Page 84 of His Auctioned Duchess
The chemise followed, baring her to the cool air and his heated gaze. Caroline’s breath caught at the reverence in his expression, as though she were something sacred unveiled. His mouth descended, tracing the line of her collarbone, the slope of her breast.
When his lips closed over one tight peak, she arched with a soft cry, fingers threading into his hair. He lavished attention on her, tongue swirling, teeth grazing just enough to spark lightning down her spine.
Each pull of his mouth sent liquid heat pooling between her thighs. She felt the slick evidence of her want, the ache that had simmered since the orangery now a roaring demand.
Richard’s hand skimmed down her side, over the curve of her hip, gathering the last of her skirts until she lay bare beneath him save for the fragile shield of her drawers.
He paused, lips against her sternum, breathing her in. “Caroline,” he said, her name rough with wonder. “Let me see you.”
She nodded, unable to form words. His fingers hooked in the ribbon at her waist, drawing the fabric down her legs with agonizing slowness.
Cool air kissed overheated skin; then his hands were on her again, parting her thighs with gentle insistence. The first brush of his fingers through her slick folds drew a broken moan fromher throat. He explored her with the same reverence he’d shown her breasts, learning every secret, every shiver.
When his mouth replaced his fingers, Caroline’s world tilted. The heat of his tongue, the scrape of stubble, the way he hummed approval against her, all of it conspired to unravel her.
She clutched the sheets, hips lifting to meet him, chasing the pleasure he coaxed with devastating skill. He brought her to the edge once, twice, retreating each time she teetered on the brink, until she was trembling, pleading, tears of frustration and bliss gathering at the corners of her eyes.
Only then did he rise above her, shedding the last of his clothing with impatient efficiency. Candlelight painted him in bronze and shadow, the hard length of him jutting proud and flushed. Caroline reached for him, fingers curling around velvet over steel. He groaned, hips jerking into her touch, but caught her wrist gently.
“Not yet,” he rasped. “I want to be inside you when you come again.”
He settled between her thighs, the blunt head of him nudging her entrance. Caroline’s breath hitched. She was slick, ready, aching, but still he paused, forehead pressed to hers, eyes searching.
“Tell me,” he whispered.
“Yes,” she breathed. “Richard, please…”
He pushed in slowly, inch by torturous inch, letting her feel every stretch, every throb. The sensation was exquisite, almost too much. When he was fully seated, they both stilled, adjusting to the intimacy, the completeness. Caroline’s legs wrapped around his hips, heels digging into the small of his back, urging him deeper.
He began to move, slow, deliberate strokes that dragged over every sensitive place inside her. Each thrust built the coil tighter, the friction exquisite. Caroline met him, hips rising, nails scoring his shoulders. The room filled with the sounds of their joining, wet, rhythmic, punctuated by gasps and murmured endearments.
Richard’s pace quickened, restraint fraying. Sweat beaded on his brow; his breath came in harsh pants against her neck. Caroline felt the tension in him, the way his muscles locked, the tremor in his thighs. She clenched around him deliberately, and he cursed softly, hips stuttering.
“Caroline,” he warned, voice ragged.
“I’m close…” she managed.
He pulled out at the last possible second, fisting himself with a guttural groan. Hot pulses striped her belly, her breasts, marking her in a way that felt primitive and perfect.
The sight of him undone above her, head thrown back, throat working, pushed her over the edge again. She followed him into bliss, inner muscles fluttering around nothing, pleasure crashing in endless waves. Richard collapsed beside her, careful even in extremity, gathering her close. Their breaths mingled, slowing together. He reached for the discarded chemise, wiping her clean with tender efficiency before drawing the counterpane over them both.
Caroline curled into him, ear over his heart, listening to the thunder there ease into a steady drum. For once, there were no rules, no bargains, no power between them, only two souls stripped of pride and fear.
His touch was both apology and worship.
Caroline rested her head against his chest, listening to the slow, steady rhythm beneath her ear. His arm was draped around her, protective even now, and his other hand traced idle circles against her back.
The silence between them was peace, fragile, precious, real.
She looked up, studying his face in the candlelight. The scar that had once seemed so harsh was softened now; she traced it gently with her fingertips, and his eyes opened.
He caught her hand, pressing a kiss into her palm. “You’ll make me believe in redemption, if you’re not careful,” he murmured.
She smiled faintly. “And if I am careful?”
“Then I’ll still believe.”
She laughed quietly, tears stinging her eyes. “You are impossible.”
