Page 24 of The Duke's Wicked Widow
A flicker of surprise had crossed her face when he’d used their given names, and he winced at the slip. But Ellie merely answered the question. “I know I am no beauty, Mr. MacMillan, and I am clearly no leader. I cannot control my household, and I am weak besides. But I think I am fairly intelligent and I have determined this to be a viable solution.”
A viable solution. He snorted, glass swirling in his hand.
Who told her she wasn’t lovely?
“Bearing a bastard who ye’ll pass off as yer husband’s?”
She swallowed, and her fingers began to work the buttons on her blouse as she took first one hesitant step toward him, then another. “Please.”
He groaned, helpless in the face of her whisper.
Another step, another button, or four, or a dozen; it didn’t matter because Fawkes’s brain had ceased counting as soon as skin was revealed beneath the blouse.
She wasn’t wearing anything beneath it.
“Please, Fawkes,” she whispered again, stepping before him.
Fawkes was transfixed by the shadows of her bosom revealed by the buttons. “Please, what?” he asked hoarsely. Cruelly.
“Please make love—”
“Fooking.” His gaze snapped to hers, hating the desperation he saw. “What we did was fooking.”
She inhaled, then swallowed, lifting her chin. “Please, Fawkes.” The rest of her blouse fell open, and Christ Almighty, she was naked beneath it. “Please fook me.”
Her hands came up to cup her own tits, as petite as she was, and his throat went dry.
Please fook me.
God in heaven, he wanted that. His cock was already throbbing against the inside of his trousers, desperate to sink into her again.
He wantedher.
“Aye,” he rasped, knowing she’d won again, this innocent little temptress.
Nay! Nay, dinnae allow her to use ye! Ye want yer bairn raised as yer cousin’s child? Nay!
But he was lost.
Still holding her tits, and his gaze, Ellie sank to her knees, but he reached out and grabbed her arm, stopping her before she reached the floor.
“What are ye doing?”
When she blushed, her chest turned a pink which matched her areolas. Fawkes’s mouth watered.
“I am trying—Is this not how men…?”
He shook his head, struggling to think of anything besidestits tits titsand how much he wanted to reach for her, to feel her skin against his again. “What are ye talking about, lass?”
“My husband required me to…make him ready…”
Ah. Her blush deepened, now the color her lips had been yesterday after sucking him.
Fawkes had heard the rumors of his legitimate cousin’s proclivities, and wasn’t surprised Rufus had such requirements from his wife.
“Nay,” he managed hoarsely. “Ye dinnae have to do that each time. The sight of yer tits is enough to make me ready.”
It was almost adorable, how surprised she looked when she glanced down at herself. “Really?” Her palms glided along the underside of her breasts. They were small, perky, and sat in her hands like little globes. “I always thought they were too small.”
