Page 62 of A Whisper of Desire
“Not pity, no. Understanding, perhaps. Admiration definitely, but never pity.” She pulled him back to her. “Admiration that a man of wealth and title cared enough about hurting others that he put himself on a silly sexual schedule, denying himself what most men consider their right. Admiration for a man who feared intimacy because it might make him a monster, risked it all to marry me so I would not have to marry a real monster. How could I not fall in love with the man beneath the façade you present to the world?”
She traced his nose with her finger. “A noble nose for a noble man.” She cupped his cheek. “Knowing your past only makes me love you more than words can say.”
She waited with her heart on her sleeve, hoping for the words she so wanted to hear. When they didn’t come, she wasn’t at all surprised. It had been only days.
He cleared his throat. “One day I hope you’ll teach me how to love. Right now I’m just beginning to learn what a true relationship is and how it should function.”
“I can’t pretend I’m not disappointed, but I’d rather always have the truth from you. It’s one more reason I admire you. You cannot lie. So let’s learn about love and marriage together.”
He smiled and said, “Perfect idea. I’m sorry I can’t say it back. I know that I’ve never felt anything like this for any other woman. I want to be sure…I’ve disappointed you.”
She shook her head. “No. I shall just remain ever hopeful that one day my loving duke will say the words I long to hear. That will be the happiest day of my life.”
Maitland took her face between his hands and gave her a kiss that stole every inch of her heart. “I’m going to make love to you. The way I’ve been dreaming about since our first kiss.”
A giggle escaped.
An excited giggle.
She returned his kiss fervently while her hands tugged at his cravat. She pushed his tailcoat off his shoulders, parting his waistcoat until she could stroke his chest, savoring the fine linen over taut muscles.
His hips slipped between her legs, widening her thighs to fit perfectly between them. He stared down at her with such longing that her hands stilled their exploration.
Reaching for her hands, he pulled them over her head, away from all she wanted to touch. “Let me play?” he asked gruffly.
She stared at him, meeting his heated gaze with a tremulous, beaming smile.
“Most obliging of you to be wearing a front-opening gown.” His clever hands wandered, unfastening with smooth expertise the hooks and eyes. His touch wasn’t tentative, merely thorough. He took her arms one by one and pulled them free of her garment, until she lay before him in her shift and corset, her bosoms rising and falling with her ever-deepening breaths.
The first touch of his tongue to her skin saw Marisa close her eyes. He trailed his tongue over the swells and dipped into the valley between her breasts. She wiggled beneath him, wanting more.
Soon he had her gown and undergarments off her. She lay before him, naked as the day she was born, and his eyes glowed as he straightened up and stared down at her.
His hand ran over her skin in awesome worship. “So beautiful.”
She gulped back tears of joy. “Take your time. I give you permission to do whatever you like, whatever you want, whatever you need.”
His eyes darkened and he quickly rose from the bed to strip himself of his clothes.
He stood at the end of the bed, caressing her with his eyes. His erection tall, proud, and engorged. Crawling up between her thighs, he pushed her legs apart. He stopped, crouched at her feet, and looked, looked at the most private part of her. His face flushed as his dark fringe fell forward, covering his smoldering eyes. He looked younger, more carefree. He looked like a man about to get his heart’s desire.
He leaned down and she watched as he drew closer, his tongue protruding to meet her heated flesh. At the first stroke through her wet folds she let out a sigh of longing.
His tongue grew more demanding, flicking the hardened jewel of her womanly center. Her pulse was pounding, her back arching under his wicked yet enjoyable mouth. When his lips sucked the nub into his mouth she let her cries fly free.
Disappointment flayed her when he drew back, leaving her on the edge. “That’s mean,” she panted.
“So delicious,” he whispered. “I need to feast like this every night.” He slid his fingers inside her. She moaned with need, but his fingers withdrew from her body when she tried to lower her arms from above her head. She wanted to touch him so badly. “Tut, Tut. My way, did you not say?” He placed her arms back behind her head, “Grip the headboard if you feel like disobeying.”
Following his directions, she gripped the smooth wood, wishing it were his skin she was touching. With growing frustration she lifted her upper body, trying to entice him to touch, caress, fondle.
His mouth latched on to one swollen nipple, rolling it within his mouth, playing with it as if it were his new favorite toy. He blew on each turgid crest while his other hand stroked deeply between her thighs.
He seemed quite content to use her as his playground. He watched and studied every sigh she made, every cry, every movement, learning what pleased her most.
“Oh, Maitland, please, stop teasing. I need you…”
She tried to wrap her legs round him, to draw him in, but his hand kept up the most driving rhythm until she thought she’d lose her mind.
