Page 19 of My Ruthless Duke

The smile fell right off of Dorian’s face. In the dim lighting, the shadows flickered over his face almost sinisterly as she put her back to the headboard. She pulled another pillow into her chest, ready to throw it if that was what she was truly going to need to make him stop. He should not have been in here anyway! It was her room, and their week was not over yet.

Dorian was at her side in an instant. He pulled the second pillow from her hands roughly so that she could not throw it at him. The linen shirt that he wore was loose, untucked, and exposed far too much of his chest to be decent. She was painfully aware of how thin the nightgown she wore was, and now that he had taken her pillow, there was even less distance between them.

“Do not do that again, or I shall have to punish you,” he said in an authoritative tone.

Cordelia scoffed, half-expecting him to break into a smile. “You are jesting.”

But Dorian did not smile. His brown eyes remained locked on hers, unreadable yet dark with intent. Not in the slightest. Her smirk faltered as she blinked up at him, confusion mingling with something… else. What was that supposed to mean?

“I am not,” he said coolly, his voice unwavering.

“What exactly do you think you will do?” she asked, forcing her voice to stay steady though her pulse quickened. “You would not dare lay a hand on me, Your Grace. No matter what people say, I am not afraid of you.”

His lips curled in that dangerous way, a smirk filled with knowing confidence. “Would I not?” His voice was a low rumble, sending a shiver down her spine. Why did his tone affect her in such a way? It worked its way under her skin, making her want to rake her eyes over his frame. She shifted under his gaze, her mouth opening to protest, but nothing came out. That tone, so firm and deliberate, seeped into her skin like heat. It worked its way through her, igniting something in her she could not quite place. Her eyes flicked over him—broad shoulders, the cut of muscle along his chest, his shirt hanging loosely enough to expose the expanse of skin. He was not even trying to hide the power that came with his physical presence.

Her cheeks flushed, a sudden rush of warmth flooding her as her nipples tightened beneath her gown. She forced herself to look back at his face, away from the tantalizing sight. The storm outside seemed so distant now, the real tempest brewing inside her chest. So much skin. It was… it was improper. Heat flushedthrough her, her nipples hardening under her gown as she forced her attention back to his face.

Did he trulyhaveto be on herbedwhen he was speaking to her in that tone?

Dorian stepped closer, his looming figure casting a shadow over her. “You would not dare,” she said, her voice daring but unsteady. “If you touch me, Your Grace… I shall scream.”

That earned her a smirk, the dimple on the left side of his face deepening with amusement. “Scream all you like,” he said softly, his voice like silk over iron. “I already told you—I have several ways to make you quiet.”

“And how do you suppose you could achieve that?”

His gaze lingered on her lips as though imagining them already silenced. The intimacy of it made her heart race, a flush creeping from her chest to her throat. Her breath caught, but she could not tear her eyes away.

With a deliberate slowness, his hands dropped to his waist. He untied the buckle of his robe and pulled it free, the movement smooth, calculated. Her eyes followed the belt, her mind spinning. What was he going to…? She swallowed hard, heat spreading lower in her body, coiling tight in her belly.

Why could she not look away?

Dorian leaned down over her, the belt in his hands. She should have protested, should have pulled away, or fought back. But instead, she froze, every nerve in her body alight with a tension she did not understand. When his fingers brushed her cheek, her breath hitched—just a light touch, barely grazing her skin, but it sent a shiver down her spine.

“Open up for me, Little Flower,” he whispered behind her ear. She could not help but obey as if mesmerized.

Then, with unexpected gentleness, he slipped the belt between her lips, pulling it tight enough to muffle any sound she might make. The fabric was firm but not painful, pressing against her lips and holding them in place.

Cordelia’s heart pounded in her chest, each beat reverberating through her as the weight of the situation settled in. She was gagged—silenced—and yet… the fear she should have felt was absent. Instead, a sharp current of curiosity surged through her. What was he going to do to her now? Why did the idea of being at his mercy stir something deep and unfamiliar inside her?

Her body tensed, a strange mixture of arousal and confusion warring within her. She leaned back against the pillows, her eyes wide as she gazed up at him, searching for any sign of what would come next. Her breathing was shallow, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Every part of her felt attuned to his presence, waiting, anticipating.

Dorian’s lips hovered just inches from her own, so close she could feel his breath on her skin. “Much better,” he whispered,his voice rough and low. The words sent a pulse of heat through her, her body responding in ways she had not anticipated.

She squirmed beneath him, her mind racing with a thousand questions, each one drowned out by the thrum of desire that now beat steadily in her veins. Why did she want him to do something, anything, to close the unbearable gap between them?

I must have lost my mind completely.

But just as quickly as the tension had built, it shattered. Dorian straightened, a smug smile curving his lips as his finger ran temptingly down the curve of her body, knuckles brushing along the line of her leg, and then—nothing. His intense brown eyes lingered on her for a moment longer, watching her, measuring her reaction.

She felt as if her insides were on fire with need; she wanted him to come back, and with the gag in her mouth, she could not even ask him for what she desired.

“Next time, you should be a good girl, hm?”

She blinked, and he was across the room, smiling at her smugly like whatever unspoken battle that was happening between them was a victory in his favor.

His brow arched knowingly, and he slipped his hands into the pockets of his robe. His intense brown eyes lingered on her, and then heleft—just like that.

But why did she feel so damned disappointed?

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