Page 39 of Stolen By the Duke of Stone

“And what if I wasn’t here, and Lorthey were to act against you now?” he murmured, his other hand moving to her waist.

Perhaps she should not, but she felt a flash of desire move through her, hot and sudden. “What if he were to raise his hand against you for talking back to him? What would you do then? Would you be able to defend yourself?” His fingers tightened, not to the point of pain, but enough that she could feel their strength. “And I will not always be around to protect you.”

She searched his face, her skin oddly heated. His fingers were a brand on her chin; their heat sank through the fabric at her waist. His hands on her… she felt as though she could never have enough.

Her breath came too fast. With every thump, her heart demanded that she take advantage of Andrew’s proximity. The sharpness of his blue eyes had dissolved into heat. Not of anger this time, but something different.

“Does it bother you to think that something might happen to me?” she whispered.

“You are my wife.” He stepped closer, his body almost pressing against hers. That almost made her ache with frustration. His thumb slipped against her skin, and she shivered in anticipation. “The thought of any harm ever coming to you bothers me, and particularly when it’s because of your unruly tongue.”

“I thought you liked my unruly tongue.” The words slipped out entirely without intention.

For a second, his face blanked, and then he looked down at her mouth. His gaze focused, such intensity there that she couldn’t breathe.

“This mouth,” he said, sliding his thumb up to catch on her bottom lip. “This mouth is constantly begging for trouble, and I am more than happy to give it to you.”

There was an ache between her legs, and she caught hold of his wrist again. “Then do so.”

He let out something—a groan, perhaps, or a curse—and brought his mouth down on hers in a searing kiss.

Jessamine felt as though she floated in a bliss of her own making. Finally, finally he was kissing her, her back against the rough trunk of the tree, his hands sliding up her waist.

Such big hands, splayed across her ribs, his fingers almost reaching the underside of her breasts. There, his hands halted, although she wished he would move them just a little further up.

Her nipples tightened. Her entire world narrowed to Andrew and the pressure of his mouth, and the hot, sensual slide of his tongue. He kissed her as though there would be no tomorrow, as though he were a dying man and she were his very last breath.

She drowned in him.

Ever since their last kiss, she had been imagining what it would be like for him to kiss her again, and now she knew. It was like magic, like lightning in her veins and fire in her heart. Heat sank through her to gather, liquid, at her core.

More. She would always need more, always be greedy for it. When the hand on her chin moved to her neck, clasping gently, she arched her back, encouraging him to take what he wanted. Her body knew more than her brain; it knew, here, that friction would ease a little of this need within her.

He huffed a sharp breath and pressed himself more firmly against her, positioning them so his thigh slid between her legs.

Oh, sweet relief.

Jessamine cared for nothing except the sudden burst of unexpected pleasure from his leg against the apex of her thighs.

Heavens, there was nothing so sweet, nothing so heady, as this.

“Jessamine,” he moaned, and his hand finally made its way to her breast.

His palm skimmed her nipples, the sensitive flesh spiraling more heat through her.

Nothing had ever felt so good in her entire life. With every drugging pull of his kiss, she slid further under, lost to the world.

A man’s laugh, harsh and altogether too close, cut through her haze. She jerked back; her head would have slammed against the tree had Andrew not used his hand to cushion it just in time.

Reality crashed down on her.

The man was nowhere to be seen, but he would be soon.

And she had been disgracing herself with Andrew in a public place.

The very indecency of the act, the way she had been rubbing herself wantonly against him, made her flush all over. Shame had her wiggling out from against him.

He braced himself against the tree, head lowering as though he were catching his breath. She watched the rise and fall of his shoulders.