Page 38 of The Duke of Desire
She tipped her head to throw him a saucy glance. “But I’m not married, nor will I ever be.”
“Never? What’s to say you won’t?”
“You’re familiar with my standing, I presume? There are very few gentlemen who would be interested in a companion with nothing to offer.”
His gaze lingered on her as they started down the path. “I think you have plenty to offer. You don’t seem to realize you’re very beautiful. Which is only one of the many things I find attractive about you.”
She jerked her attention from him and focused on the trail in front of her before she tripped and fell to the bottom of the hill. After a minute, she blurted one of the many thoughts racing through her mind. “What would you do? With me, I mean.”
“You want specifics?”
She gave a subtle nod, but had no idea if he was even looking at her. She couldn’t bring herself to so much as peek in his direction.
“To start, I would touch your face. I want to know if your skin is as soft as it looks, if your lips are as silky as I imagine.”
Her body vaulted into an awareness she hadn’t felt in a decade.
“Next, I would kiss you. Gently—letting our lips meet each other and conduct a sort of courtship, if you will.”
He made it sound lovely. She remembered hunger and insistence and wetness. Peter had liked to use his tongue. It hadn’t been bad, just different from what West described. And of course, with Peter, she’d had nothing to compare him to.
Stop it.She refused to think of the past.
“Once we were both satisfied that we were comfortable and ready, I would run my tongue along your lower lip, gently. And if you invited me, I would slide my tongue into your mouth, in search of yours. Then, when they met, they would enjoy a courtship of their own.”
Tongues.But this didn’t sound like what she’d experienced either. Heat gathered in her belly and set her body aflame. She still didn’t look at him. She couldn’t.
“I would kiss you for some time, I think. We would explore each other until we were breathless. All the while, I’d hold you, of course. My hands and fingers would carefully traverse your neck and back, your waist and sides. Then, as our desire built, I would find your breasts, cupping them. I imagine they would fill my hands rather nicely.”
“Am I, er, still garbed?” Her voice sounded high and strange, and she immediately wanted to take the question back. He could doubtless hear the effect he was having on her. By simply talking!
“For now, yes. We have to start at the beginning, don’t we?”
She’d never been undressed with Peter. Part of her wanted that. She longed to feel another man’s—West’s, she realized—nude body against hers. That was because she was a wanton, just as her mother and father said. Guilt and shame threatened to send her running down the hillside. But she clung to the feelings West had reawakened. She didn’t want the darkness. Right now, for just a short time, she wanted to embrace the light.
“As I was saying,” he continued, “I would cup your breasts and lightly massage them. I’d seek out the tips and use my fingers until they grew stiff.”
Her nipples were already in that state. Her clothing had never felt so uncomfortably tight.
“Depending on your garment, I might be able to slip my hand inside and stroke your bare flesh. I’d close my eyes in ecstasy because you would feel so warm and soft and perfect.”
Ivy tingled everywhere. She veered off the trail and leaned her hand against the thick trunk of a tree to gather her wits and regain her breath. Though they were going downhill, she felt as if she were going up.
West followed her, keeping close. “Are you all right?”
She nodded. “Yes. I just wanted to rest a moment.”
“Should I continue?” he asked.
No.She nodded again, unable to deny herself this exquisite torture.
“I’d find the hem of your skirt, and I’d lift it up over your ankle. I’d clasp your leg, wrapping my fingers around your calf. Then I’d slowly slide my hand up, skimming past your knee and laying the palm of my hand against your thigh. You’d part your legs for me, and I’d find your center, that warm, soft place guarded by silken curls.” His voice was low and dark, completely captivating. “Tell me, are they the same color as your hair or are they perhaps more red? I imagine them as more red—like a smoldering fire.”
OhGod. “Red. Yes.” She sounded winded, as if she’d run up the damn hill.
He’d moved closer so that she could feel the heat of his breath as he spoke. “You’d open even further for me, anticipating my touch. Your body would quiver with need. I’d stroke you very gently, my fingers grazing your flesh. You’d moan, I think.”
She nearly moaned now. Her eyes were open, but she saw nothing except him doing these things in her mind’s eye.
