Page 67 of Wedded to the Ruthless Duke

Philip took hold of Grace’s waist and pulled her so sharply into him that she fell into his chest.

He loved it. He wrapped his arms firmly around her waist and bent his head toward hers in a kiss.

All he knew was that he had to get rid of the sign of those tears. He had to make her happy, had to see her smile as she had done before, to end this argument, for her to understand everything now.

He half expected Grace to throw him off her, to demand he stop kissing her, but she didn’t. Her hands had snaked up his chest. One hand was pulling on his cravat, tugging him down toward her, as the other clung to his waistcoat, pulling on that too.

He kissed her with such ferocity that they could not stand still in one place from the strength of their movements. They wobbled back on their feet, ending up in the middle of the hearth rug as he embraced her tightly, keeping her to him as close as was physically possible.

“I… don’t… understand,” she said between kisses, clearly struggling to get the words out for he just kept kissing her.

I can’t stop. Not now.

He planted his lips to hers again, tangling her tongue briefly with his own. When she playfully nipped his bottom lip, he growled aloud.

I have to make her mine again.

“Do you think I could stand it?” he said, pulling back an inch. He helped her with his cravat. Together, they pulled it free of his neck. “Every man looking at you in that dress. The Marquess of Morton daring to touch you.”

“He didn’t mean —”

“I don’t care,” he hissed angrily. The waistcoat came next. Their fingers fumbled together as they both unbuttoned it. “When he touched your hand, I was enraged. He went to kiss your hand, Grace —”

“I’m married to you in case you haven’t noticed.”

“Good.” He bent down toward her and kissed her again as they both fumbled, pushing the waistcoat off his shoulders. “You’re mine, Grace,” he said possessively in her ear, fearing she might hate these words, but he had to say them anyway.

When he heard her breathy moan, it was his undoing. He tore that ribbon off her neck and set his lips to the perfect curve of her throat again. He feasted upon her skin, loving the scents she always carried with her of rose and honey. He marked her yet again, listening as she moaned, her hands now burying themselves in his shirt.

She didn’t seem to mind him claiming her as his own again. It was a break in their argument, that fierceness now shifted into passion, and he was intending to take advantage of every second of it.

He reached for the gown and hurried to untie the laces situated at the front of this one. As he pulled it down her shoulders, he kissed her exposed skin, going for her bare shoulders first then the crests of her breasts just visible above the stays and chemise.

With the gown on the floor, rather than urging her to step out of it, he wrapped an arm around her waist and lifted her in one clean movement out of it. She gasped against him, that sound filling him with ideas of what more they could do together once there were no clothes between them.

He kicked the gown away, leaving a bare stretch of hearth rug beneath them. Rather than taking her down to that rug straight away, he had other ideas. He urged her to turn around. Under the guise of undoing her corset, he took hold of her waist and encouraged her forward.

She planted her hands onto an armchair in front of her with her rear toward him, now in a perfect position for him to have access to her. He drew her chemise up around her waist, revealing all her curves.

“Perfect,” he whispered against her skin, kissing her all over her hips and rear, even up to the small base of her back. “You do not know how wild this drives me, Grace.” With the words, he gripped both of her rounded hips and drove his hips into hers.

She moaned, her fingers splaying on the cushion in front of her.

Quite determined to hear not only her making such sounds, but to have her moaning his name again, he reached down between her legs. He toyed with her first, teasing her, trailing his fingers up and down her legs. She grew impatient, arching her back, moaning in frustration.

He reached across her back, pulling on the laces of her corset until she was free, and it dropped from her body. He took hold of her hair next, pulling out as many pins as he could find until her honey hair was wild about her shoulders.

This was one of the things he quite adored about Grace. It was one of the things that rendered him weak around. When she was so undone, unbidden, wild in both appearance and manner, he couldn’t resist her.

He trailed his fingers through her hair, his other hand moving higher and higher on the inside of her left thigh until she groaned and rocked back into him. He could feel her heat and was sure she’d be wet and ready for him already.

Before he touched her with his fingers, though, he bent down, moving to his knees and placed his tongue to her entrance instead.

“Philip!” she cried with sudden amazement and pleasure.

Philip knew the way she had cried his name would haunt his pleasurable dreams now. He rocked his tongue into her repeatedly, driving her wild, thinking of the other things they could do in this position.

When she was trembling, her fingers gripping the cushion of his armchairs so much she was in danger of leaving permanent creases there, he shifted their position.

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