himself there, still, reveling in her heat, wanting nothing more than to thrust to the hilt and bury himself within her.
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
She shook her head. “You won’t.”
He reached between them, stroking the tender, sensitive core of her until she gasped her pleasure. “I will. But then I will do my best never to hurt you again.” He met her gaze before running his tongue across her bottom lip, and saying, “Look at me. I want to watch you.”
“Simon,” she said, her accent thick, wrapping around the syllables of his name like a fist. “Please.”
“Lie back,” he whispered, pressing her to the bed with his kiss before trailing down to where he desperately wanted to be. He pressed a soft kiss on one of her knuckles. “Let me in.” When she did, revealing the folds of her sex, he groaned his pleasure. He spread her soft lips gently, and she lifted her hips toward him. She was so tender, so ready for him. Slick and wet and perfect.
He ran one finger down the center of her, listening to her breathing, to the little cries she made as he explored. He discovered her, pressing and stroking to the sound of her pleasure, then sliding one finger into the hot, wet core of her. She was so tight, she came off the edge of the bed at the sensation.
He looked up her body as she lifted herself off the bed and drank in the vision of her, her gorgeous black hair, eyes like sapphires gleaming with pleasure, full, pink lips barely open as she gasped for breath.
He had never wanted anything like he wanted her.
He moved his hand, loving the way her eyes closed, then opened in time to the movement. He leaned forward, blew a long stream of air directly on the center of her pleasure, and gloried in the little cry of passion that she could not keep from escaping.
He was going to die if he didn’t have his mouth on her soon.
He rubbed his thumb across the swollen, pulsing heart of her, and she gasped her answer, her shyness gone. “Kiss me.”
“As you wish,” he said, and settled his lips to her, holding her wide as he pressed his tongue to the place where his thumb had been, making love to her with slow, savoring strokes. She arched off the bed, plunging her fingers into his hair and holding him to her as she moved against his mouth. She was wine, and he was instantly obsessed with her taste, with learning the things that she loved, wanting only to give her pleasure. To drive her wild.
He did. Slow circles became gradually faster, tongue working in time to the flexing of her fingers in his hair, and then she lifted herself from the bed offering herself to him. He took her, holding her to him while she found her pleasure, masculine satisfaction rippling through him.
And when she shattered in his arms, he was there, holding her, stroking her, bringing her back to earth.
He lifted his head after the last ripple of pleasure coursed through her, and he moved to lie beside her, wanting to hold her, to keep her safe.
He kissed her neck, sucking gently at the delicate skin there until she sighed. He could pleasure her forever. He could lie abed and worship her for an eternity. He took a nipple into his mouth, worrying it until she whispered his name, then kissed her, sliding his hand between her thighs in an undeniable urge to brand her as his.
Her legs parted against the weight of his hand, and her fingers slid down his torso to the waistband of his breeches. “Simon,” she said, and the low, sated pleasure in her voice made him agonizingly hard. “Remove your pants.”
God, yes.
He closed his eyes against the thought. “Are you certain?” If he was naked with her, there would be no going back.
She nodded, her sapphire eyes dark with passion. “Very.”
She would have him. Again and again, for the rest of their days.
He kissed her again, slow and deep. “I could not deny you anything.”
And as the words echoed between them, he knew they were true. She was everything he had ever wanted. And he would do everything in his power to keep her in his world. Nothing else mattered.
Her hands worked inexpertly at the buttons of his breeches until he could not bear the fumbling pressure anymore, and he lifted himself off the bed to divest himself of pants and boots as quickly as possible. Returning to her, he groaned his pleasure as he settled between her silken thighs, desperate to be inside her.
“Wait,” she whispered, scooting backward, away from him. “I want to see.”
He narrowed his gaze on her and followed her across the bed. “Not now. Next time.”
He took hold of her legs and pulled her to him, rubbing himself against her until she sighed at the friction. “But . . . we only have one night. This is my only opportunity to see you.”
He froze at the words, his hands coming to her face, holding her firmly so he could look into her eyes. He saw the sadness there, the desperation, overwhelmed by passion.
This would not be one night. She had to know that.
He would never let her go.
Everything had changed.
“Juliana,” he whispered, low and dark, thrusting through her wetness so that the tip of him rubbed her most sensitive spot. He watched her eyes widen, then cloud with pleasure. “Don’t make me stop.”
He repeated the motion, and her lids lowered. “No. Don’t stop.”
He pressed himself to the entrance of her, easing just inside her tight, blazing sheath before he paused—the hardest thing he had ever done—and looked down at her. “Is this all right?”
She nodded once, taking her bottom lip between her teeth, and the movement sent a shiver of desire straight to the core of him. But he would not ruin her first taste of passion. He held himself there, still, reveling in her heat, wanting nothing more than to thrust to the hilt and bury himself within her.
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
She shook her head. “You won’t.”
He reached between them, stroking the tender, sensitive core of her until she gasped her pleasure. “I will. But then I will do my best never to hurt you again.” He met her gaze before running his tongue across her bottom lip, and saying, “Look at me. I want to watch you.”
