Page 25 of The Duchess in His Bed
And she had little doubt she was even juicier now.
Her knees came into view as he placed her feet against the cushions that surrounded the edge of the table. She had a strong desire to cross her legs even as she wanted to part them wider.
A cool breath stirred her curls. A leisurely lick nearly had her coming up off the table. Her hands clenched. She reached for him. His fingers folded over hers.
Another lick that journeyed up, going side to side like the lacings on her gown. A circle. Yearning for something, she thrust up her hips, so she was closer to that luscious mouth.
He chuckled low, darkly. “Do you even know what you want?”
“No.” Her breathing was shallow, quick. “I’m scared I’ll find it, terrified I won’t.”
“Don’t be frightened. It won’t hurt. And don’t fight it, sweetheart. When it comes, let it engulf you.”
She almost asked what theitwas, but his mouth closed over the swollen sensitive bud, and she cried out from the pure bliss of it. She tightened her hold on his fingers as the sensations built with each suck, each swirl, each kiss. Everything within her called to him, to what he was offering. He was between her thighs, but it was as though he’d somehow managed to encompass all of her. No part of her was unaware of his touch.
Every nerve ending was shooting sparks. And when she might have fought to contain it, she followed his advice and gave herself over to it, to the passion, the stirring, the sin. The wickedness of allowing this man to whom she was not married perform such an intimate service. To know the very heart of her womanhood and to take possession of it as though it belonged to him, as though it were his to do with as he pleased.
But of course it was. She’d granted him permission. She’d won the wager, named her prize. How was she to have known that in the end the price would be to give herself completely over to him?
Yet she knew no regrets. Knew naught but pleasure, as it spiraled unmercifully through her until she did forget her name, until she forgot everything, was aware of nothing other than the ecstasy that overtook her until it alone remained, filling her, spilling out of her, conquering her until it was everything and she was crying out in elation as though she’d ascended into heaven.
And then she burst into tears.
Chapter 8
It was as though everything had come to a head. The years of longing for passion—discovering it was more profound and exquisite than anything she’d ever imagined. The sorrow over losing Lushing—in spite of what he’d not given her, he’d gifted her with other things. The burden of seeing that her sisters were well situated when she hadn’t the means to assure it without the dukedom behind her. The weight of striving to ensure that her brother’s title and estate did not fall over the precipice into total ruin. Her own disappointment of not having a babe to cradle in her arms. The fear that the fault rested with her and not Lushing, that all this was an exercise in futility.
And her deception, her horrid deception, that if this man got her with child, she’d never tell him that he had a son—or daughter—because it was imperative the entire world believe the boy or girl was Lushing’s. Otherwise the child was as doomed as she was.
“Shh, shh. It’s all right, sweetheart,” Aiden Trewlove crooned as he gathered her into his arms.
Don’t be kind to me, she wanted to scream.I don’t deserve it.
But she seemed incapable of forming words. All she could do was blubber as he carried her several feet, lowered himself into a chair, and cradled her on his lap, pulling her clothing down here and up there, returning to her a semblance of modesty.
And the tears fell all the harder.
A woman of her station did not cry with such undignified force. She didn’t wrap her fingers around a man’s nape and bury her face against his neck and shower him in tears while he gently stroked her back.
“Did your husband never give you that?”
How did she explain that what Aiden Trewlove delivered had completely undone her? The intimacy of it, the overwhelming ecstasy of it? Shaking her head, she sniffed, fought to regain control, to not recall how unimpassioned and staid her encounters with Lushing had been. Had he desired her at all?
Aiden’s arms closed more tightly around her. “Is that the reason you came here? You were searching for passion?”
She couldn’t confess her true reason for seeking him out, but neither did she want to give him false words. “I’m not certain I was truly aware of everything I was searching for. I’ve never experienced anything so wondrous, all consuming. Should it always be like this?”
“Not always. Some men are hesitant to engage fully in carnal pleasures with their wives. They... they’re not comfortable with the more... animalistic aspects of our nature.”
The tears slowed to a trickle, leaving her weary and exhausted. “It was rather raw... what I felt just now. I hadn’t expected to feel so vulnerable.” A horrible thought occurred to her. “You won’t ever tell—”
“No. You’re safe with me. Whatever passes between us remains between us.”
She took a great shuddering breath. “I miss him.” The words were out before she’d even realized what they would be. The tears spilled forward again. “He was kind.”
“Last night you said you didn’t marry for love, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t love him. Did you?”
She didn’t hesitate to nod. “But it wasn’t a passionate love, not the sort you read about in romantic novels.”
