Page 69 of A Sinful Virgin for the Duke

“And thank you, Gemma,” he replied, his voice quieter. “For… seeing things differently. I believe I needed that tonight.”

Her smile was soft, as if she understood more than he could ever say.

Over the next few weeks Frederick found himself attending ball after ball, dinner after dinner, and enduring the endless parade of social events his grandmother had insisted upon.

At first, he’d bristled at the mere thought of playing the dutiful grandson, parading around in his finest attire, listening to tedious conversations about weather, prospects and inheritance.

But beneath the layers of his reluctance lay a reason that had lessened his irritation; a reason that wore a soft, beguiling smile and laughed at his dry humor as though he were the cleverest person in the world.

Gemma Bradford.

With each event he caught more glimpses of her vibrant personality as she accompanied his grandmother. They would drift towards each other, bound by the subtle pull of familiarity, a natural rhythm that neither one of them felt the need to question.

For the first time in what felt like years, Frederick found himself enjoying the gatherings. He’d grown fond of their quiet talks, their stolen moments on the fringes of crowded ballrooms and during hushed dinners.

During one evening of celebration at a baron’s estate not far from his own, he once again surrendered himself to their chemistry.

They had managed to slip away from the crowded ballroom into a secluded side garden.

Frederick’s heart beat with the thrill of their rebellion as he led Gemma through the lantern-lit paths and away from curious eyes. He paused beside a stone bench hidden by hedges and turned to face her with a small smile.

“Gemma,” he murmured, reaching for her hand.

She glanced back toward the house, her eyes alight with excitement. “Are we allowed out here, do you think?”

He grinned. “Only if you keep your voice down.”

She laughed softly and breathlessly, and before he could overthink it, he pulled her close, his lips meeting hers.

The world around them dissolved as they became wrapped up in each other, her arms winding around his neck, pulling him closer. His hands pressed gently against her back, then moved lower as he lifted her and settled the two of them onto the bench and drew her onto his lap.

He looked up at her, his gaze steady, both longing and surprise at her readiness.

“Undo your corset,” he whispered, his voice low and intimate.

Her hands found his shoulders, grounding herself as she met his eyes.

“Yes, Your Grace,” she murmured seductively.

Slowly, with quiet precision, she loosened the laces of her bodice, letting the cool night air graze her skin.

Frederick’s breath caught as he ran a hand lightly over her bare shoulder, then lower, his fingers tracing delicate lines across her collarbone before lowering his mouth to meet her skin.

She sighed as his lips met her skin, closing her eyes as he pressed gentle, possessive kisses along her shoulders. Gemma moved herself closer to him, creating a warmth between them that thawed the coolness of the night.

“Frederick,” she whispered, her eyes wide and vulnerable, her voice catching in a half plea, half challenge.

The sound of her voice struck him mute. He could only respond by pulling her closer, his hands roaming over and discovering her dewy skin, until they lost themselves in one another.

With quick motions he undid the lacings of his trousers and lowered her down on his throbbing manhood. She cried out a bit too loudly as his hardness filled her.

“Easy there, darling. Do you want us to be discovered?” he mumbled as he placed a hand over her mouth to quieten her.

Gemma blinked, and her eyes sparkled as she rolled her hips against his.

Frederick’s hand was still clamped on her lips, but Gemma’s eyes seemed to say that she didn’t want him to take it off.

His suspicions were confirmed when she gripped his wrist, not to pull his hand away, but to hold herself steady.

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