Page 64 of The Duke's Counterfeit Wife

It had felt so natural, for her to take on this role, that it hadn’t once occurred to him that she wasn’t actually Marcia and Rupert’s mother; she didn’t actually have any obligation to care for any of them.

Fook. Now he owed her even more.

At his side, his hands were curling into fists, then uncurling again. It was an ancient habit, born of frustration and an inability to do something.

Well, he could damn well do something now. He could do what he’d promised. He could teach her.

And he would bloody well enjoy it.

Griffin kicked off his boots and yanked at his necktie. He was unbuttoning his waistcoat when Felicity turned.

“I have a proposition.”

He froze, mid-unbuttoning. “I thought ye already propositioned me. I agreed, remember?”

Her grin was faint. “I have another proposition.”

His fingers resumed their journey. “Proposition away, Flick.” After all, he’d agreed readily enough to the first one.

“Outside these doors…” She took a deep breath, stepping closer to him. “Outside these chambers, we are—we are here for a reason. We lie, we sneak, we do whatever needs to be done.”

His waistcoat dangled from his shoulders. “Aye. But inside these chambers?”

Her gaze was locked on the skin at the base of his throat. Griffin swore he could feel the heat. And when her tongue darted between her lips—he doubted she was even aware of the movement—his cock jumped to life.

Felicity was looking at him like a starving woman looked at a buffet of cheese.

“Inside these doors,” she whispered, “we are just Felicity and Griffin. A man and a woman.”

“Ye’re saying ye want nae lies between us, here?”

As she pulled her spectacles from her nose and placed them on one of the many small tables scattered around, she whispered, “Please.”

Please.

Aye, this is what she wanted, she’d made that very clear.

“Turn around,” he commanded.

The buttons on her gown went all down her back, and Griffin could’ve made short work of them. But instead he took his time, enjoying the way the skin on the back of her neck formed little bumps each time he exhaled across it. Her breathing was irregular too, and he guessed it was because of anticipation.

Just like his.

When the buttons were finally done, he pushed the gown forward, off her shoulders, trapping her arms in the sleeves. Since she couldn’t see him, he felt justified into smiling as he dragged one finger down her spine and hooked it under her chemise.

She shivered.

His cock strained at his trousers and his voice was rougher than he expected when he commanded, “Step out of yer gown.”

It was a flurry of movement, but then Felicity was still once more, her back straight and determined before him. His hands went to her shoulders, and when she shivered again, he dragged them down her bare arms. He lowered his lips to the spot where her chemise straps crossed her skin, and kissed her through the silk.

The noise she made could’ve come from one of her cats.

Griffin’s hands curled around her wrists, and he lifted them to place her palms against her corset, atop her own tits. Fook, the instinct to cover her hands, to squeeze, was hard to ignore, but patience was a virtue here.

When he pressed against her, his cock nestled into the cleft of her arse, and she moaned and pushed back. Let him know she wanted this as much as he did.

With her hands out of the way, his fingers flew down the front of her corset, unhooking slowly. Then he flattened his palms on either side and squeezed, popping each latch in one movement, pulling it from her.

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