Page 53 of The Duchess Trap
Catherine gasped into him, the sound lost as his hand slid from her jaw to the nape of her neck, holding her fast, anglingher mouth beneath his. Heat surged through her, wild and unrestrained, flooding every nerve.
Her fan slipped from her hand, clattering onto the stone unseen.
Her body arched closer, desperate, as if she could crawl inside his very skin, feel the full weight of him pressing her into the bench, into the earth. His tongue stroked against hers, and she shuddered, clutching at his lapel as though it might anchor her from drowning in the torrent he unleashed.
Her thoughts fractured, breaking into fragments: the rough scrape of his jaw rasping against her cheek, the masculine scent of him, the hot surge of his breath between their mouths, the way his chest rose and fell in time with hers, ragged and quick.
He kissed her as though no one else had ever existed, as though the world itself might burn and leave only this—only her.
Catherine moaned softly, a sound she could not contain, one that humiliated her even as it left her lips. Shame flared, but it was swallowed at once by the molten pull of him, the relentless press of his body demanding more. His hand tightened at her nape, the other sliding low around her waist to haul her nearer, until her breasts crushed hard against his chest, the stiff edge of her corset no barrier to the burning heat between them.
When at last his mouth tore from hers, it was only to drag along her cheek, down the delicate line of her throat. His breath scorched her skin. She tilted her head back helplessly, a soft gaspescaping as his lips grazed her pulse, lingering, taking his time as though savoring every tremor.
“Duncan,” she whispered, trembling, her fingers curling so tightly into his coat she thought the seams might split.
His lips pressed against the hollow of her throat, lingering, claiming her as surely as he had in the ballroom.
“Now that I know the source of your quivering, I should like to see more of it,” he murmured against her skin. “You are mine, Catherine, and I will make your whole body tremble in ecstasy or die trying.”
“Mine”. The word vibrated through her, sinking deep into her bones.
Her body shuddered, and her pulse leapt as though every part of her recognized the claim.
“More,” Duncan whispered, the sound rough and hungry against her skin. His mouth lingered at the hollow of her throat, each word a vibration that seemed to sink into her bones. “I want more of you, Catherine. All of you.”
Her lips parted. “Here? Now?”
Maiden that she was, Catherine knew better than to behave thusly. She and her husband were in the garden after all. As theguests of honor at this ball, surely someone would eventually come looking for them.
But her protests dissolved when he lifted his head, his blue gaze locking on hers with that relentless fire that always seemed to undo her. She ought to have pulled away, righted herself, and insisted that they return to the soiree at once, but her body would not allow for such prudence. She leaned forward, closing the distance, her lips brushing his in a kiss that set her pulse ablaze.
He caught her mouth with his own, devouring, claiming, coaxing her deeper until she was gasping into him once more. His hands framed her face, rough palms against her skin, holding her still while his lips moved with slow, devastating precision.
Her mind screamed for sense, but her body welcomed the taste of him.
When at last he drew back, it was not to release her, but to change the path of his assault. His lips wandered deliberately, with the patience of a man who knew the torment he inflicted and gloried in it. He traced the sharp line of her jaw, each brush a spark that set her nerves aflame. He lingered near her ear, his breath hot, his mouth grazing the delicate curve until she trembled, every whisper of contact sending a shiver down her spine. She could feel the light scrape of his beard, rough and intimate, and the feeling alone made her thighs press together as warmth pooled there.
Then lower still, his mouth brushed the tender hollow beneath her ear, the most fragile place of her neck, and she felt her pulse hammer in response, frantic and exposed, as though begging for him. His lips followed that frantic rhythm, pressing, nipping, soothing, until her head tipped back helplessly and thumped against the archway.
Her breath broke apart into gasps and sighs she could not silence.
Every touch set fire to her skin, and still he did not stop. He descended further, tracing the slope of her throat with ambling slowness, savoring every inch.
Heat surged through her chest, a wild, restless ache gathering deep inside. She arched against him, unthinking, her body offering itself to him.
The world beyond them vanished; there was only the press of his lips, the scrape of his teeth, the molten pull of desire consuming her.
“Duncan…” Her voice trembled. She wished it did not. She wanted to fully enjoy this moment and let her husband know that she welcomed him without fear, but she could not control herself.
“Hmm…?” His reply was muffled against her throat. “I want to taste you.”
“You…you are tasting me,” Catherine murmured just as Duncan’s tongue flicked the bottom of her earlobe.
Her body shuddered rapturously and Duncan buried his head in her neck to stifle his laughter.
“Not like this, my sweet,” he mumbled. “I want to taste all of you.”
His mouth pressed lower, brushing the neckline of her gown, lingering at the edge where silk met flesh. The scrape of his teeth through the fabric sent a moan slipping unbidden from her lips, humiliating in its rawness. His mouth tugged on the confines of her gown, pulling the neckline of her dress so low that the arches of her breasts became exposed. She clutched his shoulders, desperate and lost.
