Page 62 of A Scandalous Kind of Duke

He slid onto his knees beside her, parted her thighs, and lowered his mouth to take that taste. With his tender lips and strong tongue, he skillfully caressed and teased, taking his time, responding to her every move or sound, which she gave freely.

But even as she basked in the molten sensations swirling inside her, something niggled: his ruthless machination, his purposefulness in wringing pleasure from her.

Fury churned through the whirlpool of wanting. She wanted more than this sensation.

She wantedhim.

He was giving her pleasure, but nothing of himself. He was reducing her to a puddle of desperate desire, but staying in control. Maybe if she had a thousand nights with him, ten thousand, she would relish such strategy and skill. But not when time was against her. She could seize pleasure any day of the week. This was her only chance to seizehim.

She sat up and glared at him.

He stopped, questions in his glazed eyes. “You don’t like that?”

“I like it very much,” she said. “But I told you what I want is you. I haven’t even seen you yet.”

She lay back, one arm behind her head, legs still parted, brazen as you please, and eyed him lasciviously. She nudged him with one foot. “It’s no fun being the only naked one in the room.”

“As you wish.”

He stood, bare feet on the plush rug, and undressed for her, unhurriedly, nonchalantly, with a casual insolence that mirrored her own.

But her trained eye noted the tension in his muscles, the faint trembling of his hands, the moment when he got awkwardly caught in his own shirt, his unusual clumsiness as he rolled down his trousers and drawers.

Part of her wanted to protect him, cocoon him. But part of her—that part that was still angry with him for keeping himself from her—vowed to make him tremble more.

Finally, he stood before her, naked.

At attention.

No longer an untouchable painting. Not an artwork of any kind, but a glorious man, ready for her touch.

Juno rose up onto her knees on the velvet sofa, happily taking command. She pressed one hand to one knee. His eyes tracked the movement. She feathered her fingers up her thigh, dipped into her own hot, wet core. His hands flexed, fisted.

“Show me,” she ordered.

He wrapped a hand around his cock. A sigh escaped her.

“Does that please you, madam?” His insolence delighted her.

“It pleases me that you please yourself.”

His hand moved obediently, in long, hard, mesmerizing strokes. “Is that all you want?” he said. “To look at me?”

“Oh no,” she purred. “I want much, much more.”

She crooked her finger. He sauntered closer, only to stop just out of reach. Wasn’t that just like him? To show her what she could have and then deny her.

She licked her lips.

“Juno,” he murmured on a note of protest. “This isn’t…”

She was wise to his ways. He did not want to be vulnerable. He wanted her incoherent and begging with pleasure, while he stayed in control.

Not a chance. If they were doing this, they were doing this together.

She extended one arm, dipped into the goblet of wine, then slipped her wine-soaked fingers between her lips and sucked them.

“I’ve changed my mind,” she said. “I do want to try the wine after all.”

---