Page 38 of Tamed By her Duke

But then he laughed, his mouth still against hers, and now she knew the taste of that laugh, too, and she would never, ever be the same.

One of his hands was already at the base of her neck—he seemed so wonderfully, terribly fond of playing with her hair there, and it made Grace feel as though she was melting—while the other was quite brazenly placed on her bum, pulling her up and in, pressing her close to him.

“Let me have ye, Grace,leannan,” he pleaded, punctuating the request with a nip against her jaw, which made her make the sound again. “Ye must let me have ye.”

This was less polite—a demand, not a plea—and it was one of only a thousand reasons Grace should have told him no. She’d not had her two weeks, for one. He was very annoying, for another. Not to mention that they were in theirdining room, which was hardly an appropriate place for…any of this.

“Yes,” she gasped, throwing her arms around his neck, running her fingers though his dark hair. It was improbably silky, not atall what Grace had imagined a man’s hair might feel like. She wanted to touch it forever, and he didn’t seem to be stopping her, so she wound it through her fingers, back and forth.

When she tugged, it was an accident—but a happy accident indeed, as it caused her husband to growl against her mouth and lift her entirely from the ground by bracing an arm beneath her and hoisting her against him.

It was a wholly undignified way to move about and it thrilled Grace to her bones.

And yet it was only half as thrilling as when she heard the crash of—no doubt very expensive—plates hitting the ground.

She glanced back at the table in the split second before her husband deposited her directly atop the now empty table.

She gaped at him. She was still holding his hair.

“You knocked down the plates,” she said, awestruck.

“Do shut up, Grace,” he said, startling a laugh out of her before swallowing it with another of his consuming kisses.

She felt very small, sitting on the edge of the table so that her legs dangled over the side. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling, not with her massive husband looming over her, blocking her from anything that might come her way. He planted an elbow next to her head and tilted her chin up so he could access her mouthmore deeply. She wanted to hate that he merely moved her where he wanted her, wanted to push back, to try to move him, but her limbs were too warm and languid to even attempt such a thing.

The most she could do was continue toying with his hair, her hands running lazily down his neck, dipping under the edge of his collar.

Her brow furrowed as she touched something rough and not quite expected beneath his shirt, but she was distracted in an instant when her husband reached up and took her wrists in his grasp. He put her hands firmly on the edge of the table, curling her fingers into a tight grip.

“Daenae move yer hands,” he ordered. He didn’t even bother with threatening what he would do if she disobeyed.

Grace, Lord help her, didn’t want to disobey.

She was laid out before him now, likeshewas the feast. His gaze roamed over her, blue like the hottest part of a flame, as if he simply could not decide where to begin devouring her. His hands were similar indecisive, curling briefly around her throat and making her breath hitch before traveling down, rough calluses sparking sensation in her decolletage, across the tops of her breasts.

She outright moaned when he pinched her nipple without warning, finding the bud beneath her dress and her stays with shocking accuracy.

His voice was low and teasing when he spoke, but it did not feel cruel, particularly not with the roughness to it that suggested that he was as affected as she.

“No, ye’re not eager for it in the least, are ye,leannan? Ye’re not wondering in the least where I might touch ye next, what pleasure I might bring ye?” He stepped back long enough to begin lifting her skirts, cool air quickly replaced with the warmth of his hands. “Ye are the very picture of dread now, Gracie mine. Are ye no?”

He sounded infuriatingly smug beneath that roughness and, oddly enough, that made Grace’s breath pant as hard as had the caresses to her breasts. She felt overwhelmed, intoxicated with the knowledge that if he lifted her skirts a few inches more, she’d be bared to him entirely.

Grace had spent a very long time thinking about what the concept ofruinationentailed. She’d not imagined it would rob her of words, leave her taut as a bowstring. She’d not thought it would be heat and wonder and wanting.

And she’d certainly never imagined it could involve broken crockery and laughter.

He’d asked her a question, she realized, as his movements became lazier, less a clear progression and more a meandering path. His fingertips teased lightly at the soft skin on the inside of her legs, above where her stockings were tied. The feeling was astonishingly distracting in its inadequacy.

“Please,” she said, because she didn’t know to find any other words—his original question was so far lost she had no hope of recovering it. “I—please.”

“How very pretty when ye beg,” he murmured, and she had a distinct flash of awareness that he wastryingto be mocking but couldn’t quite manage it.

And then she was aware of nothing else beside the hot press of an openmouthed kiss against her inner thigh, perilously close to her most private place.

She squeaked and tried to sit up—surely he couldn’t mean to? Notthere? With hismouth!—but Caleb’s hand shot up, fast as a shot, and pressed to her lower belly, pinning her in place.

“I told ye tostay,” he said, biting her leg in a way that gave her such savage pleasure she didn’t know how to understand it.

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