Page 63 of Married to the Forbidden Duke
“No.” She leaned in, sinking to her knees. “Not until you beg.”
“What do you want me to beg for?”
“What would you like the most?”
He leaned in, over her as she bent her head to his arousal. Even in her private thoughts, she couldn’t use the coarse term he had used, but that didn’t change the reality of what she held in her hand. Its fragrance was that of soap and musky man, a scent that made her stomach loop with liquid heat. Everything in her tightened.
“I want to make you come with my mouth,” he grated, the words a growl.
“Then beg,” she whispered, and took him in her mouth.
The act was not as easy as she had first supposed it would be. He was hot in her mouth, silken and hard, but for a moment, her teeth intruded and got in the way. She changed the shape and pressure of her lips and found she was able to take him deeper. He brushed the very back of her throat, and she gagged, the sound making him groan again.
She loved the sound of his pleasure. A woman could get addicted to that, to making him writhe under her. When she opened streaming eyes, it was to find his hands fisted in the covers, and his entire body tensed underneath her, muscles rippling.
He brushed the tears from her face, and she withdrew. Her saliva coated his length, and she looked at it with satisfaction.Then she lowered her head to take him in again. His hips jerked, a reflexive action, and a hand landed on her hair. Just as quickly, he removed it.
The hollow, aching place she had felt within herself since their very first kiss deepened, and ached further. She felt the hot slickness of her own arousal between her thighs. She rubbed them together, sparking pleasure of her own inside her, and brought her head down on him again. This time, she used her hand at the same time, and curses fell from his lips in an impressively fluid torrent.
“Alice,” he rasped. “Alice, I must touch you…”
“Then beg,” she repeated. Her will against his; that had always been their way. A clash, a demand, and a victor.
With them, making love was akin to declaring war, and she reveled in the challenge of it.
“Well?” She looked at him through her lashes, and his chest heaved at the sight. “Or would you have me touch myself?”
Without waiting for an answer, she slid a hand between her legs, feeling for herself how wet she was. At the feel, though her fingers did not compare to his—they were too slim, too soft, not knowing her body as well as he already knew hers—she allowed her eyes to roll back in her head.
He thrust up into her mouth, then cursed, pulling himself free. Her experimentation the previous evening meant she now recognized the signs that told her he was close.
“Fine,” he muttered through his teeth. She had a feeling he had been withholding that concession so she would feel it was fully earned, but she didn’t mind that in the slightest. She knew he had no issues with yielding to her, just as he knew she preferred to battle before coming out the victor. “Fine. Please, Alice. Let me touch you. Ibegyou.”
She smiled, both her hands braced against his thighs. “Then where would you like me?”
His eyes gleamed with the victory she had in turn handed to him, and rose, guiding her to her feet with two hands on her upper arms. He steadied her on her unsteady foot, and eased her back on the bed, so they had effectively swapped positions. He kneeled before her, his head between her knees.
“My turn,” he breathed, and there was a dark pleasure in his voice that made her think of sinful sheets and clutching hands. He spread her legs, and she allowed him, watching his expression of awe when he saw the slickness coating her most precious place. “I will never take this for granted,” he whispered reverently, pressing his mouth against her inner thigh. At the brush of his hot mouth against her sensitive skin, she gasped.
Then he brought his face to her folds, and she forgot how to breathe entirely.
He made love with his mouth alone—long, luxurious licks, finding every point of pleasure and lavishing his attention on it. There was no denying he was an expert at his craft, and she was more than happy to benefit from his expertise. She locked her legs around his head, holding him close, and her hips jerked with every laving movement. He peeked up at her over the concave dip of her stomach and grinned, and her heart gave an odd, unexpected flip.
“You taste even better than I’d imagined,” he growled, fingers sliding up her skirts.
There was something erotic about the idea that he was utterly undressed, and she, not at all. She bit her hand, attempting to keep her moans in, but when he slid a finger inside her, there was no holding back.
He gave a sound of satisfaction at her low, liquid moan, and with his tongue and fingers, he brought her to the brink. This time, he didn’t hesitate before plunging her over the other side. She went tight and loose all at once, her climax barreling through her.
Every time she thought she understood what her body was capable of, he served to prove her wrong. He pushed her to new heights, broadened her horizons, and each time, it left her breathless.
“Now,” he growled, surging above her—but not before taking her ruined calf in his hand and kissing it tenderly. “Now I will have my way with you, Alice.”
She could have denied him, but knowing he would do as she said and stopped made her reluctant to do it. Even in yielding to him, she knew she had the power, and that made it all the sweeter to lay down her weapons. And so she made no demur as he positioned himself between her legs, looking down at her clothed body with something approaching awe.
“I would love to see you unclothed,” he murmured darkly, “but this excites me just as much.”
He pushed her skirts back so they bunched around her hips, and then, standing on the floor, he took hold of her thighs and plunged inside. The motion was almost violent, and she waited for the pain—she had been so tender just that morning, and she remembered the flash of pain that had accompanied the first moment of entry the last time.
