Page 68 of His Arranged Duchess
“You must have done this when you fell through the staircase at the East Tower,” he remarked reflectively. “You were lucky not to be more hurt.”
“Yes, I was,” Frances breathed.Are we really going to discuss this now?
Lucien leaned forward to kiss her, putting some of his weight against her. It was not crushing, and there was something pleasant about it. His hand moved up to the join of her legs once again, as she had expected, moving in that torturously slow, delightful manner.
He broke off the kiss soon after, and his hand stopped moving. Frances opened her eyes, faintly confused.
“Lucien? What…oh!”
She broke off when he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh. The skin was sensitive and soft there, perhaps even softer than the skin at her throat, and sensations rushed through her quite unrestrained. There was a scratch of stubble from his cheek, a pleasant counterpoint to the softness of his lips.
Glancing up, Lucien met her gaze only once, and then he put his tongue slowly and deliberately against the core of her.
Frances gasped aloud, remembering only at the last minute to press a hand against her mouth lest they be overheard.
The books had never mentionedthis, none of them. She arched her back, gripping at his shoulders as if to press him further against her. She was sure that Lucien chuckled, the noise sending thrilling vibrations through her, but there was no time to notice much except the rapid building of her climax.
At her peak, Frances tangled her hand in Lucien’s hair, pulling far harder than she had intended. He growled again, but she barely noticed through the haze of pleasure.
The aftershocks rushed through her, leaving her gasping, with spotty vision. Lucien pulled back, head tilted, and watched her. He was out of breath, shoulders heaving, hair delightfully disarranged, and his lips reddened and swollen.
“Le petit mort,” he mumbled.
“What does that mean?” Frances gasped, not entirely sensible of what she was saying.
He grinned. “Never mind.”
Swallowing hard, she pushed herself up on her elbows a little more. Lucien had made no move to touch himself, or to have her touch him, but she could quite clearly see a bulge of arousal in the front of his trousers.
That’sit, I suppose? The books were not clear.
She cleared her throat. “Would you like me to…” she trailed off in what she hoped was a pointed and meaningful manner, and gestured vaguely.
He pursed his lips. “Would you like to?”
“I would like to try. It’s only fair, after all.”
He stared at her for another long moment, and then raised his hands to his hair, smoothing down the tangled locks.
“This is not about what is fair and what is not,” he answered, somewhat bluntly. “You needn’t worry. I can control myself.”
Was that a snub? Did he notwanther to touch him? Frances felt deflated, somehow. Perhaps disappointed?
“It is nothing personal,” Lucien added, a trifle too quickly. “It’s simply my preference at this moment.”
She had no idea what that meant, but nodded as if she did. Then he leaned forward to press a quick kiss to her lips once more, and the happy, languid feeling of satisfaction came flooding back. Winding her arms around his shoulders, Frances pulled him down for another kiss.
I would be happy never to leave this room,she thought hazily.
Lucien unlocked the door and peered carefully out into the hallway. Frances stood behind him, smothering giggles.
“I feel like a naughty schoolgirl,” she whispered.
Lucien snorted. “I can assure you, then, your schooldays were much more enjoyable than mine. There, we’re safe. Nobody is out here.”
“It’s not as if we’d get into trouble. We aremarried, after all.”
He threw her a grin. “So, you think Lady Quince would not mind hearing about the use we gave her private reading room?”
