Page 26 of A Tale of Two Dukes

I shake my head, unable to trust my lips to keep silent. I grit my teeth, demanding my tongue to keep its secret. I can’t tell him. Not yet. Not while I’m still shaking off the dredges of sleep. Perhaps tomorrow, when things are much clearer and I have my head firmly affixed upon my shoulders.

He chooses not to pry, and instead clutches me closer, rolling us over until I’m resting upon his body. The warmth that exudes from his very pores washes over me, casting out the remaining chill that clings to me like a second skin.

His purr is deep, rich, and melodious as he holds me close, running his hands down my back. “Do you have these nightmares often?”

“No, Your Grace,” I answer truthfully.

“It must be all this upheaval then.” He cups his hand to the back of my head and holds me against his chest.

The purr vibrates through me, making me boneless, languid, liquid almost as I sprawl about his large frame. My legs shift, parting as they drop on either side of his body. The stretch forces a groan from my lips, but I can’t bring myself to care.

In fact, that bite of discomfort does something odd. It sends tingles through me, settling lower in my body. It’s not as intense as when the duke was using me as his pleasurable wanton, but it’s so reminiscent that everything clenches up, craving more of his touch.

Soft moans drift from my mouth, nearly buried by the wall of flesh under my lips. But the duke hears it. Of course, he hears it. With a soft chuckle, he wraps his arms around me and turns us again until he looms above, his green eyes twinkling with mischief.

“I smell your arousal, little kitten,” he groans, running his nose along the column of my neck. “Want me again so soon? Such a good little dove spreading yourself open for me.”

He slides down my body, allowing his member to graze across me. Groaning, he grips himself, his fingers gliding across my delicate skin as he runs them up and down his thick shaft. “Bloody hell, but I hunger for you as well, my delectable omega.”

My mind blanks as the blunt tip prods at my entrance. White-hot pleasure zips through me as he surges forward, filling me up in one stroke. There’s no pain this time. Only the slightest hint of discomfort reminds me I was an innocent until this very night.

However, it’s impossible to think as the friction deep inside blossoms, driving away all rational thought. Beneath his straining body, nothing else exists. There’s no shame, no threats upon my life, nothing but him, me, and this primal act.

If nothing else, this is really why I cannot go home. The duke quiets the screaming in my mind. He drives away the demons that threaten to rip me apart. With him, I can simply be a girl receiving the physical gift of his love, and nothing more.

Soon, his fingers move between us again, grazing that bundle of nerves that never ceases to bring immense pleasure. Gasps and sighs hang heavy in the air, the only sounds besides the masculine grunts dripping from the duke’s perfect lips.

There’s no talking, no wondering, no worrying. In truth, there’s no time or ability when confronted with pleasure of this magnitude. All I can do is lie there as he pours out his affections onto me, showing me his ardor with his touch.

His lips as they graze my body and nip at my skin tell me his pleasure far more succinctly than any words that might spill from his mouth. In this moment, time doesn’t exist. It’s merely a man pleasuring his woman as he drives the last vestiges of terror from her mind.

Memories and thoughts of that monster cannot remain when Birchleigh scatters any and every image on the wind, breaking me apart one stroke at a time. He takes me gently, far more tenderly than I expected. And though I’m grateful for every touch, every slide of his member inside me, I find that I miss the rough way he took me in the club.

Blinking up at him, I note the way his gaze roams about my face, as if trying to understand what it is I'm thinking. I want to tell him. I want to beg him to ravage me, to make me forget every trouble and worry that tries to worm its way in, disrupting this erotic moment between us.

But my lips don’t move. I cannot ask him for the one thing I know only he can provide. For all that he’s taken away my innocence, I still cannot bring myself to that point.

His brows furrow as he eases out of me, discomfort evident in the pained look on his face. I, too, know such agony as he leaves my body screaming, wanting. “Where are you?”

Confused, I match his frown with one of my own. “I’m here, Your Grace, beneath you.”

With a smirk, his countenance lightens a touch. “Silly girl,” he murmurs, nipping at my earlobe. “I know you’re underneath me. I’m touching your body, reveling in your quim as it flutters around my cock.” Pausing, he rests his index finger against my forehead. “But you, your mind, is not here with me. Where are you?”

My face heats as I turn away. “I- That is- I-”

Birchleigh cups my chin and turns my face back toward him. “You are my mistress now, love. You can tell me anything.”

His eyes stare down at me, so full of some nameless emotion that it takes my breath away. My heart squeezes as I mull over his words. Is it truly safe? He will not ridicule me or think me unseemly?

Again, I blink up at him, the words sticking in my throat. “P- please.”

“Please what? I do so love it when my women beg; however, I cannot deliver unless I know what it is you're asking for.”

“Help me. Help me forget. I- I need you.” Hysteria wells up in my chest, tightening me until it’s difficult to breathe.

“Shhhh, love. I hear you.” He rests his palm against my breastbone, his deep even breaths calming me.

We lie there for several moments as he breathes with me, guiding me with each inhale and exhale until my breaths come in deep, even respirations. Pleased, he pulls back and studies me, his eyes touching over every part. I feel it as keenly as if it’s his fingers brushing against my skin.