Page 68 of The Princess Stakes
He opened the upper garment, only to growl at the sight of the gauzy white fabric that molded to her slim legs and had no business being outside a lady’s bedchamber. “What are you wearing?”
“A night rail.”
Hell. He was so hard he nearly spent in his trousers. “A night rail?” he mumbled incoherently.
“Well, Iwasplanning on going to bed.” He could hear the smile in her voice. “And then I got a more interesting offer.”
His hands moved, caressing the skin of her lower legs to the silken texture of her thighs. “What offer was that?”
“An offer from a man who once boasted to rob me of all speech.”
He groaned. “Is that so?”
“Yes.”
Gathering the soft fabric in one fist, he yanked her hem to her waist, another voracious sound bursting from him. Hell. She was going to kill him. No drawers.Of course no drawers, his asinine mind corroborated.She’s wearing a sodding night rail made of ribbons and dreams.
He looked his fill, her beautiful skin made even more golden by the lamp in the carriage. “You are perfect.” He skimmed up her inner thigh to graze her sex, the heart of her hidden by fine jet curls, making her whimper and her eyes grow hooded. “Your skin is like the smoothest silk, and here, you’re so damp, so ready for me.”
The scent of her was maddening. Intoxicating.Rhystan reached around to grasp her rounded hips with both hands, shifted her toward the end of the bench, and lowered his head. He couldn’t wait a second more before sating his deepest desire. He licked up her entire length, his instant groan and her moan merging in the silence.
His eyes nearly rolled back in his head as the honeyed silk of her curled over his tongue. One taste wasn’t enough. Nowhere near enough. Growling his pleasure, he clutched at her hips as she knotted her fingers in his hair, and he settled on the sweet bud that made her writhe against him.
Rhystan glanced up, the sight of her on the edge of coming undone making him as hard as stone. Her face was flushed with dark color, her hooded eyes fastened on him and what he was doing. Fascination burned with the lust in her gaze, its brownish-green depths almost gold with desire.
“Shall I continue?” he whispered with another wicked lick.
Her cheeks bloomed, her eyes fluttering shut, her thick black lashes fanning her cheekbones. Her nod was jerky, even as her fisted fingers yanked him closer. Grinning, he continued his onslaught, his own body responding to her soft moans and sighs and threatening to tear through the fall of his trousers.
“Don’t stop, please.”
He didn’t plan to, not until her beautiful body shattered on his tongue. The taste of her was like tangy, salted ocean breezes and redolent tropical nights spent in a hammock. Sweet with a hint of fire. Here was his mistress. His shrine.
Hisqueen.
Settling himself between her legs, he lapped and sucked and drank from her delicious body until she was writhing beneath him, reveling in the soft cries leaving her lips that made him mad with desire. Rhystan slid a thick finger into her wet passage, watching as she shuddered with satisfaction, eyes popping wide with surprise.
When her legs started to tremble with tension, he redoubled his efforts, alternating long drags of his tongue with shorter licks at the apex of her sex. Inside her, he curled his finger toward him, and she cried out.
“Rhystan,” she whispered.
One decadent swipe, and then she was there, hurtling over the edge into the paroxysm. She came like the evening tide, her body going still and then shuddering beneath him in small, intense waves, bursting on his tongue like the sweetest of fruit.
It was like watching a shooting star bursting through the night sky over an endless ocean. A force of nature. Fucking beautiful. Rhystan wrung every drop of her release from her until she was limp against the squabs, eyes hazy with passion.
Putting her clothing to rights and fastening her cloak, he climbed back up her body and kissed her lips. “You are magnificent.”
“What about you?” she asked, eyes darting to the painful bulge in his dove-gray trousers. Her cheeks turned dusky rose in the light, and his stare followed hers down. A wet spot had gathered on his fly. His arousal, not hers.
“That’s what you do to me.”
Blushing hotly, Sarani reached for him, palm curving around his nape. For a moment, she looked uncertain, unsure, gnawing that plump lower lip between her teeth and making him want to kiss her again. “Should I? You need to…”
His smile was wolfish. “Oh, I’ll have my turn, don’t worry. When we get to my residence, I plan to take you to bed and ravage you until you can’t speak your own name.”
* * *
Rhystan’s filthy promises only made her want him more. She loved seeing the aloof, put-together duke stripped down to this raw, fundamental version of himself. He was savagery swathed in velvet, the jagged edge of danger tempered by decorum. A puzzling enigma that she was powerless to resist. She wanted him bare.
