“I’m not sure that was a good idea,” he said huskily. “Not if you want me to keep my hands to myself.”
She gave Soraya’s laugh, except this time it emerged perfectly spontaneously. “I’ll tie you up if I have to. It has to be your turn.”
How could she jest about her abduction? But somehow, when she’d recognized that she loved the Duke of Kylemore, all earlier pain and rancor had faded.
If he hadn’t kidnapped her, she’d still be a crippled creature willing to settle for a half life. Good works, independent celibacy, family duty couldn’t compete with the abundant wealth of emotion that swirled around them tonight.
The possibility of heartbreak hovered too, but she faced it down. She meant to grab joy and hang on as firmly as she could. No matter how long it lasted. No matter what pain awaited in the future.
She climbed onto the bed and knelt above him. Her knees pressed into his lean flanks, and her hair flowed down around them. She smiled slowly, lasciviously, when he curled his strong hands around her waist as if he’d never let her go.
Soraya had been powerful, but Soraya had been a lie. What she felt now came from her very core. The core that was heavy and molten with desire for this one difficult, beloved man.
His indigo eyes darkened to black as he read her expression. Mutual arousal was familiar. This incendiary level of excitement wasn’t, whatever stellar heights they’d scaled in the past.
She bent to run her mouth down the center of his chest, lingering, tasting, enjoying. His musky scent intoxicated her as no wine ever could. Gradually, inevitably, she traced the arrow of silky hair that led to the base of his belly.
With great satisfaction, she felt him struggle to draw breath. She’d meant her leisurely exploration to splinter her lover’s vaunted self-control. Apparently, she succeeded.
She dipped her tongue in his navel and placed her hand very deliberately on his sex. He shuddered as she stroked him, testing his heat and vigor.
Oh, she had chosen a wonderfully virile man for herself. And all that robust masculinity was hers, all hers, lucky girl that she was.
Soon, so soon, she’d taste him there. With a sigh, she slid lower to where he rose in proud glory under her exploring fingers. He groaned, and his hands tangled in her hair.
Slowly, she licked his length, feeling the tension build in the muscles of his thigh, where she’d moved her hand to balance herself. Then, with a concentration that she knew tortured him, she flicked her tongue across the head, savoring his arousal. Beneath her other hand, his belly clenched hard. When he groaned once more, she felt the sound well out from the deepest part of him.
Of course, she’d pleasured him with her mouth before. Often. But tonight, the act held a joyous freedom she’d never experienced during all those torrid afternoons in London.
She tried to prolong this teasing overture. The sight of him stretched on a sensual rack satisfied some innately feminine element in her. He jerked under her tantalizing kisses, silently begging for more.
And she wanted to give him more. Need tugged insistently in her blood, dictating an end to delay. Almost greedily, she took him in her mouth.
He was hot, so hot. When she began to suck, he trembled beneath her as if he suffered a fever. How intoxicating to have him at her mercy like this. She increased the pressure, initiating a rhythm that echoed the act of love.
“Mo cridhe…” he grated out, tilting his hips up toward her.
She leaned closer to take more of him, and his fingers clenched convulsively against her scalp. He was very close to breaking, she knew. Her own excitement sparked like lightning as she sensed his futile but frantic struggle to harness his desire.
She wanted him to lose control. She wanted him to lose control for her.
But before she achieved her goal, he dragged her upward with shaking hands. She gave a frustrated whimper as he deftly rolled her beneath him. His weight pressed her down into the mattress, and the thought of all that lean strength above her made her shiver with anticipation.
“I want to give you pleasure,” she protested in a voice she hardly recognized as her own. She licked her lips and tasted his skin. She wanted to taste more.
He raised his head, and for once, his smile held no darkness. Even piqued of her objective, she couldn’t help thinking with a stab of longing how beautiful he was.
“This time is for you,” he said softly.
The wild desperation to snatch this moment and guard it as a miser guarded his gold seeped out of her even while her desire blazed higher, more brightly.
“Yes,” she whispered. And watched the final shadow slip away from his face as she at last gave him her consent.
Kylemore shifted over her very gently. Her hips cradled him, and his cock nudged eagerly at the softness of her belly. After their decadent past, this should be so familiar.
But he couldn’t dismiss the extraordinary idea that he made love to a virgin. In spite of all the pleasure they’d shared. In spite of what he’d done to her in this house. In spite of the frenzy her clever mouth and hands drove him into.
Softly, as though touching her for the first time, he explored her body. The unsteady pattern of her breathing guided him to where her pleasure lay.