Page 63 of A Bride for the Rakish Duke

She shivered from head to toe, her fingernails digging into his shoulder as she jolted and shuddered, overcome by her conclusion. Yet, he did not pause in his attentions, waiting until he felt her begin to relax, letting his tongue and his touch chase the residual sparks of pleasure that would undoubtedly be smoldering within her.

At last, as her breathing returned to some semblance of evenness, and her muscles loosened, he slowly withdrew his fingers and turned his head to kiss the inside of her thigh.

He kissed his way over the peak of her hips and along the flat of her stomach, skimming over the fabric of her stays before he reached her plump breasts. He continued up, kissing and tasting the column of her throat until, at last, he found her lips again. That sacred place that would be the unraveling of him.

She crushed her mouth to his with a hunger more ravenous than any he had experienced before, and as he pulled her close, his hand made quick work of the laces of her stays, tugging them free.

With one urgent pull, he rid her of her stays and tossed the undergarment onto the settee.

That done, he stepped back to admire the naked, flushed beauty of her. He doubted he had ever seen anything more exquisite, more perfect, more divine in his entire life. She resembled a goddess, her pale skin glowing in the romantic light of the library, her figure a tortuous hourglass, her breasts pert and tempting, her hips curved in a way that demanded the grip of his hands.

But to his surprise, it was not merely the sight of her that made him dizzy with desire. Every part of him wanted every part of her, beyond the physical, beyond the usual, beyond anything he had ever craved before. He wanted to drown himself in her until there was no telling where one began and the other ended. And he knew that if he were to indulge in her, it would be like an intoxicant, and he would never be able to get enough.

Just to be near her was putting himself in a dangerous predicament, yet the thought of being away, of leaving that room, was impossible.

“What are you doing?” she whispered shyly, covering her breasts with her arm while her other hand covered the apex of her thighs.

He tutted. “Do not hide yourself from me. Let me savor you with my eyes while I am still savoring the taste of you.”

Biting her lip, she let her hands fall away, revealing herself once more.

“Perfection,” he growled. “And all mine.”

He peeled away his shirt and swooped her up in his arms.

Lydia wondered if she had fallen asleep on the settee, and all of this was just a vivid dream conjured from the pages that were likely still open in her slumbering hand. Her body, her very being, had never experienced such a wealth of sensations, of such intensity that there had been moments where breath and thought had abandoned her.

She ran her hands over Will’s smooth, still slightly damp chest, reveling in the hard muscle and the detail of every line and contour and dip. His abdomen was like a mountain range with a deep valley running down the middle, and two deep lines cut diagonally from his hips, disappearing into the top edge of his trousers. His shoulders were broad and powerful, making her feel delicate and safe in his embrace.

In truth, she could not stop touching him, could not stop savoring the warmth of his skin and the overwhelming closeness of him. Just as she could not stop kissing him, her lips followinghis example by grazing his exposed flesh. She smiled against his neck as she tasted that sensitive skin with her tongue and heard him gasp softly.

But it was his throaty chuckle as she nipped his earlobe that sent her over the edge, understanding that they were long past the point of no return.

“You did not remain true to the original,” she murmured, tracing her fingertips down his muscled abdomen.

He smirked. “It required some elaborate editing. Call it poetic license.”

His smile darkened, his eyes clouded with longing as she fumbled with the fastening of his trousers. His hand came up to cradle her cheek, his lips pressing against hers in a soft, slow kiss as she pushed downward and peeled away his trousers.

“Oh…” she gasped, pulling back from the kiss to admire him.

She understood now why he had done the same thing, for there was something so very… beautiful about being stripped bare, hiding nothing, being entirely vulnerable with another person.

And he was unfairly proportioned, possessed of the sort of masculine beauty that she imagined most men would have given their souls to have.

“Do not be afraid,” he told her, sliding his hands around hers, interlacing their fingers. “I will be as gentle with you as you want me to be.”

She blinked. “Why would I not want you to be gentle?”

“That might be a discovery for another day,” he said, laughing huskily. “Now, which part of your secret novel were we up to? I believe there was something about a barrel, and Lady Ursula being bent over it, but I have something better in mind.”

She met his gaze. “I trust you.”

His eyes pinched slightly, as if those words had struck a chord in him. And as he dipped his head to kiss her, his arms enveloping her in a tight embrace, she had never meant anything more—shedidtrust him.

After all, he had come back, and he had apologized. Perhaps that meant things were about to change. It certainly felt as if there was a change in the air as he kissed her more deeply and walked her back to the settee where this had all begun.

There, he sat down on the brocade upholstery and pulled her down into his lap. His hands caressed the curve of her back, his fingertips slipping into her hair as he drew away the silver slides that held her hair in place. Strawberry-blonde locks cascaded downward, and he twirled wavy strands of it around his fingers as he kissed her neck, her throat, her collarbone, her chest, and trailed his lips lower to catch a stiff nipple in his mouth.

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