Page 19 of The Duke's Mysterious Lover
His breath caught on a sound which might’ve been a sob.
Kit realized she was breathing too quickly—yet not quickly enough. The heel of her palm worked small circles atop her pearl, her fingertips straining against the wool of her pants, pressing it into the damp heat between her legs.
“Your wife will reach for you to hold you steady, Thorne, and then she will lean forward.”
His movements became jerky, his eyes squeezing tighter, as her own pleasure threatened to peak.
“And she’ll close her lips around your cock.” Her whisper was ragged. “Not because you demand it, but because it’ll make her feelpowerful, to bring you such pleasure.” Her hips jerked as her climax began, her voice going hoarser. “She’ll caress you with her tongue, urging you to give her your spend, and the whole time, Thorne…” Kit was panting now, her hips bucking beneath her hand as her orgasm swept through her. “The entire time, Thorne, she’ll be watching you, becauseshe loves you.”
The noise he made when he came was halfway between a roar and a sob. A helpless sort of sound. The sound of a man giving up control.
His release sent a thick white rope of seed from the tip of his cock to land across his hand and thigh. The second spurt was less, and the third merely oozed across the fingers which gripped the head of his cock.
Kit watched in fascination, the tremors of her own release still pulsing through her.
That had been…
Dio Benedetto, she’ddone that. She’d brought him to release using only her words, not her touch, not her body. She felt powerful.
Just like Thorne’s wife, in her story.
The reminder that this man—thisduke—was destined for someone else had her swallowing, pulling her hand away from her crotch. She dragged her gaze back up to his face just in time to see his eyes open.
They were swimming in tears.
“Holy Christ,” he managed to rasp, and something else inside her broke.
She needed to take care of this man.
Pushing herself to her feet, Kit reached over his hand, over hismess,to where she knew he carried a handkerchief in his pocket. Because she’d been the one to fold it and slide it into place each morning.
With the handkerchief free, she opened it and dropped it on top of his lap. He snatched it from her and, blowing out a harsh breath, began to clean himself up.
She straightened and watched him take a deep breath, crushing the silk square in his palm, as if steeling himself. Finally, he looked up and met her eyes.
His cheeks were flushed, and the tears she’d seen in his eyes were gone. Instead, his lips twitched. “That was…unexpected. I suppose I can blame the drink.”
Hehadconsumed three, almost four glasses. So she hummed and held out her hand. “I could do the same, Thorne.”
She’d had whisky and called him by his name and guided him to a release which had done wonders for them both.
Instead of handing over the soiled handkerchief as she’d expected, Thorne wrapped his hand around her wrist and leveraged himself to his feet. She wasn’t a small woman, although she was built much the same as him; tall, lithe, with arms honed from years of holding her violin.
Presumably he got those lovely muscles some other way, though.
Once upright, he swayed only slightly and didn’t release her arm. Instead he stood there, staring down at her, and Kit tried to ignore the way her blood thrummed at his nearness.
It’s likely only a response to what you just shared.
Yes. That was it.
“I should apologize, Kit,” he finally murmured in that lovely low voice of his. “But I willnae. I’ll thank ye.”
She swallowed, then dipped her head in acknowledgement. It was easier to stare at his throat when she said, “It’s my job to take care of you. Your Grace.”
There. The reminder of his position should put the walls back between them. And indeed, Thorne sighed and released her hand… But only so he could begin to undo the buttons of his waistcoat.
His fingers fumbled, and with a small roll of her eyes, she pushed them out of the way so she could nimbly unbutton him. Undress him. Strip him. As she’d done a dozen times before.
