Page 92 of A Bride for the Duke of Sin

“What are you thinking about, Duchess?” he murmured as he gently caressed the curve of her cheek.

She flushed at his intimate tone. “I… Nothing, really. I was merely relieved that I told the servants about the maintenance of your rooms…”

He groaned and pressed her into the bed. “I would not have you think of servants and cleaning when you are in my bed, damn it.”

He kissed her again as his hands deftly plucked at the buttons that ran down the back of her dress. As her gown slipped to her elbows, he trailed his lips down a fiery path to her jaw and then the side of her neck, coaxing a gasp from her when he lightly nibbled on her collarbone.

Servants and cleaning, indeed! He would have her screaming and thinking of nothing but his hands, his mouth, and his cock buried deep inside her.

Her fingers curled into his shoulders, bunching the fabric of his jacket and his shirt in her palms as he dragged her chemise down to expose her chest.

The cool air hit her fevered skin long enough for the rosy peaks to tighten into little buds, before he reached for her and cupped the soft flesh in his palms.Gloriedin the feel of her in his hands. She let out a soft cry and arched into his touch, wanting more of it all over her.

“So impatient.” He laughed huskily as his lips descended to wrap around a rosy bud. “Very well, then…”

He kissed his way down her body, from her glorious breasts with their rosy peaks down to her abdomen, dragging her gown and chemise down with him until the fabric bunched at her waist.

Her fingers speared into his hair as he did with aching slowness what he had promised her earlier—he wouldfeaston her.

With a wicked smile, he tossed her skirts up and disappeared under the fabric.

“Ethan, what are you?—”

He laughed softly, feeling the downy curls at the apex of her thighs tickle his shaved chin.

“Let me make this good for you, sweetheart,” he told her huskily. “I want to bring you this pleasure.”

He ran his tongue along her crease, and all protestations seemed to have died in her throat. Instead, a soft cry was all he heard as her thighs clamped around his ears.

She was like a ripe peach in the summer sun, her nectar coating his tongue with an inexplicable sweetness that made him think of sunny afternoons and soft green grass.

“Ooh!”

With his thumbs, he gently parted her center, opening her to every rasp of his tongue. He found the hooded bud at the apex and swirled his tongue around it before sucking on it lightly.

Phoebe let out a soft scream as she writhed beneath him. She ground her hips against his mouth, seeking more of his tongue, more of his touch.

He gave her no chance to recover, his tongue lashing at her hot, honeyed center as he devoured her. When he felt her shake a little, he inserted a finger into her channel and groaned.

Gods above, she was so tight, so hot. The thought of burying himself in her heat nearly had him spilling his seed before he could even thrust into her.

He felt her body tensing up under him and smiled to himself. He worked his finger inside her, finding that soft, ridged area and curling his digit against it as she bucked underneath him, his name falling from her lips like a prayer. An entreaty of sorts.

“That’s it,” he crooned into her flesh. “That’s my good girl. Let it go, sweetheart.”

He sucked on the aching bundle of nerves gently, his finger stroking her walls, until she burst apart with a shuddering cry, her back arching off the bed from the sheer force of her climax.

“Ethan, oh, Ethan!” she sobbed as he gathered her into his arms.

He kissed her sweaty forehead, holding her as she rode out the waves of her orgasm in his embrace, murmuring gentle encouragements in her ear until she stopped shaking.

“That was…”

She spoke in halting sentences as he covered her body with his.

“Your climax, sweetheart,” he told her.

His eyes fell to her breasts, and he noted the marks of his passion on her creamy skin. Pride suffused his chest at the sight of his handiwork, like an artist admiring his masterpiece.

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