“Then perhaps you should show me what letting go truly looks like, Your Grace.” She challenged, her voice steady despite the wild tempo of her heartbeat.
Her lips—still tinged with the ghost of his kiss—parted slightly, the memory lingering like an unspoken temptation.
Disobedience and rebellion burned beneath her composure, but desire, insistent and undeniable, threatened to take control.
Heath studied her, eyes gleaming with something both wicked and knowing. He was accepting the challenge—she could see it in the way his expression darkened, in the slow, deliberate shift of his posture.
“Shouldn’t you already know, Duchess?” he murmured, amusement curling through his words. “Considering the scenes in those many indulgent books you so enjoy?”
Blanche inhaled sharply, feeling the heat creep against her skin.
“Perhaps,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. And just for a moment—just the briefest second—it trembled.
“Perhaps words are not enough. Perhaps I need to show you what those encounters feel like.” Heath ventured, taking theinitiative. “Lie down,” he murmured, his voice smooth, a quiet command wrapped in silk and steel.
She did not move.
A slow smile spread across his lips as Heath closed the distance between them.
His hand skimmed the length of her arm, deliberate, slow, trailing heat through the fine silk of her sleeve before he reached her jaw, tilting it just enough for her breath to falter.
“When I give an order, Wildcat, Iexpectobedience.” And then, his lips met hers.
The first kiss was unhurried—a tease, a mere whisper of contact, yet it set fire to every nerve beneath her skin. The second was stronger, claiming, tasting, the faintest trace of brandy mingling with the warmth of him.
Blanche inhaled sharply, her fingers curling into the fabric on either side as Heath deepened the kiss, his confidence sending her pulse racing.
He pulled back just enough to speak, his voice rougher now against her mouth. “Lie down, Blanche.”
Her hesitation crumbled under the weight of want.
Slowly obeying his command, she lay down on the bed, a moan escaping her lips.
His fingers ran slowly over her, starting from her wrists and working their way up to her shoulders, pulling the fabric aside just a little to taste her.
A sigh left Blanche’s lips as she felt the Duke’s hot tongue run over her skin, as if savoring every freckle that outlined her torso.
In her thoughts, she used to imagine the protagonists of her books with their eyes closed at such moments, but hers remained open, fixed on every detail of his body.
She exhaled slowly—steadied herself—and then, her hands roamed Heath’s shoulders, her nails digging into the fabric, and as she imagined what it would feel like to be skin against skin.
Heath watched her, satisfaction flickering behind his gaze before he leaned over her once more, as he claimed her lips again—this time, without restraint.
His tongue curled around hers, and with one of his hands, he ran down Blanche’s breasts, contouring her figure in a way that made her feel hot from a new perspective.
Flashes of something unknown, barely hinted at, rumbled inside her body, lodging in her lower belly, and wetting her thighs, to the point where her legs involuntarily closed around Heath’s body.
She felt it—the quiet challenge, the unspoken battle, the way his hands framed her, careful yet possessing, his body radiating warmth as he lowered himself ever so slightly, just enough for her to feel him, just enough for anticipation to coil like a restless thing beneath her ribs.
His gaze lingered, knowing.
“Is this what it’s like in your books, Duchess?” he murmured, his voice edged with amusement, but not without curiosity.
Blanche inhaled, her heartbeat a wild, traitorous thing. “Yes,”she admitted, barely above a whisper.
His smirk deepened, slow—dangerously indulgent.
“If you want more, Duchess, you’ll have to ask me for it.”
