Page 36 of The Duke's Goddess

Tightening at the base of his cock. Heat flooding his groin. Pleasure throttling his limbs.

Two more pumps.

White-hot pleasure ripped through him. A ragged breath left his body.

He was sated, but not relieved. It was nothing like being with her in person. And last night in the garden had been like nothing he had ever felt before. Joan.

She was beautiful. Considerate. Intelligent. And so damn responsive to his touch. Just thinking of her made his cock twitch, and he had just taken care of himself. But it hadn’t been enough. He wanted her. Yet not as a wife. He was not made to love or be loved. He knew that too well. His mother had made sure to instill that lesson in him. A man was made for two purposes: provide and procreate.

His father had provided food, shelter, and security. James's basic needs had been met his whole life, so his mother endlessly reminded him. And now it was his turn to procreate and provide. Only, James had no interest in perpetuating the lifeless cycle.

There had been no affection, not even a hint of it, from his parents. Love (if one could call it that) was defined as meeting needs. Keeping family a satisfied. His parents had contained him in a bubble. Riding slow horses and being cautious around everyone. Everywhere. Danger lurked behind every bush. Only family could be trusted, and hardly them. For his eighteenth birthday, he had received the one and only gift his parents ever gave him. Weren’t their daily provisions enough? The gift was a book calledThe Art of Warwritten by Sun Tzu. James abhorred it with everything in his being, yet he kept it to remind himself of thelovehis parents had for him. Of course, he had rebelled. Fast, faster, and the fastest horses were all he rode. He lived for a dare. To be reckless.

And no, he would not provide, nor would he procreate, for anyone. This life he had he would live only for himself. Love? Ha! He would have laughed in the face of love if he believed love had a face, or even existed at all.

So no, there was no such thing as love. There were complex feelings and lust.

That’s how he knew that while he wanted Joan…there was no future for them. Lust never paved the way to a happily ever after. But maybe he could just see her again. There was no harm in being around her.

After the passion had settled last night, he wasn’t sure what to expect from his dagger-weilding paramour. If he could call her that…

But all she had done was take a small step back (considering the confined space) and say, “Thank you. For th-that.” He chuckled as he recalled her slight stutter and the way she had tucked her hair behind her ear. When he had tried to interrupt her, she halted him with a hand to his chest. It had stopped his words as well as his breath. That small delicate touch. And then she looked him dead in the eye and said, “We got caught up in the moment. I have no expectations.”

Then, they had waited awkwardly (which was putting it lightly—it had in fact beenthemost awkward fifteen minutes of James's entire life) while Sally and Jacob finished dressing and talking and returned to the house. James and Joan had followed at a distance, and that was the night. What a night. James was still reeling.

And yet he needed to see her again. They were no longer in cahoots to seal Sally and Jacob’s relationship. Clearly, all the sealing that needed to be sealed had been sealed last night. So in order to see her again, he had to be more clever.

Though if he were being honest with himself, clever was not his strongest attribute at the moment. His cleverness was so reflected in his conversation with Sam and Chris. He knew she liked to practice throwing her daggers at targets, so she had told him before. Knowing of one site for archery practice, that’s where he was headed, but he didn’t want to show up alone. That would be too obvious. Obvious of what…he wasn’t sure. He just knew he never wanted to be so ostentatious.

So James stood outside the breakfast room waiting for his friends to exit. They should be out any minute.

“Duke?” a sultry voice greeted him.

He looked up into the smoldering eyes of Lady Whitney. It was still early in the morning, but if James had stopped to notice, the widow was radiating heat of the bedroom variety. He did no such thing though.

“Lady Whitney. Good morning,” he tipped his head and looked away to dismiss the possibility of chatter—idle or otherwise. He was waiting for his friends.

“Do you have plans this early in the morning?” her husky voice dropped in volume as she leaned in and stroked a finger up his forearm.

“Yes, thank you. Enjoy your morning.” He really wasn’t looking to have a conversation with anyone except Sam and Chris.

“Oh? Might I convince you to exchange your plans for something more tantalizing upstairs?”

“No, thank you.” His eyes flickered over to the breakfast room door, to see Chris and Sam finally emerging. Realizing her hand was still on his forearm, he extracted her claws and moved toward his friends while Lady Whitney departed.

“What was that about?” Sam asked.

“Nothing,” he answered, waving off the question.

“It didn’t look like nothing,” Chris chimed in.

“Was it nothing of importance or nothing of interest?” Sam pried.

James shook his head. “What’s the difference?” He huffed, frustrated that his friends were so caught up on a moment in time that he had hardly noticed.

“Well,” Sam slapped him on the back, “it looks as though the widow was propositioning you—which is of importance—and that you were rejecting her—which means she’s nothing of interest.”

“And?”

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