Page 84 of The Phantom Duke
In return, after a moment in which she seemed to cling helplessly to him, Maria seemed to awaken. She groaned and whined and writhed against his body, as though she wished to devour her. It was as if even a hairsbreadth of distance between them was intolerable.
Maria’s tongue flicked hungrily against Damien’s mouth, meeting his in arousing duels. Her fingers dug at the rigid muscle of his chest, plowing furloughs down the silk of his shirt, forcing open the buttons of his waistcoat where they were encountered. His manhood ached with need, his trousers becoming tighter with every heartbeat.
She caressed his face, both sides of it, and for once, Damien did not recoil. Her hands, warm and reverent, lingered on themask that had for so long shielded him from tenderness. He had forgotten it was even there until he felt her fingers following the cords around his head.
His breath caught in his chest. Maria’s movements were slow and delicate, and Damien knew that he could stop her if he truly wanted. Did he want that, though?
Or did he want her to touch him, to see him like no one had in so very long? She tugged at the knots, loosening them.
He stilled her hands with his own, firm but careful, then removed them from his face. A dull ache twisted in his chest, the possibility of her seeing him,trulyseeing him, like a long-desired and unfulfilled dream.
Her protest never made it to her lips; he silenced it with his own mouth, with a kiss that carried the ache of something long denied. Damien groaned against her lips, gathering his courage.
And then he untied the laces himself. Lifted the mask away. Flicked it aside like a relic no longer needed. A gasp tore from Maria’s lips, and that single sound went straight to his manhood. Was it a sound of longing? He wanted it to be.
Hehopedit was, but he did not yet have the courage to look at her and see what her face might reveal.
The mask landed in the grass with a dull thud. Leather stared up at them like a second face he had shed.
Damien looked at her—truly looked—and Maria did not flinch. Instead, her eyes were wide with wonder, her lips slightly parted. Maria gazed at him like he was the most miraculous man she had ever seen in her life.
She touched the angry, scarred skin with bare fingers. Kissed it. Feathered kisses down the side of his face, over his brow, down the edge of his jaw to the pulse fluttering at his throat. His breathing faltered.
“You do not know what you do,” he rasped, his voice throaty and raw.
“I do,” she whispered, her lips grazing his skin. A wild and ragged sound tore from him. “If there is a curse, then let it strike me now.”
His arms tightened like he feared she’d be torn from him, drawing her soft, warm body against his own. When nothing came—no fire, no thunder, no curse—Maria smiled against his neck. Her fingers curled at the nape of it, drawing lazy circles, and sent a shiver tracing down the path of Damien’s spine.
Her lips found his again, soft but sure. She tasted like resolve and fire, and desire burned like an inferno inside him. Maria wanted him as ardently as he wanted her, and the thought was enough to drive him wild with need. Thoughts of taking her hard and fast in the forest filled his mind. He imagined that same awed expression as he drove her to an earth-shattering release.
“You see?” she said.
“I see nothing. But that only means it waits.”
“Then let it wait. I have no fear of shadows.”
Her kiss returned, bolder now. His mouth opened to hers, their tongues meeting in a rhythm that quickly forgot caution. Damien, who had often asserted his dominance quite readily, found a worthy opponent in her, for she refused to submit so readily. Her body shifted, fitting closer, and Damien swore softly as he felt her warmth press against him. Even the slightest touch of her body sent all his thoughts scattering like a dropped wine glass.
His hand swept down her side. Over the curve of her hip. Possessive. Grounding himself in the feel of her real, unbreakable presence.
“Your allure,” he whispered, voice hoarse, “is made more potent by every breath I steal from you.”
“And I,” she murmured, “am undone by the weight of your hands on my body.”
Damien’s hand gripped her hip tighter. Then slid lower. He walked her slowly back until her spine brushed the wide trunk of the tree. His tree. The one he’d climbed as a child, bled beneath as a boy, screamed into as a man. He braced one hand against the bark beside her head. The other swept under the hem of her gown, his knuckles sweeping over her stockings.
She gasped.
He pushed it higher, fingers grazing the vulnerable skin of her inner thigh, then trailing up the sensitive inner part until she trembled. Her breath hitched, as his fingers sweeping through the curls that framed her maidenhood. His mouth didn’t leave hers. He kissed her as though it pained him not to. As though parting from her lips would undo him, and perhaps, it would.
Already, he ached and burned for her. He wished that he could freeze time around them and forget the world, savoring the taste and scent of her until the world ended around him.
His fingers found the silk at the apex of her thighs, damp and clinging.Hehad done this. Maria was as affected by him as he was by her. A sharp sound escaped her throat.
“God, Damien…”
He growled her name against her mouth as his fingers slid over her folds, teasing, parting, stroking her in slow, deliberate circles. The wet evidence of her arousal coated his fingers, as he pressed one finger carefully inside her. Maria’s inner walls clamped around him. She clutched his shoulders, hips jerking forward, seeking more. His name spilled from her lips again, this time in a whisper that sounded dangerously close to a plea.
