Page 51 of Unraveled By the Duke
The idea of being his possession, marked by his lips and owned by his hands, was inflaming. She whispered his name between clashing lips. The taste of his mouth drove her to deliriums of lust, and the feel of his manhood pressed against her both frightened and aroused her.
With casual strength, he gripped her buttocks and lifted her. One hand pulled her leg up and over his hip. His fingers deftly traced the line of that leg until he reached her foot. The soft, indoor slipper she wore was cast aside.
His fingers began their return journey, dancing over her silk stockings until they reached the hem mid-thigh. Then, they yanked down her stocking, hard. She heard the material rip at the harsh treatment and cried out.
The cool air kissed her bare leg. Her skirt was lifted, and she felt the entire length of her leg being exposed. From hip to toe, she was bare.
Alexander spun again, holding her up, lifting her skirts so that she could wrap both legs around his hips.
Having her legs wrapped around him, his manhood straining with herculean effort against the fabric that separated it from the heart of her womanhood, felt natural and right, though she had never done anything like it before.
Alexander carried her to the far side of the room and kicked open a door. Beyond was his bedchamber. Celia moaned as he lowered her to the bed and lifted his head to deny her kisses. He looked down at her with a face cruel and tight with barely controlled desire.
It was the face of David—beautiful and perfect, but hard and unrelenting.
Celia ran her hands up his chest and then down his sides, marveling at the hard muscles she felt. She reached his hips and pulled at his shirt, drawing it out of his breeches, tearing at it until she could lay her hands on his bare skin.
Her head was pressed down into the mattress as Alexander’s mouth descended upon hers. Her consciousness spun, her awareness of the room, the house, and the world beyond fleeing. There was only the heat of Alexander’s body atop hers. The weight of him and the unending, hot pressure that demanded release.
She relinquished her exploration of his back to boldly reach for the button securing his breeches, even pushing at him to give her space. When that button was undone, she pushed down his waistband, which slid over his buttocks. Then, she raised hereyes to his, afraid to look down, afraid of what the sight of his desire made manifest would do to her nerves.
Alexander smiled, tracing the lines of her face with his finger, ending at her lips. He ran his fingertip around her lips and then raised it to his own. Finally, he took her hand in his own and lowered it to his bare manhood.
Celia moaned his name as her hand closed around his member. He reciprocated, whispering hers and placing his hand over her sex. She did not know what to do, how to touch or move, but obeyed an instinct that had been locked deep within her until this point. In return, Alexander touched her with deft expertise.
He delved, stroked, licked, and kissed, and Celia writhed under eruptions of liquid pleasure that surged through her. She screamed the first time it swept through her. And the second. Then, she pulled him closer, guiding him inside her, and finally, gloriously, they were joined.
There was pain, sweet and delicious, but it was overwhelmed by other sensations. By volcanic pleasure and nerve-tingling lust.
His body crushed her, and she demanded more. He penetrated her, and she screamed for more. Her nails raked his back, drawing a smile of gritted teeth and slitted eyes from her lover. From her husband.
Now, that word meant something.
CHAPTER 16
Celia woke up from a dreamless sleep. At least what dreams came to her went unremembered. Her eyes opened to the day; the curtains had not been drawn the night before.
She lay naked, only half covered by the sheets. The warmth of lovemaking had left her. Where her body was exposed to the air, she felt cold.
The sensation was welcome, though. As was the ache in her thighs, born of repeated cycles of tension and liquid relaxation. Her loins ached too, the feel of innocence taken. She could feel Alexander’s mouth on her breasts, drawing her nipples into hard points.
The memory made her writhe. But then she became aware of the loneliness of the room. It was emphasized by the ticking of a clock on the mantel. It mocked her for not realizing that she was alone.
Did he rise early? Was his desire truly spent? I honestly do not think I can say the same.
Celia sat up, feeling reckless in her nakedness, throwing aside the sheets and allowing herself to be utterly naked in Alexander’s bedchamber.
Is it to be my bedchamber now? Our bedchamber?
There was a new optimism in her heart. This was surely a turning point. An acknowledgment that the desire she felt was mirrored.
Perhaps life in Finsbury House would not be so intolerable now. Perhaps even Aurelia’s worries would be managed.
She jumped at a knock on the outer door and clutched the sheets to her body.
“Come in!” she called.
Peggy entered, bearing a tray of tea and toast. “Good morning, Your Grace. A touch of breakfast for you, which His Grace instructed to be brought to you.”
