Page 49 of The Spinster and Her Rakish Duke
Her hands fisted in the fabric of his shirt, clinging. She kissed him back with all the confusion, all the ache she’d locked away since their first kiss, letting it all pour out in the form of the sensual duel of their tongues.
The fire had always been there, simmering just beneath the surface. But now it roared. Her body responded to his with instinctive urgency, a yearning she hadn’t let herself feel for years.
His mouth left hers, trailing fire down her jaw, to her neck. He found the place just beneath her ear, where the skin was softest, and bit gently. She gasped, head tilting back to give him access. He licked the skin there with lazy reverence, then bit again.
“Oh!” She moaned, the sound starkly sexual in a way that shocked even her, her core throbbing urgently.
“You’re driving me mad, my tigress. Tell me to stop,” he murmured, his voice a low growl against her skin.
His hands gripped her hips, fingers flexing through the fabric. “You must say it, or I won’t.”
She didn’t.Couldn’t.
Instead, she let out a broken, desperate sound that had his breath catching. It was all the permission he needed.
“Samantha,” he breathed, as if the name alone was salvation. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”
She didn’t know if that was a rhetorical question, or if he truly wanted an answer, because she was beset by all the ideas of what exactlyhedid toher.
He dropped to his knees before her, and her eyes bulged.
“What …” She was grasping for something—anything—to anchor her. “Your Grace, you don’t have to?—”
“Ewan.” He cut in gruffly, and Samantha blinked, confusion streaking through her brain.
“Wh-what?” Was the only intelligent thing she could think to say in that moment.
“Call me by my name, Samantha,” he said and her breath hitched again at the feel of his hot breath against her thighs. “It’s only you and I here.”
“E-Ewan,” she gasped out, her fingers gripping his shoulders for support. “What are you?—”
He looked up at her then, eyes blazing, voice rough with want. “I’m going to take care of you, my wife. I want to. Ineedto.”
Her knees buckled. He caught her, guiding her gently down to the settee by the fire. She sank into the cushions, her limbs trembling. The heat of the fire was nothing compared to the burn building inside her.
He parted her dressing gown with reverence, not haste, not greed. As though she were something precious. His palms skimmed over her calves, up the backs of her knees, coaxing gooseflesh to rise in his wake. He kissed the skin above her knee, then higher, and higher still.
“You are… exquisite,” he murmured against her inner thigh. “Every inch of you.”
She clutched the armrest, her breath coming in uneven, stuttering gasps. Her back arched as his hands gripped her thighs and gently coaxed them wider.
She was open to his gaze now, and the way he devoured her with his eyes made her center throb and pulsate. Her fingers twistedin the upholstery, her body trembling with anticipation. Heat coiled low in her belly, a need that bloomed in ever-widening spirals.
“You don’t even know, do you?” he said. Another kiss. Another. “How strong you are. How brilliant. How breathtaking. Samantha.” Her name was a prayer on his lips as he lowered his mouth to her core.
What followed was worship.
And oh, did he worship. He didn’t rush. He learned every inch of her with tongue and lips and tender, focused devotion. Every soft cry she gave, he answered with praise. Every trembling breath, he matched with murmured adoration.
She fell apart beneath his mouth, unraveling into something wild and unbound. Her hands sank into his hair, her hips lifting into his touch as he brought her closer and closer to the edge.
“So beautiful like this,” he rasped, pausing only to kiss the place where her thigh met her hip. “So honest. Don’t hide your pleasure from me.”
She couldn’t have if she tried. Her body was aflame. Her soul had cracked open. Her thighs trembled, her heart pounding so wildly she could hear it in her ears.
When release took her, it was blinding. She cried out his name, her back arching, her fingers gripping him tightly. She shattered,glorious and unguarded, and he held her through it all, his hands stroking her legs, his voice low and reverent against her wet, sated flesh.
He kissed her again afterward, his mouth tasting of her, slow and deep and consuming. As if he were still starving. As if he’d never have enough. The kiss was not rushed, and it was utterly scandalous how she could taste herself on his tongue.
