Page 26 of The Duke's Wicked Widow
“Take off yer clothes,” he commanded. “All of them.”
There were places in London where a man could go to watch a woman remove her clothes, usually item by item, in exchange for money. Usually the more money one waved about, the more items of clothing came off.
Thosedisplays were sensual, arousing…because the women wore silk and robes and titillating gowns. They were designed to be erotic.
Ellie, on the other hand, wore a simple skirt and blouse and stockings and laced boots. She shrugged out of the blouse and stepped out of the skirt with brisk movements, before folding them and laying them aside.
It shouldnothave been nearly as sensual, nearly as arousing, as the peep shows Fawkes had visited in the past.
It absolutely was.
His hand was wrapped around his cock where it pressed desperately against his trousers. When she leaned to roll down her stockings, he stopped her. “Leave them,” he commanded hoarsely. “Stand up. Let me see ye.”
Slowly, Ellie complied, and his exhale was long and slow as he struggled to control himself.
She was…magnificent.
Petite, aye, and clearly self-conscious. But she stood there in nothing but her silk stockings and ankle-high boots with those little heels, and she looked…magnificent.
“Put yer hands behind yer head.”
A look of confusion flashed across her face, but she did as he’d commanded. The stance thrust her tits forward—God Almighty, when had he become so obsessed with mammaries?—and she had to spread her legs more to balance herself.
“That’s my good lass,” he breathed, allowing his gaze to roam over her, settling on the birthmark above her left hip, on the curve of her stomach…and lower. The thatch of curls at the junction of her thighs was darker than the hair on her head, and he remembered how sensitive she’d been there yesterday.
He wanted to touch her there again.
Totasteher there.
Instead he cleared his throat. “Turn around. Show me.”
“Show you…what?” she whispered.
“Everything.”
Ellie made a little noise of understanding, and Fawkes thought she wriggled her hips a little as she turned slowly about, as if giving him a show.
“Like this?” With her hands above her head, she bent forward. With her legs spread and those boots thrusting her up on her toes, it was as if she was offering her arse. “This was how Rufus—”
“Dinnae speak of him,” Fawkes snapped. “This isnae about him.Iam here.”
She turned back around, her hands still on her head, but her expression…uncertain.
Pressing the heel of his hand against the base of his cock, tucked away in his trousers, Fawkes tried to ease the ache. Friction, he needed friction. “This is about me,” he repeated. “No’ about him. Say it.”
“This is about you,” she whispered, slowly lowering her hands to her shoulders, then leisurely dragging her fingertips down her chest. “You and me.”
He watched her fingertips brush against her nipples—tits tits tits—watched them pebble once more. His tongue flicked out across his lower lip and he began to rub at his cock, the movements small.
“And ye want me. Say it.”
Ellie met his eyes. Christ, she was perfect. Perfectly imperfect, with those freckles and the gap in her teeth.Real. Real, and standing in front of him.
“I want you, Fawkes.”
He jerked forward, as did his cock. “Come here,” he commanded hoarsely.
She did, stepping toward him on those adorable, wonderful, completely-ordinary-and-yet-somehow-incredibly-erotic heeled boots.
