Page 96 of The Duke's Wicked Widow
Allof him.
In moments she was bare before him and he didn’t hesitate. Fawkes’s hands wrapped around her waist again and he lifted her to the table. Her hands curled around the edge when he stepped back.
Stepped back, and stared.
No, not stared…admired.
Instinctively, Ellie pressed her knees together and lifted her hand to her opposite shoulder, trying to hide her imperfections.
“Nay,” he rasped, reaching out to take her hand, pull it away from her body as he held her other hand. “Dinnae ever hide yerself—yer true self—from me, love. This? This is…”
His words trailed off as he shook his head.
“Perfect.”
Perhaps it was because she was so nervous, but his words made an awkward laugh burst from her lips. “No, I am not perfect. Far from it.” And Father had been sure she knew it. “I am freckled and my smile is—”
“Yer smile is perfect,” he interrupted, then—still holding her hands—leaned forward to kiss the tip of her nose. “And I think it should be obvious by now that I find yer freckles wonderful too.”
He dropped small, gentle kisses across her cheeks, and she imagined him kissing each of the hated things.
“Perfect,” he murmured again.
“I am not—”
He placed her hands on his shoulders, then dropped his to her hips. “Ye think I would lie to ye?” His palms were rough, in all the best ways, as they dragged down her thighs toward her knees. “I ken perfection, Ellie. I see it when ye laugh. I see it when ye look at me like ye want me to kiss ye.”
“Idowant you to kiss me,” she admitted, a little breathlessly. His touch was making her even more desperate for him, something she hadn’t thought possible.
“Gladly.” When he stepped forward his hands slid over her knees, and instinctively she opened them, bringing him closer.
His sound of approval made her want to preen.
Her hands couldn’t stay still, not while his were roaming her body. His palms managed to caress her, while she mimicked his movements with her fingertips. It was as if he’d given her permission to explore him, and she wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity.
That first night she’d come to his flat, she’d seen his tattoos. Now shetouchedthem, allowing her fingers to linger on the geometric designs on his right shoulder, where they climbed up his neck, and to caress the rose on his left.
He was so warm, so soft…and underneath, so hard. It was the opposite of the way Fawkes’s heart worked; he appeared hard on the outside, but beneath, he was loving and caring and oh-so-kind.
How could he also be the Duke of Death?
No, she didn’t want to think of that now, not when his touch was causing her to shudder and gasp against his lips.
Then his hands found her breasts. He cupped them at first, fingers spread, lifting the weight of them in his palms…
And he lit a spark to a fuse. “Fawkes!” she gasped, bucking against him. She had no idea her breasts were so sensitive!
“Aye,” he murmured, bending so he could lower his mouth to one of her nipples. “Ye like that?”
How in theworldwas she supposed to answer him, when his tongue was causing little white explosions behind her lids?
His teeth scraped across her nipple at the same time as he rolled the opposite one between his thumb and forefinger, and Ellie didn’t even bother hiding the little whimper ofneed.
She felt him smile right before he switched breasts and her legs opened further, her hands sliding down the taut muscles of his back. “Please,” she whispered, although she wasn’t certain what she was begging for.
He knew.
He always knew.
