Page 75 of A Bride for the Devilish Duke
“God, Emma.” His hands were on them at once—hot, possessive, reverent.
“Yes,” she gasped. “Touch me… everywhere please...”
Seizing the neck of her chemise, he pulled in two different directions with barely an effort. The fabric ripped asunder, and he let it fall, baring her completely. His gaze raked over her body—her flushed breasts, the dip of her waist, the shadow between her thighs—and the look in his eyes was nothing short of worship.
Immediately, he captured one of her nipples in his mouth. He licked and sucked with unrelenting precision, one hand massaging the other breast until she squirmed against him, her thighs tightening at his hips. She cried out, arching into him, her hands flying to his hair.
She bit his shoulder through his shirt, seeking some kind of release from the unbearable pleasure he was drawing from her body. He growled, low and sharp, and took her mouth again. His fingers splayed over her back, digging in, then slid downward to clutch her hips and grind her against the firm, growing pressure beneath his breeches.
She reached for the front of his shirt, tugging it open to reveal the planes of his chest—smooth, hard muscle dusted with fine hair, and the scattered scars she had once only glimpsed.
Truly, he was carved like a god.
She kissed each scar in turn, reverently, claiming him as he had claimed her. Lips met tight, steely skin, and each feather-light caress sent a thrum of pleasure through her own body.
Before she could reach the scars below his slab-like abdomen, a curled finger beneath her chin raised her lips to his again.
Then, she felt deft fingers touching her beneath her navel.
Already, that part of her was responding to the relentless pressure of Damien's manhood against her. Now, Damien stroked and explored, and Emma's pleasure reached a new glorious plateau. She threw back her head, grinding her hips against him, one hand clamped over cries that would have shaken the birds from the trees had she let them out aloud.
“Damien,” she gasped, “please—don’t stop—”
He laid her back on the mossy ground, stripping off his coat and cravat, never taking his eyes off her. His mouth followed next, trailing heat down her body, over her breasts, her navel, the soft flesh of her hips.
And then—lower.
When his tongue touched her most intimate area, Emma forgot her own name.
She gasped, loud and utterly unrestrained, her hips rising as his mouth settled between her thighs. He licked her slowly at first, tasting her like fine honey, then faster, firmer, his hands pressing her thighs wide. His tongue circled her most sensitive spot in lazy, devastating sweeps, then flicked with unrelenting precision until her breath came in whimpers.
“Damien—” she pleaded, half-sobbing. “Please—”
She tangled her fingers in his hair, holding him to her, needing more,more, until the pleasure shattered through her like a summer storm.
She climaxed with a sharp, broken cry, thighs clenching around his head, her body writhing beneath the expert torment of his tongue. And still, he did not stop—not until she had come apart twice, body boneless and trembling.
His hands caressed up the length of her thighs, as if to soothe the aftershocks. Then he rose slowly, almost reverently, and looked down at her.
Her hair was tangled. Her chest still heaved. Her skin glowed with exertion, damp and flushed, and yet she had never felt more powerful. Or more bare.
She reached up, tracing her fingers along his jaw. “I need you,” she whispered.
His eyes darkened, and for a beat, he only stared at her—his restraint visible in the tight line of his jawbone, the twitch of a muscle in his cheek.
“Are you certain?” he asked hoarsely.
Emma pulled herself up and pressed her lips to his, the kiss deep and sure. “Yes.”
Damien surged forward, kissing her as though he might lose her again. His hands found her waist, her ribs, her breasts—he cupped them fully, then brought his mouth to one nipple, sucking hard, then licking, then biting just enough to make her back arch.
Emma moaned loudly, hips rising instinctively to meet the firm heat pressing through his breeches. He shifted his attention to her other breast, lavishing it with just as much ruthless devotion,his tongue circling the taut peak before taking it deep into his mouth.
Her nails dug into his back as he worshipped her. The friction of his tongue and teeth, the tight seal of his lips around each nipple—it sent sparks pulsing deep down to her core.
Damien moved quickly then, yanking at his breeches until they were shoved halfway down his thighs. His manhood finally sprang free—thick, flushed, heavy with need. Emma reached for it instinctively, wrapping her hand around the base, watching his eyes flare with pure, unfiltered desire.
He hissed. “Christ, woman.”
