Page 62 of Rules for Heiresses
He approached the side of the bed, his eyes adjusting to the gloom, to make out her female shape right in the middle of the bedclothes. “What are you doing?”
“Going to sleep.”
“We were talking,” he said.
“Youwere talking,” she replied, the slight rasp in her voice adding to the sexual desire flooding his body at the tantalizing sight of her body in the middle of the mattress. “I was finished. And unless you intend to join me here in bed and do things whilenottalking, I’d rather discuss this tomorrow.”
He blinked. Did she just make an indecent proposition?
His swelling cock went fully hard, but instead of doing what his body so obviously wanted and accepting what she’d so casually offered, Courtland stepped back. And then back again until he was a safe enough distance away, at least to stop himself from diving groin-first into his wife’s body. Sex wouldn’t solve anything.
“There’ll be no discussion tonight or tomorrow,” he ground out.
And then he left. Because he could not take one more second of her alluring scent.
Or the sight of her in that goddamned bed.
Or the echo of her husky invitation.
Courtland stormed into his own chamber and slammed the connecting door, meeting the alarmed eyes of Peabody, who approached him as one would a skittish and very unpredictable horse. He said nothing as the valet removed the coat from his shoulders and then the rest of his upper layers of clothing, ending with yanking off his boots. Tearing his shirt over his head, Courtland sighed.
“Shall I run you a bath, Your Grace?”
“Yes,” he said, hoping it would do the trick.
But the only trick was the one played on him as he lay in the hot water and was plagued with erotic thoughts of his wife just beyond the door that led into her chamber. Despite his anger at her refusal to listen, his fevered imaginings tortured him. She tempted him to folly. Courtland had never met anyone who could slip under his ironclad control so easily.
He washed himself quickly, groaning when the cloth passed over his aching groin. Relieving himself wouldn’t hurt—at least then he’d be able to think. Discarding the cloth, he reached beneath the surface of the water and fisted his engorged length, hissing at the contact. He stroked from the root to crown in hard, purposeful strokes. A guttural sigh escaped him as he closed his eyes, imagining it was his wife’s delectable body that clasped him…her wet, silky depths that sheathed him, taking him deep.
“Fuck, Ravenna.”
A strangled gasp made his eyes fly open.
And there she stood in that indecent night rail, like a sprite come to tempt his sorry heart. Hooded copper eyes burned into him. They fell to his lap, where his hand gripped his staff. Her tongue darted out to lick her lips as her stare lifted to entangle with his. Not a single word was exchanged, and yet, a thousand things were said in that single glance. Courtland watched with bated breath as one elegant hand lifted and went to the ribbons at her throat.
His cock swelled impossibly when the ties released and the neckline went slack, displaying the full curve of one breast. She did not stop there, however. No, his brazen bride stepped into the bathing chamber and shut the door behind her. Eyes bright, they held his, daring him to tell her to leave. But Courtland could barely breathe, much less speak as her fingers drifted to her hem, tugging the fabric up inch by torturous inch. With a deft movement, she dragged the night rail over her shoulders and discarded it to the floor.
He took in a clipped breath at the uncovered beauty that greeted him.
Heavens, she was exquisite.
Miles and miles of gorgeous blush-infused skin met his hungry gaze, from the tops of her graceful shoulders, past the plump curves of her breasts tipped with rosy, taut nipples, to her gently flaring hips and long, slender legs. His avid gaze fastened to the fiery patch of curls at the apex of her thighs and a smile tilted his lips. Shewasfire, his wife.
Fire and perfection and salvation.
Courtland held his breath as she closed the distance between them, until she stood right in front of him before sitting on the lip of the bath. A sultry, wicked smile curved her pink lips. “You summoned me, Duke?”
“You weren’t meant to hear that.”
Her hand slid through the water, her gaze dipping to where he held himself like his cock was his deliverance. “Do you wish me to leave?”
Whatever incoherent reply he’d been about to make was smothered by the feel of her slim fingers wrapping over his. “What are you doing?” he asked.
“Teach me to please you.”
With a groan, Courtland gave in and slid his palm down, squeezing his stiff rod, and almost growling when she interlaced her fingers with his to mimic his movements. Before long, his own hand fell to the side as she worked him up and down. Her thumb slid over the head of him, and he could barely hold back the needy thrust of his hips.
“Do you like that?” she asked, her voice husky.
