Whatever words she might have intended to utter dissolved to mere breath as his head dipped to touch lips at her cheek, then earlobe, his evening bristles rasping her skin, fingers stripping her hair of its pins, curls unravelling to trail her back.
“‘Let it fly as unconfin’d, as its calm ravisher, the wind,’” he whispered low and deep, and indeed the poetry was not wasted.
Anxiety and despair and fear for the future absconded as he gently kissed her. Rapture and desire scalded her senses as broad palms cupped her cheeks and slanted her face for his delectation.
“Evelyn,” he growled.
And she whispered the name he’d allowed her to use. “Casper.”
He groaned, a deep rumble of pleasure, and then the kiss was no longer tame or tentative but of a man who knew what he wanted, but of a woman who didn’t.
Casper besieged her with carnality; this cold brusque duke who’d hands of scorching fire, flames licking a path upon her nape, spine and hips. She stumbled back with the sensation, the sharp edge of the desk digging at her thighs.
Hands grasped her waist and lifted her to perch upon the surface, a bundle of papers fluttering to the floor in disarray. He took no notice, instead placing a hand either side of her and capturing her mouth once more, nipping for entry.
Oh, sod it.
What was so wrong in wanting to bathe in the duke’s golden life a little longer? She would never consent to mistress but that did not mean she could not enjoy his Midas touch.
And opening to him, she thrust hands through his hair, yanking that neckcloth yet looser, to stroke his throat and scratch his nape – a yielding maiden no more but a worthy combatant in this battle of lust.
His mouth traced her neck, onwards to her bosom, whilst his hands, no longer content to merely entrap, hauled at her skirts. So intense but she cared no longer, refused to skulk in the shadows where life had placed her.
Casper’s waistcoat was shed, her skirts hiked, and firm hands drove her thighs apart.
She allowed it, let his hips push, allowed those strong fingers to tug at her bodice and teeth to nip at her skin.
Mouths clashed once more, and with a deep groan, she was urged back onto the hefty desk and smothered by his solid frame. It was uncomfortable, stretching her spine, legs dangling, papers rustling beneath her hair, and yet heady pleasure coursed as he bucked his hips, his heavy arousal hitting her just so.
An inkpot tumbled as he shoved and she cried out, and again as his lips found her chemise-covered breast and sucked, his fingers brushing and taunting.
“Tell me you want me just as I want you, Evelyn,” he growled, lifting. “No lies.”
She gazed at the man who loomed over her.
Casper’s short hair jutted at angles, a cherry hue stained his cheeks, eyes intent and lips parted with panted breaths. That solid throat swallowed and she yearned to feel its potency beneath her own nipping kiss. The neckcloth had been abandoned, his shirt laces now loose, and bronzed hair gleamed in the candlelight.
A duke undone.
His hips had stilled and yet a profound need filled her being.
“I want you also,” she whispered. “No lies.”
Whether it was a good idea was a different question and one that, for now, would remain unanswered, and to hell with worries and debt and the future.
“My beautiful swift,” he murmured against her skin, hands binding to her breasts, waist, hips…
Flinging an arm out,Casper heard a crash and didn’t give a damn.
This woman had demanded he immerse himself in colour and life and touch – all those things he now held beneath him. He relished her words, could not mistake the desire in her eyes as she lay here, hair splayed upon his desk like a fiery nimbus, chest heaving and lips moist.
Evelyn shifted and he groaned, felt the rub, had no idea of the best means to rut on a bloody desk, but he was soon to find out. He drew back and hauled her to sitting, mouths devouring, fingers clasping for skin, Evelyn’s hips demanding more.
Images flitted: her bare legs wrapped around his waist as he pounded into her, mouth at breast, nails scraping on his nape, hearing her cry of rapture, red hair trailing to the dark wood…
His fingers fell to the placket of his breeches to relea–
“Oooops!”
