Page 43 of A Bride for the Duke of Sin

When she gave her nipple a little squeeze, her head fell back, her mouth open in a breathless gasp.

“Ahh…”

She could not help it. It felt so good.

So she did it again. And again.

With her other hand, she caressed her other breast and rolled her nipple between her thumb and finger as all the embarrassment seeped out of her.

She was nothing more than a creature of desire now, eager for more of Ethan’s instruction even as she took matters into her own hands.

Literally.

“That’s it, my sweet Duchess,” he crooned. “Revel in the feel of your body. Soak in all the sensations. It feels wonderful, does it not?”

Phoebe nodded. “Yes… Oh yes!”

From beneath her half-lidded eyes, she saw him drag a chair before her. He watched her intently as she squeezed her breasts once more, his eyes darkening until they were almost entirely black.

When her gaze dropped to his breeches, she saw the evidence of his desire straining against the fabric.

Knowing that this was affecting him as much as it did her gave her a boost of confidence. A sense of her own power.

“Now, lift your skirts and open your legs for me, my sweet, but keep one hand on your breast,” he coaxed her.

Was he going to relieve the ache between her legs? Oh, how she wished he would!

“You feel that, don’t you? That ache in your sweet flesh?”

Phoebe nodded and whimpered. “Ethan, please…”

She caught the flash of his smile at her pleas.

“Do you have any idea how arousing it is when you say my name like that?” he growled.

So, she did it again.

“Ethan… Oh, Ethan…”

He let out a slight sound, shifting slightly in his seat.

“Minx.” His voice had gone lower, almost gravelly. “Open your legs for me.”

Phoebe wanted nothing more than to squeeze her legs together to soothe the ache, but she knew that only he could help her alleviate the torment she found herself in. She trusted him to.

She felt the cool air on her damp thighs as she did so, baring her flesh for his perusal.

“Now, I want you to touch yourself right where it aches the most, Duchess.”

She bit her lower lip as she tentatively slid her fingers down the patch of curls at the apex of her thighs.

Of course, she had touched herself when she bathed—but just a little. Back then, she had not felt the sensations she was feeling now.

She had never before touched herself for the mere pleasure of it.

Phoebe felt the heat of her mound through the thatch of her curls, whimpering as she pressed a little harder. Her fingers found a new kind of wetness that differed from her monthly courses. It was almost… slippery.

She ventured further, deeper into her slick folds, and let out a soft cry as her finger slid against a slight bump.

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