Page 78 of The Duke of Daring (The Untouchables)
Her hair fell over her shoulder and fanned across her upper back as she came up on all fours. “Is this right?” she asked huskily.
“It’s perfect. You’re perfect.” He caressed her back, dragging his fingertips from her nape to the base of her spine.
Gripping his cock, he positioned himself at her entrance. He reached around and fondled her breast before clasping her hip and easing into her. He intended to go slow, but she thrust back, taking him fully inside. She was so wet and tight. He closed his eyes and tried very hard not to come.
She moved her backside again in that damnably provocative way that was even more stimulating when he was filling her. Then she moved, sliding forward and then pushing back. Good God, she was impossibly wonderful.
“Lucy. You’re going to kill me.”
“I hope it’s a pleasant death.”
He couldn’t help but grin. This woman was more than he dared dream. More than he dared risk.
She rocked forward and back, driving him to the brink of madness. He lost rational thought and leaned forward, winding his hand in her hair and twisting her head so that he could kiss her, his tongue spearing into her mouth with savage need. She kissed him back as long as she could until another orgasm racked her body and she had to pull away, gasping for breath and moaning in the most delicious way.
Hellfire, he was so close. He had to get out now before he completely lost his mind. But she felt so good…he’dnever felt this good…
He held her hips and snapped his pelvis, driving into her with a staccato rhythm. His balls tightened and his orgasm rushed over him. He managed to pull out of her and turn, spilling himself into his hand and onto the bed. Damn, he was making a mess.
When he was finished and his body had come back to a semblance of normalcy, he clambered off the bed and went to the cabinet to fetch another towel. He only had himself to tidy this time. He stashed the cloth back where she’d put the others.
He watched her roll over and took in the satiated expression on her face. Her eyes were half-closed, her lips curved into a smile. She looked content.
There was that word again. That sensation he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt. Or maybe he had. It had just been so long that he didn’t remember. Like love. He wasn’t sure he recalled the emotion, just the pain and longing he’d felt in the aftermath of losing it. The pain and longing he still felt.
His chest tightening, he went to find his clothing and began to dress.
“You’re leaving now?” She’d slipped under the covers and held them to her chest.
He could still see a good portion of one breast, however. He was grateful for the view. “Yes, before I decide not to leave at all.”
She smiled. “You could stay—for at least an hour. You seemed to be sleeping well. No nightmares.”
No, no nightmares. But then he didn’t have them often anymore. Except when he was at Darent Hall. The first night he stayed there on a visit, he always had one. Which was why he rarely went there. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of that before he’d invited her to stay. He’d either been too shaken up by the accident or too overcome with desire for her. The latter, he decided. Definitely.
“I don’t have them very often,” he said.
“What happened in the morning…you looked…haunted. Is that typical after you have a nightmare?”
“No,” he lied. And he didn’t even need a nightmare to feel like that. In fact, those bleak emotions were creeping over him right now. He had his trousers on and pulled on his shirt. Locating his stockings and boots, he sat on a chair to don them.
She climbed out of bed and walked, nude, to an armoire. He tried not to stare at the alluring sweep of her back and the tantalizing curve of her backside and failed miserably. She pulled out a pale yellow dressing gown and wrapped it around herself, shielding her from his hungry gaze.
He forced himself back to putting on his footwear.
She walked over to stand near him. “I’m not sure I believe you,” she said softly. “Mrs. Alder cares about you. She said you deserve to be happy, that you need to forget about the past.”
He pulled on his boots and didn’t look at her. “I don’t think about it.” Hetriednot to think about it. He started to shake, his flesh feeling chilled. Jumping to his feet, he tucked in his shirt and sought out his waistcoat.
“Maybe you should? Maybe talking about them would help you move past the tragedy so that it doesn’t haunt you.”
He shrugged into his waistcoat. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
Her gaze was full of concern and pity. He didn’t want her pity. “Your entire family died within a span of a few weeks. You were young. There’s plenty to talk about. I’m here to listen if you’ll let me.”
Ice coated his spine, and his vision tunneled for a moment. He plucked his cravat from the floor and wound it around his neck but didn’t tie it. He had to walk past her to get his coat and hat. “Please leave it alone.”
He moved toward his coat, and she clasped his forearm—gently but firmly. “Tell me about them. Your mother, your father, your brother.”
