Page 61 of The Duke's Daring Bride

She was perfect.

The way she stood, her shoulders proudly squared, thrust her tits forward. He hadn’t had a chance to worship them as they deserved; twice since the wedding night he’d taken himself in hand and imagined burrowing his face between them. Not nearly enough.

He would run his hand down the curve of her hip and over her delicious arse. He’d spread those thighs, he’d lick his way across her skin, he’d bury himself inside her.

His lips formed the words, “Jesus Christ,” but Alistair wouldn’t allow the sound to release.

His cock throbbed against his trousers.

“I have something to show you.”

Oh God, aye! Aye, she was showing him. She was showing him how to make a saint weep.

Alistair’s hands curled around the arms of his chair as he balanced, still half-up, half-down. He wanted to go to her. But…she hadn’t asked him. Hadn’t told him that’s what she wanted.

She showed up in yer bedroom and stripped naked. It’s a bit more than a fooking hint!

But he could do nothing more than watch as she crossed the room toward him…

And sank down into the leather chair across from him.

Was she…here to lecture him?

Slowly, Alistair settled back into the chair, his grip white-knuckled against the leather. He swallowed, wondering if he should risk trying to ask her why she was here. Where was that damned notebook?

But Olivia understood.

She always understood.

“I’ve come to show you something very specific, Alistair,” she said with a gentle smile.

Her knees parted. Her legs fell open.

He forgot how to breathe.

There, nestled among her curls, her cunny glistened. Ready. Waiting. Eager.

His bride.

“I wanted to show you this.” She draped one leg over the arm of the chair, widening herself even further to his stare.

Had he thought himself hard before? His cock strained against his trouser buttons, begging to be released. To touch her.

“I wanted you to see this. To see me do this,” she whispered, as she lifted her hands to her breasts.

And hefted one in her hand.

Good Christ Almighty, she was doing what Alistair wanted to do.

Olivia held his gaze as she cupped her tits, then pressed them together to form an agonizingly tempting cleft. He wanted to lick it. He wanted to lick her.

Everywhere.

But as her hands went to her nipples, Alistair forced himself to remain in place. To remain still.

She was here for a reason, and that reason was apparently to tempt him. To tease him. If she’d wanted his touch, she would’ve come to him. Instead, she was sitting across from him—so close! So far!—and touching herself.

Touching herself.

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