Page 39 of Any Duke in a Storm

Lisbeth rocked back to her elbows on the table, needing to take charge because it was what she did. With intercourse, she usually controlled the pace and the positions. She wasn’t submissive by nature, and ordinarily, herlovers let her take the lead. Saint did not move and her eyes lifted to his. Clearly, he wasn’t submissive either, and the thought made her core tighten. Who would yield in a show of dominance?

With a grin, Lisbeth arched a brow and unlocked her booted foot from behind his waist to plant it firmly against his chest. She shimmied backward for purchase on the table. “I’m the one doing the plundering, remember?” When his eyes dilated as her heel drifted south, her grin widened. “Now show me the bounty that’s mine to claim.”

The tendons in his neck corded with strain as Saint stepped back, eyes like slashes of icy moonlight with his burnished brown complexion, those full lips taut with tension. He licked them when he saw her looking and her center hummed as if it wanted his tonguethere. Saint smiled like her vulgar thoughts were transparent, a wicked grin lighting up his countenance.

God, Lisbeth had never seen a more stunning specimen of a man. When he smiled like that, even more so. His cheekbones were stark in the graceful terrain of his face, strands of inky loosened hair falling into that broad brow. His fine-grained, masculine beauty and whiplike form reminded her of one of the fairy folk, fanciful fae warriors she’d read about in Irish and French folktales. Lovely but lethal. Elegant but inhumanly strong.

Her breath caught as he lifted his shirt over his head in one swift motion. The leather queue came loose as well, the waterfall of his raven curls tumbling over wide, sun-kissed shoulders. Lisbeth didn’t know where to look—atthe slope of his pectoral muscles, that gold ring winking through his brown nipple, or the tapered topology of his steel-cut abdominals. He was not a man to shy away from hard work on the sea, and it showed in every sculpted swell and hollowed dip.

“More,” she whispered. “All of it.”

With a gratified smirk at the way she squirmed fitfully on the table, knowing very well how the sight of his gorgeous body was affecting her, he bent to remove his boots and stockings, giving her a tantalizing glimpse of the ripped, winged muscles along his side. Then, his hands went to the fastenings of his fly and made deft work of removing the rest of his clothing.

Saint did not tease, did not delay, only gave her what she’d demanded, until he stood there in nude, spectacular glory. Lisbeth’s mouth dried as her gaze fell on his engorged, jutting staff. Her core released an indecent gush of wetness even as her brain recoiled from the sheer size of him. But that wasn’t even what made her dizzy with desire.

Because, devil take her breath, the crown of Saint’s staff waspierced.

Twelve

“Cat got your tongue, Viking?” Raphael rasped.

Bloody hell, he’d never been so aroused in all his life, his cock so hard, it felt as though he was going to burst out of his skin at any moment. She had needed to take the lead, he realized, and while he was usually a dominant lover, he wanted her to feel safe with him. Even if it meant standing there like a clockwork toy, he’d do it. For her.

Those hungry siren’s eyes on him were the best and worst kind of torture. With a silent groan, he fisted himself and remained in place a few feet away, watching her ocean-green eyes darken and dilate with lust when his fingers skated over the piercing at the end of his cock. He hissed at the contact when his thumb slid across it.

“Did that hurt?” she whispered, stare glued to the end of his staff where the gold running through his swollen crown peeked out on top and below.

“Some,” he said, strolling toward her until he was back in the cradle of her thighs. His cock jutted up obscenely between them, her gaze locked on the studded ends of the gold jewelry. “But the pain was worth it. I got the nipple done in France and the apadravya piercing in India.”

“Is that what it’s called?” she asked softly, staring down. “That one?”

“Yes. It dates as far back as the Kama Sutra.”

Curious eyes lifted to his nipple and the gold ring situated there. “Where did you go in France? I’ve heard of places there that offer intimate piercings.”

“A small parlor on the rue de Rivoli in Paris, belonging to one Madame Beaumont.”

Lisbeth licked her lips again, a faint shudder going through her. “God, I love when you speak French,” she murmured and then smiled. “I have friends in London who swear that the…pleasure of such jewelry is unfathomably extraordinary, both for the owner of the piece and the recipient of the attentions.”

“That is true.”

Her lashes dipped. “But one of those…”

“Apadravya,” he supplied helpfully.

“I’ve never heard of anything like it.”

His fingers passed over her cheek. “Depending on the position, the metal can hit a spot inside that brings immeasurable pleasure to a woman.”

“Oh.” She swallowed. “And for you?”

“Every stroke can be intense. Pain and pleasure are a unique combination.”

She gulped when Raphael’s hands went to the lapels of her coat, helping her shrug out of it, and then to the laces on her shirt. She wasn’t wearing a corset, only the thinnest of shifts that did little to hide the peaked nipples that yearned for his attention. Slowly, he traced the delicate bud of her right breast with one fingertip, enjoying her sharp inhale of breath. He pinched,relishing the flare in her irises, and she bit her lip with a soft cry.

“So fucking beautiful,” he murmured before ducking his head to capture the peak in his mouth, soothing the hurt he’d created. His tongue dragged over the fabric, wetting it to translucency as her back arched, a whimper escaping her lips. He nipped and met her lust-drunk stare. “Like that, it’s but a pinch, and then it’s over, but the pleasure afterward is ten times more acute.”

Eyes on his, she leaned forward and licked his nipple, lips passing right over the ring with the lightest of suction as she caught it between her teeth. A groan tore from him, the wet scrape of her tongue feeling as though it was connected to his throbbing cock. If it was even possible, he thickened more. “I can see that,” she said.

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