Page 49 of My Demanding Duke

If asked later, Anna could not honestly say who yielded first. All she knew was that his lips were upon hers, hungry and demanding. Her hands threaded through his thick hair as he pressed himself against her.

Trembling with want, she trailed a path from the nape of his neck to the front of his chest where, with trembling fingers she sought to free the buttons of his waist coat.

Urgency filled her every move—and his. He palmed her erect nipples beneath her gown, growling with annoyance to find them encased beneath gossamer and silk.

Their mouths never parted as they each undressed the other with clumsy, hurried hands, until they were both stripped bare. They sank to the carpet, limbs entwined, where Hugh covered her body with his own.

His mouth left hers, trailing hot kisses down her neck which made her her want to weep with need. When he at last caught one of her taut nipples in his mouth, she gave a cry of relief.

His hands roved the rest of her body, his fingers caressing a path along the soft virgin skin of her inner thigh. He nudged her legs apart, though she needed no encouragement to open herself for him.

“You’re so wet,” he whispered huskily into her ear, as his fingers caressed her slick crease. He moved then to the pearl of her pleasure, teasingly it gently with his thumb.

“Please,” Anna gasped, her reserve completely stripped. She wanted him, needed him, to sate the burning ache between her legs. Her hips arced, inviting him to take what was his; to plunder her completely.

He uttered an epithet as, in acceptance of her invitation, he placed himself between her legs. She was pinned down on either side by two bronze arms, bronzed from the sun, sinewy with muscle. She was powerless against him, she realised; though his sheer size and strength did not frighten her, it thrilled her.

“Christ,” Hugh uttered, as he rubbed the thick, hard length of his desire against her wetness.

Anna shivered, both with need and the cool draught which curled around them.

Above her, Hugh stilled.

“You’re cold,” he whispered, rolling off from on top of her to reach for his coat, discarded on the floor beside them. He covered her with it, his hands briskly rubbing her arms to warm her.

“It was but a draught,” Anna protested but he paid her no heed.

Instead, he assisted her to her feet in what would have been a most chivalrous manner, were it not for the fact that he was utterly naked and sporting an enormous erection.

“Hugh,” Anna stuttered as she finally found her voice. “What—?”

He turned to gaze down at her, his expression almost pained.

“Not like this,” he answered, his voice gruff. “Not in anger, not on the floor like we are rutting animals.”

Not when you hate me.

He did not say it aloud, but Anna could guess. And she could guess because she wasn’t entirely certain that shedidn’thate him.

They had reached the bed now, and he removed his coat from her shoulders, allowing it to fall to the floor. He worshiped her naked form with his eyes for a moment, his expression pained. Then he reached for her hand and guided it between her legs.

“Touch yourself if you need some relief,” he advised, his tone wry. “That’s my plan.”

With a surprisingly gentle kiss to the top of her head, he left for his own chamber. The door clicked shut behind him.

Anna stood alone, trembling with cold and something far more dangerous. Her body ached with want, her skin tingling where he had touched her—but it was her heart which troubled her most. Just that afternoon it had been filled with hope but now it felt scorched, it burned. Perhaps it was hatred she felt. Or perhaps it was just the rage of desire denied.

She couldn’t tell the difference anymore—and that frightened her most of all.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

HUGH WOKE WITHa start, his body tense and unsatisfied. He had spent the night restlessly turning, sleep finally claiming him only to deliver dreams of Anna. In them, he had not hesitated—he had claimed her fully, right there on the carpet of her bedchamber.

Sleep, he thought wryly as he rolled from his bed, was the only place he might ever claim Anna’s body as his.

Dawn had long since broken; he was late for his session at Lords. With Thompson’s assistance, he bathed and dressed quickly, his mind replaying the evening before. Gravesend hovered at the forefront of his thoughts, and he wondered what exactly had passed between the young lord and Anna. Something had shifted in her after they spoke.

He made his way to the dining room, expecting it to be empty—and stopped short. Anna was seated at the far end of the table, her golden hair swept up like a halo.

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