Page 23 of Rules for Heiresses
“What’s rule number two?” she asked.
Courtland couldn’t answer. The pouted lips beneath his were far too much temptation. He crushed his mouth to hers with a groan, palms moving from the sideboard to her hips, fisting handfuls of her skirts. Without taking his lips from hers, he lifted her easily to sit on the piece of furniture. He licked into her mouth—sipping, tasting, devouring—her own sleek tongue hungrily tangling with his. A hint of mint tea greeted him along with that ambrosial taste that was naturally hers.
“Two,” he rasped, eying her swollen mouth and passion-blown stare. “As my duchess, you will act as you please. You answer to no one.”
“Except you.”
“Only behind bedroom doors.” Ravenna blushed as if the very idea enflamed her, much as it did him. He wondered how biddable she would be. Not very, he was guessing, given her proclivity to challenge everything and anything. But perhaps in bed she would be different. Perhaps in his arms she would yield to the pleasure he would give her. “Does the thought excite you? Answering to me?”
“I don’t know,” she said, her slender throat working, her heated sherry eyes never leaving his.
“Will you?”
Insolence and fire erupted in that liquid gaze. “With the proper incentive, Duke. Surely you wouldn’t wish me to give in so easily? It’s not worth the chase if I toss my skirts over my head at the slightest provocation, is it?”
Courtland chuckled, his fingers flexing on her curved hips. Her spirit was a breath of fresh air, and he could never imagine robbing her of it. She was not a creature meant to be tamed, and he never wanted to. In that moment, he swore he would never do anything to diminish thatfightin her eyes. He loved the bold way she stared at him, as if he was already hers, with not a drop of bashfulness in her gaze. Her desire for him was plain to see, with no coyness or pretense.
How many lovers had she had? He frowned at the thought of any who had touched her before, but struck the pulse of pure jealousy from his head. She was his now. Courtland did not blame her, of course. He’d had lovers before; why should he not place the same standards upon himself? If she was experienced, the better for it.
Gliding up her corseted sides, he filled his hands with her breasts, kneading the soft fabric-covered flesh gently. Her eyes dilated with want, a desperate pant escaping her parted lips. Hell, he couldn’t wait to see more of her.
“Rule number three: you will wear what you wish when you wish.” He sank to his knees, one hand brushing against her shoeless stockinged soles. She swallowed her small gasp when his fingers wrapped around her foot. “Or what you don’t wish to wear, as it were.”
Her feet were beautiful, much like the rest of her, with delicately sloping arches and slender, fine-boned ankles. His hands slid up her rounded calf just as her fingers slid through his hair as if she needed to touchhim. She traced one eyebrow with her finger, staring down into his eyes, and something deeply possessive passed between them with that single shared touch. His hands upon her, and hers upon him.
“Courtland.”
The whisper of his given name on her lips moved him to action, his palm tickling the sensitive spot behind her knee. He gave an involuntary grin at the feel of her many petticoats brushing against his upper arm and her ferocious opinions on them. “Petticoatsarethe devil’s work. I want to rip them off you.”
Her throaty laughter filled his starved soul. “On that, we are categorically in agreement.”
Courtland held her gaze as his fingers skimmed up her thigh to the slit in her drawers where he hovered uncertainly. “May I, Ravenna?” he asked hoarsely.
He’d die if she said no. Hell, he was so hard already that death felt like it was upon him already. Every breath, every strained beat of his heart echoed in his cock. His gorgeous wife turned deliciously pink, bit her plump lip, and nodded. He didn’t need her to tell him twice, his greedy hand sliding past the embroidered lace edges of the fabric.
A groan tore from him as he encountered bare skin, his own arousal ratcheting to excruciating levels, moisture leaking from him to bead against his trousers. Her skin was hot to the touch, the soft thatch of her maidenhair rustling against his fingers.
He slid a fingertip down the damp seam of her, and her hands dug into his hair in reflexive response. “You’re so silky, so soaked for me, Duchess.” She went crimson, eyelashes dipping in embarrassment, and he chuckled low in his throat. “As it should be. You’re perfect.”
Drawing his fingers through her slick sex from her entrance to the swollen bud of nerves above, he rose to catch her sweet gasps with his mouth, closing his lips over hers. She sucked at his tongue and clung to him, soft cries escaping her as he cupped her, relishing in the heat and wetness, stroking relentlessly until she was writhing in his arms.
“I can’t wait to taste you here,” he murmured, staring at her while giving his thumb a purposeful flick across her saturated flesh and making her moan. Ravenna sucked in air, surprise flashing through her eyes. “Does that shock you?” he asked.
“Yes.”
Courtland couldn’t help the beat of satisfaction that she wasn’t as schooled as he’d expected, that there were still things he could teach her. “I’ll make you burn,” he promised.
“I’m already burning,” she whispered.
Her head fell back, nearly knocking into the glass of the porthole. No one could see inside of course, but people walked up the footbridge a stone’s throw away, and here he was pleasuring his wife in broad daylight without a care in the world. She wasn’t the only one on the edge. He was so hard he was surprised he wasn’t drilling past the fly of his trousers.
“Come for me, love.” His thumb worried the hidden pearl at the apex of her sex, coating his fingers in her copious, silky arousal.
“Where?” she mumbled.
A low, husky laugh burst from him as he took her lips in a sweet kiss. Hell, she couldn’t bethatuntried, could she? Courtland redoubled his efforts, gently pinching her sensitive flesh between his thumb and forefinger. When she arched back with a cry, her nails piercing into his scalp, he shifted to insert a finger into her. Her sheath clamped around him, making him wish it was his cock buried in her depths instead.
“You’re grasping me so tightly.”
