Page 56 of Claiming his Cursed Duchess
With a soft smirk, Adam parted her legs once more, his head lowering to the apex of her thighs.
“W–what?” she asked, trembling.
Adam placed soft kisses over her scars, “I promise, Duchess, tonight is all about you. If you want me to stop, I shall.”
Rosaline bit her lip. The sizzling sensations between her thighs were becoming unbearable, and seeing Adam hover over that spot did nothing to quench it.
Surely, he would know how to.
“All–all right,” she breathed, and Adam smirked as he lowered his head between her legs.
The first touch of his mouth against her sex sent a jolt of pleasure through her, and she gasped, her hands clutching at the cushions.
The sensation was unlike anything she had ever experienced. Adam’s tongue moved with expert precision, exploring her with a hunger that left her breathless.
“Heavens, I have hungered for you for so long, wife,” Adam whispered and continued lapping at her.
Her moans filled the room, growing louder as the pleasure built within her. She writhed beneath him, lost in the overwhelming sensations, until finally, with a cry, she found her release.
It was a burst of the warmest, most delicious shivers she’d ever experienced in her life. The sensation pulsed, spreading all over her body, turning her limbs into water.
Adam rose up and planted a kiss on her forehead. “That’s my good girl.”
As Rosaline’s breathing came to a steadier pace, so did a soothing sleepiness. Not the one after an exhausting day—one after a wondrous, sunny, glorious one.
And right before sleep overtook her, she felt Adam’s strong arms wrapping around her and lifting her up.
Falling asleep had never felt so sweet.
Chapter Eighteen
“You seem pensive,” Adam remarked, his voice deep and rich, a perfect blend of concern and curiosity.
The carriage rattled along the cobblestone streets, the sounds of London life a distant hum.
Rosaline sat on the velvet seat opposite Adam, her back ramrod straight, adjusting the folds of her ruby red gown. The silk whispered gently against her skin, a sharp contrast to the swirling thoughts in her mind. She exhaled slowly, her gaze turning to the window beside her.
Adam, sitting across from her, must have sensed her unease. His keen, dark eyes met hers, and for a moment, she felt as if he could see into her soul.
Her hands, elegantly folded in her lap, tightened slightly at the thought of them—the scars that marked her arms, a history ofbattles fought in silence, and the one on her cheek that seemed to define her.
She could feel her fingers flex, almost as if she could shake off the memories and the whispers that clung to her skin.
If only they knew the truth, not the twisted stories they made up…
“Merely contemplating the perils of attending a London ball,” she replied, trying to keep her tone light, though she could feel the weight of her own words, the bitterness almost unnoticeable.
A flash of pride surged through her as she glanced at him, wondering if he could sense the slight tremor beneath her confident mask.
Adam raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in his eyes.
“Perils?” He leaned forward slightly, his gaze lingering on her.
“The perils of navigating a room full of gossiping matrons and leering lords,” she said with a teasing smile, feigning a dramatic shudder. “The potential for scandal is simply…overwhelming.”
He chuckled, his deep laughter ringing through the carriage, and for a moment, Rosaline allowed herself to forget the incessant weight of the rumors.
He leaned forward slightly, his gaze unwavering. “You are the Duchess of Oldstone now, Rosaline. No one will dare spread rumors or try to place you in a scandal. I am here to protect you.”
