Page 36 of The Duke's Spinster

Chapter Fourteen

The hottest dukeshe had ever seen had his mouth suckling her nipple. Her body felt faint at the thought, but her mind would not succumb to darkness because it wanted to be alert for every lick. Every nibble. Every—

“Ah, Wesley. Oh my God.” He sucked on her other breast, while his hand kneaded the first one. As if his mantra wereno throb goes unattended.

In that case, maybe she needed to keep giving him an indication that there was an ache, much lower, and much throbbier, that needed consideration. But could she be so wicked as to ask for attention to be paid to that part of her? A part of her that she herself hardly ever touched. And certainly no one else had noticed. How could she be so wicked—

A groan thrummed through her. He didn’t need any instructions apparently. His fingers danced across her mons, presumably looking for the buttons to her falls. Once found, he tucked his fingers under the fabric and slid a finger down in between her curls.

One hand on her breast. One hand playing with her core. And his mouth, searing into hers. He had said kissing was not an attack, but this felt like a full onslaught of sensations, in the best possible way. If it was a battle, it was one she was absolutely willing to yield to. Let the man do as he pleased, for everything he touched ebbed and flowed with ache and stimulation.

He was devouring her with his mouth. Something about her, about her body at least, appealed to him. He was like a starving man being presented a feast. His finger was sliding between her folds, down and up. When he rubbed back up her, ooh so deliciously slowly, his thumb tapped gently on her nub. And then circled around it. And then circled it, and oh, her body was laid siege. He groaned into her mouth and pressed her harder against the wall. She could feel his throbbing member against her thigh.

With no understanding of how to alleviate the ache she suspected he had, she yanked on his shirt and clawed her hands down his chest, which dislodged his mouth from hers.

Thankfully, it was for only as long as it took for him to grumble, “You are a goddess.”

She ran her hands down his chest. Through his soft curls. Needing him. Wanting more touch. More exposure. Real closeness. His body was perfect. A thought she had never considered about a man that she knew. A Corinthian body. Only taller than her by a few inches, but stronger by half. In his arms, she felt small, but fierce. Womanly. He had tapped into her body, and somehow that was transferring to her mind and heart.

A goddess he had said.

And she felt like one. Only in his arms. Powerful. Coveted.

He was the man with the highest standards of anyone in theton, yet he was here. There was nowhere else she wanted to be. Ulterior motives forgotten. Dares forgotten. Fencing forgotten. Kissing lessons forgotten. Everything but his touch. Forgotten.

Maybe there was a chance he liked her. It was the most ridiculous thought. Regardless, it nestled itself in her head. No, it burrowed itself in her head like an ant set on finding and building a home for its queen.

His mouth trickled down her neck for a soft bite. But she longed for his mouth and moaned his departure.

“I’m here,” he mumbled, returning to her lips.

Every possible way to find closeness to him. She opened for him. Hot. Wet. And down in her core, she felt herself change. Soften. As her body responded to his touch, she felt the pinnacle was just out of reach.

“Wesley,” she murmured against his lips. “Wesley.” It was a plea. “Wesleeeey.”

And he knew how to answer her pleas.

She yanked her lips from him and shouted. Absolute release. A complete and total loss of control. It was nothing she had known before. Her body shuddered. She had given a part of herself to him that she could never get back.

He had defeated her, and she had never known defeat could feel so sweet.

*

They were supposedto attend a garden party that afternoon, Boudicca and her sisters. The Countess of Linsgate always threw a splendid garden party. Slightly knobby chairs, but the food was always delicious, and the guests always handpicked.

After the kissing lesson however—which really, how could she call it a lesson anymore?—she wasn’t too keen on a garden party. She felt a starry eyed dreamer, wanting to sit in her room and relive the kiss over and over again.

But she wouldn’t.

Ithadbeen a lesson. He hadn’t indicated otherwise. So she needed to treat it as such and move forward with her life. Perhaps one lesson would suffice. Lord knew it would suffice for providing memories for quite a while. If that’s all it amounted to, that was acceptable. Maybe more so than acceptable.

“Boudicca,” Artemisia shouted from the bottom of the stairs. “Are you ready yet? The carriage is ready.”

Ladies do not shout, Boudicca wanted to cant back. Instead, she took an extra moment to reaffix a bow in her hair, and then she strode down the stairs. She was in for an afternoon of tedious gossip, which would require fastidious vigilance of her daydreaming.

Joan glanced up, “Boudicca, you look lovely.” There was some astonishment in her voice.

“It’s just an old dress.” She was an idiot for saying that. Her sisters knew her wardrobe, and she was not wearing just an old dress. She was wearing one of her best dresses for a garden party. Not an evening gown, but something with a little more scandal than she might otherwise have worn had she not been kissed senseless so recently.

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