Page 64 of A Widow for the Beastly Duke

“Say my name again,” he demanded, his voice rough with barely leashed control as he nipped her earlobe.

“Victor,” she whispered, the syllables like a plea on her lips.

With an almost beastly growl, the Duke’s fingers expertly found the laces of her bodice, undoing them and tugging them down to expose one breast.

CHAPTER19

“Heavens, you’re delicious,” he groaned, his breaths fast and ragged.

Emma gasped as the cool night air kissed her sensitive skin, and her nipple pebbled at once, a sharp lance of pleasure and pain spearing her right between her legs.

“Victor,” she whined, his name coming out like a plea and a command at once.

“Oh yes, pet,” he groaned against her flesh, his breath scorching hot against her breast. “I cannot wait either.”

And then his hot, moist mouth closed over her erect nipple, and she let out a soundless scream, her head lolling back as she drowned in the sensation.

Like a hungry beast, Victor sucked on her nipple in one strong pull, and her fingers tightened in his hair, her hips thrusting forward with urgency, eager to feel him right against her heated core.

And he seemed to realize it, too, because one hand greedily trailed down her body, even as his tongue lashed at her nipple over and over, the other hand eagerly massaging her other breast.

Emma was positivelydrunkon lust.

His hand soon disappeared underneath her skirts to touch bare skin, and her breath stalled.

“You’re so wet for me, Emma,” he groaned against her breast.

She nearly broke down into a sob, her fingers desperately clutching at his shoulders, holding on for dear life even as his hand trailed toward the pulsing flesh between her legs.

When he stroked it, she hissed out a tortured breath, her hips bucking against his hand, seeking more friction.

A curse fell from Victor’s lips, and her lips parted in shock, her cheeks blooming at the vulgar word. But Victor didn’t seem to realize his error, his eyes dark with sheer lust, the deep color on his cheeks turning his expression into one of pure debauchery.

“You want more, My Lady? Hm?”

And for some reason, his referring to her by her title only seemed to heighten her pleasure.

“Do you want more, Emma?” Ah, now he called her by her given name—this man was out toendher. “I ask you, do you?”

Emma nodded her head with wild abandon, not caring where she was anymore, her hips grinding against his fingers as they began to push into her. Slowly, those fingers opened her up, causing an ache that stemmed from being barely touched for years.

And now, she wanted more.

“Yes. Oh God, yes,” she gasped, her back arching.

As if propelled by her verbal encouragement and surrender, those fingers began to stroke in and out of her moist, hot cleft, faster and faster until she could barely breathe.

“What sweet torture it is,” Victor growled against her lips now, his fingers pistoning in and out of her, “to imagine this tight heat around my cock.”

It was by no means the most vulgar thing she’d ever heard a man say—her late husband had spoken far worse words—but the passion with which he said them, the way his shaft throbbed against her? That was what undid her.

With a cry, Emma reached her climax quickly, her legs giving out and trembling, hips jerking and her moist flesh clenching down hard on his thick, long fingers.

“Yes, come for me, darling,” Victor was murmuring against her jaw, his lips trailing down kisses toward the base of her throat, toward her breast.

That was the moment her senses returned, and she realized what she’d just done: she’d just let the Beast of Westmere pleasure her to orgasm.

Out in the garden of the Marquess’s home like a common whore.

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