Page 90 of An Unwanted Spinster for the Duke
“Do you want to know what I am?” he asked. His voice was low, almost gentle, but his eyes told a different story. She had teased him about being a hunter—but only now did she truly believe it. “Yes, I’m a hunter. And you, Marianne, are my prey. My little doe.”
Her breath caught. She felt dizzy, her heartbeat a roar in her ears.
“I’m not your doe,” she replied evenly, even as her body trembled. “I thought we’d settled that already.”
“I suppose someone like you—someone this dangerous—can’t be a doe,” he murmured, his voice hoarse, bracketing her body against the wall. “You’re something I’ve tried to resist. But I can’t. I won’t.”
The words skittered down her spine, sending a thrill through her.
Had he truly tried to resist her?
Before she could think or speak, he was kissing her again, more fiercely this time. His hands roamed over her body withgrowing urgency. Her mind went blank, awareness narrowing to sensation alone.
Desire consumed her. His touch branded her. His body moved against hers with sinful confidence. And her gown—her last barrier—fell to the floor like mist, surrendered to his skilled hands.
She tried not to think about how practiced he was with such fastenings, or how many women he’d touched like this before. But then his breath ghosted over her shoulder, his hands traced her curves, and suddenly, it didn’t matter.
“Dominic,” she whispered, unsure what she was asking, only that she needed him.
Her knees threatened to buckle.
“Say my name again,” he commanded, his voice rough, reverent.
“Dominic.”
This time, it was stronger. Hers. A declaration.
Her arms wrapped around him, pulling him closer still, her fingers threading into his tousled hair. He kissed her again—deep and all-consuming—until she forgot everything but the taste of him.
And yet, beneath the hunger, there was care. A quiet restraint in his hands, a softness in his hold.
“I’m not fragile,” she whispered.
“I know, darling,” he groaned into her neck.
His hands pushed her body to meet his, demanding and reverent. Her skin lit up under his touch, her back arching instinctively.
“Oh? Do you really know?” she teased, her voice breathy, still sharp-edged even as her body softened.
“You’re mine,” he growled.
He sounded like a predator now, starving and ready to feast. His words scorched her skin. His teeth grazed her earlobe, making her gasp. She grabbed for him, anchoring herself with handfuls of his hair.
“Am I?” she asked, her voice laced with both defiance and uncertainty.
She wanted to believe him. A part of her did. Even when he’d kept her at a distance, she’d waited for this. For him.
And he had followed her. Not just to London, not just into this moment, but in the quiet ways that made her heart ache.
Still, Dominic went still. His hands gentled. He looked into her face as if he saw everything she felt.
“Tell me if you’re not ready,” he said, his voice low but firm. “There can’t be any misunderstanding between us. I’ll stop, Marianne. I’ll stop if you say so.”
Her heart thudded hard. She was aroused, yes—but vulnerable, too. She wanted this. Him. But everything felt immense.
She swallowed, her throat dry. “I’m ready.”
The words came out small. Intimate. Truthful.
