Page 45 of The Duchess in His Bed
“You protect what’s yours.”
He moved that scarred finger up and skimmed it along her chin, before using it to turn her face back slightly so he could hold her gaze. “Always.”
She couldn’t help but believe that he considered her his, believed her worthy of his protection. Only she wasn’t. She was with him for a purpose, a purpose that would ensure she remain with him only a short while.
Twisting about in the tub, she took his mouth with all the fervor she could muster. He touched her in ways she’d not foreseen—not with his hands, although he certainly did that, but with his soul, his heart, his very being. She’d not anticipated that of a man known for sin. Had expected him to be of loose morals and character, caring for nothing save his own pleasures. But he was nothing of the sort. Goodness had taken up residence within him, and she wanted to ensure he regretted not a minute that he spent with her.
Leaning back, she cupped his dark whiskered jaw with one hand. The bristles were heavier, thicker now, and she considered offering to shave him, but she rather enjoyed the unkempt rugged look of him. “As a man, you have control over everything in your life. I’ve had very little control in mine, almost none at all.” Shifting, causing the water to lap around them, she straddled his hips. “I want to have complete and absolute control over you.”
His hands bracketed her waist, his fingers flexed, his eyes darkened. “I am yours to do with as you please. What would you have of me?”
“I would have you bound to the bed. I would have you at my mercy.”
It was a wonder he didn’t immediately embarrass himself and spill his seed at her softly spoken words, edged with a desire that turned her blue eyes cerulean. He could deny her nothing, especially a request that had his heart galloping like a runaway stallion and threatening to burst through his chest.
He still might embarrass himself. He’d never been so hard in anticipation of what was to come.
Using his neck cloths, she secured his wrists and ankles to the four bedposts, leaving him spread-eagled over the satin sheets he’d purchased earlier in the day for her enjoyment. He’d never been in such a vulnerable position, couldn’t imagine placing himself thus with anyone other than her. He trusted her. Completely. It was a rather odd moment to come to that realization, especially as they’d known each other such a short while, but he didn’t think the heart measured depth of feeling using a timepiece.
Not that he loved her, but he did care for her—immensely. Probably more so than was wise for a man in his position. He was not the sort a woman could walk proudly alongside. Until her, it had never mattered. He wished it still didn’t.
But the ability to rationally argue any philosophical questions regarding his life left him as she sauntered around the bed, her heated gaze fixed on his. He made to reach for her, the linen wrapped around his wrist halting his movement, reminding him that he could do little except wait for her to have her way with him.
The mattress dipped as she climbed onto it, never averting her eyes from his. God, but she was beautiful in her confidence that she could undo him. And she would. He knew that as surely as he knew that when she was done with him, he was going to reverse the tables, and have her bound and sprawled for his enjoyment. And hers.
Strange how they seemed connected, how the more he gave to her, the more he gained for himself.
Slowly, she trailed her fingers along his side, from the strip of cloth binding his ankle, along his calf, up his thigh, over his hip, up to his rib—
He gave a little jerk.
She looked as though he’d just handed her the Koh-i-Noor diamond. “You’re ticklish.”
“A bit.”
Leaning down, she pressed her open mouth, hot and dewy, against his lowest rib. He closed his eyes as the warmth seeped into him. “Only to fingers.”
Lifting her head, she arched a brow and ran her tongue over her lips. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Straddling his stomach, she eased up, bringing those luscious breasts nearer. Again, he reached, testing the limits of his tether. “Perhaps you could give one hand the freedom to touch you.”
Her smile was that of a saucy minx. “No.”
Lowering herself, she rubbed her breasts over his chest before bringing one to his mouth. “You may lick.”
He did so without hesitating, circling the pink areola with his tongue, before flicking at it. She dropped her head back, moaned.
“You’re killing me,” he rasped.
Her look was sultry, that of a woman relishing her power. “I’ve not even begun.”
Pushing herself down until her knees were resting between his, she sat back on her heels and wrapped her fingers around his straining cock. “I’m amazed by the silkiness of it. I can’t decide if it feels like satin or velvet.”
She kissed the head. He jerked.
“Ticklish?”
“No.”
