Page 67 of An Unwanted Spinster for the Duke
She ought to be furious. She had never belonged to any man—not her father, not any suitor, not even this maddening Duke. But her body betrayed her. That strange heat bloomed low in her belly, tightening with every heartbeat.
“You’re jealous,” she accused, her breath hitching. “Admit it. You’re jealous of them.”
“Not jealous,” he said, his lips curling into a cruel, possessive smirk. “Butpossessive. I’m guarding what’s mine. There’s a difference.”
Before she could reply, he reached for her—one hand at the nape of her neck—and pulled her into a kiss.
It was violent, demanding, and more feral than anything they’d shared before. She couldn’t breathe, but she didn’t push him away. Her hands fisted in the fabric of his shirt, dragging him closer.
Her mind whispered to her that this was wrong, over and over. That she had to refuse him. But her lips parted for his tongue, and her body pressed eagerly against his.
Dominic gripped her hip, dragging her onto his lap. Her skirts bunched around her thighs as she straddled him, breathless. He broke their kiss only to trail his lips down her neck, hot and relentless.
No protest came. Only moans. Pleas.
“You drive me mad,” he murmured against her skin. “From the first time I saw you jump in front of my rifle, I didn’t know if I wanted to shout at you or kiss you.”
He pulled back just enough to grab the front of her bodice and tear it open.
She let out a loud gasp. She should be ashamed. She should cover herself. But all she could feel was his rough palms cupping her bare breasts, his thumbs rubbing her nipples into hard, aching peaks.
“Y-You can’t just do that,” she whispered. “Y-Your Grace?—”
“No. Forget the titles. Forget propriety. Here, you are my wife. Say my name instead,” he commanded, his voice gravely, ravenous.
Marianne shivered. She could not refuse him, not when he touched her like that.
“Dominic,” she breathed.
“Yes, that’s it. Good,” he growled.
His mouth closed over her breast, sucking deep and slow, and she arched against him with a soft cry. Her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him to her as he lavished her with his tongue and lips.
“Tell me to stop,” he groaned, hovering over her other breast. “Tell me you don’t want this.”
But she could only whimper, lost in the sensation. When he took her other nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, her hips rocked against him in a helpless rhythm.
Then, he pulled her off his lap and kneeled between her thighs on the carriage floor. Her skirts were pushed up, revealing soft, pale skin.
“W-What are you doing?” she stammered.
He didn’t answer—just gripped her hips and lowered his mouth to her core. He licked into her with hungry precision, as if he hadn’t tasted pleasure in years.
“Oh God!” she cried out, gripping the edge of her seat with one hand and cupping her breast with the other.
His tongue moved in perfect rhythm—lapping, sucking, teasing. Then came his fingers—one, then two—thrusting deep and slow as his mouth worked her clit. He held her thighs tightly, forcing her to take everything he gave.
The tension inside her spiraled higher, her moans growing louder with each flick of his tongue, each thrust of his fingers. And then she shattered.
Her vision blurred, her back arched, and she cried out as her body convulsed around his fingers.
“There she is,” Dominic murmured, kissing her inner thigh. “What a good girl.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Good girl. That’s it,” Dominic whispered, even as he tried to straighten up to adjust his breeches.
As much as he wanted to dive in again, he couldn’t.
