Page 83 of A Widow for the Beastly Duke

He cursed, pulling down his pants hurriedly, while she tugged at his cravat and shirt. His chest was now bare, and she dragged her paint-stained fingers along the muscled ridges of his abdomen, leaving more streaks of blue and purple.

Victor chuckled. “Hm, am I your canvas now, my sweet Emma?” he murmured against her ear, thrusting slowly in her grip as she held him. “What would you like to paint on me?”

“I do not know,” Emma replied. “I want you, Victor. Now.”

Victor’s expression turned ravenous. “As My Lady wishes,” he said silkily, before taking his manhood and thrusting once, slow and long, into her waiting heat.

“Oh…” she moaned, her eyes fluttering shut at the invading fullness, her legs parting wider to accommodate his girth.

“You minx,” Victor growled, tugging at her chemise to bare her breasts to his gaze.

Then, he dipped one finger into the red paint splattered across the table beside them.

When he smudged the color across her chest, Emma couldn’t help but laugh at the absurd picture he painted.

“What are you doing?” She laughed, but then she broke off at the molten fire in his gaze.

“Playing with my food,” he drawled and lowered his head to suck one nipple into his mouth.

“Oh…” she gasped, and her hips jerked once as he drew back and slammed back into her.

“My mouth looks so good on your skin,” he groaned, the look in his eyes one of complete obsession. “What color should I paint the other breast, little kitten?”

But Emma could barely think as his thrusts quickened, his hips working inside her with exquisite skill that left her breathless.

“Hm?” he prompted, angling his hips to brush against that sweet spot inside her that made stars burst in front of her eyes. “Tell me, Emma. What color should I mark this beautiful breast with? Green? Yellow? Or blue… just like my eyes?”

She hated how much he teased her, so she only cupped his face in her hands and captured his lips with hers. Victor moaned, and he kept kissing her until he pulled away.

He growled softly against her mouth, his breath hot and uneven. “I want to paint you in the color of my desire,” he whispered, his lips grazing her ear. “And watch it melt off you while you tremble around me.”

Emma gasped. His words, the rhythm, the pressure—it all collided in a surge that swept her under. Her back arched as pleasure overtook her, a cry tearing from her throat as he followed her over the edge with a deep, guttural groan, his hips jerking once, twice, then going still.

For a moment, neither moved. The only sounds were their breaths—ragged, mingled,real.

Victor collapsed atop her, burying his face in her neck, his hand lazily trailing down her side.

“You ruin me,” he murmured against her skin. “And I don’t even care.”

Emma let out a shaky laugh, threading her fingers through his damp hair. “You’re a menace.”

He smiled against her collarbone. “Only for you, little kitten.”

A few moments later, he helped her off the table, his hands firm around her waist as he steadied her. He grabbed a cloth and began wiping the paint smeared across her stomach and hips, slow and deliberate—until she reached to wipe the last of it from her breast.

He caught her wrist.

“Leave it,” he murmured, his voice like velvet stretched over something darker. His eyes locked onto the vivid mark he’d left. “No one else will see it. Just you.”

Emma’s breath caught, her body still tingling from what they’d done.

“Later tonight,” he continued, leaning in so his lips brushed her ear, “I want you to take a bath. Let the water get warm—hot enough to sting a little. Then, when the paint begins to melt off your beautiful skin…” He paused, just long enough to make her ache. “Touch yourself. Think of my hands. My mouth. My eyes watching you.”

Her knees nearly buckled.

Victor kissed her temple, slow and possessive. “That’s mine. Even when I’m not there, Emma—you’re still mine.”

Her pulse thundered in her ears, his words echoing inside her like a spell she couldn’t shake. The heat of his breath on her skin, the command in his voice—it left her trembling, wet all over again. She couldn’t even look at him without her thighs pressing together.

---