Page 17 of A Beauty for a Duke

Sofie didn’t move. Didn’t say anything.

Egan thought the moment might be over until she said, “What do you mean?”

Chapter 8

THISWASHISMOMENT.The one he had been waiting for. The one he had been envisioning in all sorts of ways but denying himself because of George. Hiseejitmate. What a fool he was. Egan didn’t know when George had changed his mind, and he didn’t care. Now was his chance.

He stalked toward her.

She bumped into the table. He pressed both palms on either side of her body, closing her in.

He wanted to take her on the table. But he was sure this was her first time, and something softened inside of him. There was a vehement urge to protect her and even…care for her. He could feel his heart twisting in and out of place, but he didn’t know how to react.

“Sofie, mo chridhe,” he took a loose chestnut lock from the nape of her neck and let it slide roughly through his fingers. She shivered and leaned into his chest. “I could show you so many things,” he whispered.

“I think it’s about time that you did.” She rubbed her cheek against the underside of his jaw, nudging him to open to her.

And that nudge was all it took. His lips found her hair, the back of her ear, her long, soft jawline, and then slowly edged toward the corner of her lips. A heavy breath escaped him as he grounded himself in the reality of the dream he was in. He could already taste her sweetness.

“My God, Sofie,” he groaned and then devoured her mouth. Her arms crept up his chest, slowing him. He could feel her palms against his heart, as if she could feel every pain and every joy he had ever known.

He licked at the seam of her lips until she opened for him, and her hot cinnamon breath drove him wild. Damn delicious snickerdoodles. He needed more of her. And she needed more of him. Her hands had inched up to his neck and they were in his hair. One hand was massaging his scalp with a tender ferocity. The other hand was clinging to him, pulling him closer. As if that were possible.

Her panting pushed her breasts against his chest. Never had he hated clothing as much as he did in this moment. He moaned her name, and she pressed her body into his. He could feel rock hard nubs driving into his chest. But still, he needed her closer.

Finally, he permitted his hands to roam freely. He pushed her hands down to feel his steely abs. He needed to revel in her response. One hand stole up to her gown and pulled down on loose, ruffled, pink puffs. The mewl in reward quickened his other hand to act similarly. Her arms were lightly trapped in place, and he inched her bodice down. Those creamy white mounds were pleading for their release. Down. Her nipples were just visible enough to tempt him to push the dress down once more. The mounds were free. A growl was lost as he sucked on her hard. And her moans had him hard to the point of pain.

“Mo chridhe. I must have you, or tell me to stop now.”

“Don’t stop,” emerged through her heavy panting. She gripped him harder. “I want you.”

“God, Sofie. Do you understand what you’re saying?”

“Never more so than now. Give it to me, Egan. Whatever it is.”

His hands raced to push up her skirts. Half of his brain was urging him to go slowly, be gentle, and take care. The other seventy percent raced ahead and told him only to seek and give sweet pleasure. None of it made sense.

Sweet pleasurerang through his head, so he pushed her back against the table. “Trust me, Sofie. This is for you.”

He waited for her to acknowledge the trust between them; instead, she held his gaze and smiled. “I want you, Egan.”

Her skirts were bunched around her hips, and he found her sweet center. He already knew what her taste would be. Now he need only prove himself right.

His tongue licked at her thigh and suckled closer to her core. When she moaned his name, he went in between her lips and supped at her fount. Oh God, he could do no less than repeat this until she broke.

Her thighs trembled under his touch, and he reached for her small nub. Giving it a gentle squeeze, she gushed. And oh, how he drank.

He was about to come under his kilt. He could hold it in and wait for her, but then she sighed. And all hell broke loose and liquid under his kilt.

His growl shook his heart. He had never so desperately wanted a woman to come under his tongue.

A soft voice spoke up, “Egan, what have you done to me?”

“Only what I’ve been imagining since you first uttered the words ‘thirty pounds.’”

“I can’t move. I don’t want to move.”

Egan recalled where they were and swore. “I wish we could stay here all night, but I’ll have to move you.”

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