Page 34 of The Duke and the Runaway Bride

She worried he could hear the thumping in her chest.

Edwin answered with action. He swept his arm across the table, sending most of the dishes and cutlery to the other side, some clattering to the floor.

Beatrice looked toward the door in case someone might burst in. But then the Duke scooped her up into his arms and placed her on the wooden table. She felt warmth beneath her rear—some residual heat within the patch of wood. He did not have to tell her what came next—Beatrice lay back, trusting him implicitly even though she barely knew his character. Her body was too eager for what came next to worry about the sort of man he was.

His hands came to her knees and parted her legs. Cool air kissed her thighs, but it was quickly replaced by warmth again. Her body erupted in a small shiver of anticipation. She looked up at the ceiling, noticing the ornate carvings for the first time.

It is not often we take the time to look up and?—

“Oh,” Beatrice moaned. She clawed at the table, trying to grab onto something, but there was nothing except the wooden surface.

There had been no preamble, no warning, only the Duke’s mischievous face buried between her thighs. Her fingers flattened against the smooth wood, and she spread her arms out as far as they would go. His hands were warm on her legs, and she willingly submitted, needing him to pleasure her. Goosebumps erupted on her inner thighs as he took hold of her.

The position was set—the Duke’s hands on her thighs and his face in her intimate place. Only his lips and tongue moved as they danced across her entrance and clitoris.

Beatrice brought her hands up and fisted them in her hair as she moaned again. She was getting louder, but she had lost herself again. There could have been a dozen people in the room talking loudly, and she would not have noticed.

A flick of the Duke’s tongue and her back arched, pushing her core up into his face. He pressed his tongue fully into her wet cave, and it sent a spasm through her body.

She was back in a dream. It could not feel so good without being a dream. His tongue licked and lapped at her, his lips kissing her entrance and moving to the small tuft of hair above. His hands gripped her thighs, his left thumb gently rubbing her milky skin.

Beatrice became acutely aware of the sound of her breathing through her nose. She focused on it, needing some distraction to prolong what was coming. The dam was cracked, and it was only a matter of time before the water broke through and swept everything in its path.

Beatrice moved her hands to Edwin’s head, pushing him into her core as she got close. She feared he might abandon her in the final moments—she knew the thought was ludicrous, but she needed to be sure he would be there right until the end.

With her hands on his head, he moved with intensity, licking quicker and sucking instead of kissing. She pushed the back of her head into the table as an animalistic noise escaped her lips, and she arched her back.

“Yes,” she gasped. “Yes, don’t stop. Don’t?—”

Her core exploded, and liquid pleasure washed over her, drowning any words or thoughts or actions. There was only burning and pulsing ecstasy from deep within. Edwin’s face was still buried in her sex, but she couldn’t feel it now. Their bodies had become one, and she did not know where she ended and he began.

Her hands gripped his hair, needing to ensure he was still there. She lost control of her body, her hips bucking and thrusting, her torso writhing, falling back to the table, and then her back arching again.

She almost laughed at the intensity of the pleasure. There was no other way to experience the delight. And then there was.

“Oh, yes!” she screamed.

She clapped her hand over her mouth and let out another scream, and her back fell to the table with a light thud. Her body tingled. She no longer felt his tongue on her sex, but his hands still held her. She was thankful for that, as her head was spinning, and she would have fallen off the table if not for his steadying grip.

Beatrice breathed out fully through her mouth and opened her eyes to see white lights exploding like fireworks.

“I… I…” She was numb. “Goodness gracious!”

ChapterThirteen

Wagging Tongues

“My goodness,” Beatrice breathed as she entered the breakfast room and spotted her husband sitting alone at the table.

“Elizabeth and Mother have dined already.” Edwin smiled. “I trust you slept well?”

Beatrice looked at the maid by the door and smiled at her. Then, she joined Edwin at the breakfast table and leaned in closer to whisper, “I don’t know what you did to me, but I have never slept better. I still can’t believe we did that in the dining room. You are a rogue.”

“I didn’t hear any complaints from you,” Edwin whispered back.

He looked up at the maid and gestured for her to leave. He did not care about her overhearing the conversation, but he felt it bothered Beatrice.

“No, I had no complaints.” Beatrice blushed and bit her bottom lip. “The way you just swept everything off the table! Well, that was certainly a sight to behold. I never expected a man to do something like that for me.”

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