Page 55 of The Duchess He Couldn’t Resist

“You have no idea what you are doing to me, Marigold,” he growled, head deep in the pillow.

“Tell me what to do,” Marigold asked timidly. “I want to make you feel good. Like you make me feel.”

His eyes snapped to hers. His jaw tensed, and his hunger flared inside him.

“You don’t have to.”

“I know,” she said, her hands roaming. “I want to.”

Marigold reached the waistband of his breeches. He seemed to hesitate, but then he lifted his hips and pulled the fabric down his thighs and off. Marigold gasped to see him naked on the bed, unraveled in all his glory, hers to touch.

When her eyes had feasted enough, she focused on him. Her cheeks flushed and burned to see his hardness, long and thick, blue veins mapping the length.

“You can touch me, Marigold,” he moaned, as if her look was tangible.

She didn’t allow herself to hesitate, and her hand wrapped around him. He hissed and held his breath, eyes rolling.

“You feel so good,” he moaned. “Tighter, sweetheart.”

Marigold tightened her grip, and he inhaled sharply. Awkwardness was toppled by power as she felt him melt under her touch, inexperienced and timid as it was.

“For goodness’s sake,” he demanded needily, “move your hand.”

Her hand moved up and down the hard shaft, and she watched him moan and lose his composure.

“This is it,” he groaned. “You are doing so well.”

Marigold kept that rhythm, her breathing shallow, somehow her need flickering just by seeing him come undone under her touch. It was mesmerizing to watch him twitch and tense with each move.

“Oh, that is so good,” he breathed, throwing his head back, further into the pillows.

Her mouth watered at that sight, finding him irresistible. Her tongue darted to wet her dry lips, feeling a need that was overwhelming. She decided to succumb to that need and leaned in closer. Slowly, almost nervously, she darted her tongue out and licked the top of his shaft.

“Oh, God!” A guttural sound ripped from his throat, echoing through the room.

He looked down at her, only to find her looking at him, cheeks flared.

“Is this good?” she asked.

“Yes,” he chuckled, muscles tensing. “This is very…”

She dared more, and his focus was shattered. There was something intoxicating about seeing the always composed Duke unravel because of her, and she couldn’t bring herself to stop even if she didn’t know what she was doing.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he cried out openly, his fingers tangling in her hair, “you take me so well.”

That was all the encouragement she needed to keep going. His hand moved to the back of her head, not pushing, just tangling his fingers in her hair more.

“Look at me!”

She obeyed, drawn by his desperate tone, her lips barely grazing his sensitive skin, but her hand never stopped moving. His hips bucked against her.

“Don’t stop!” he said in that deep voice of his, but Marigold heard the begging underneath.

“Tell me what you need,” she asked, eager to please him.

“Are you sure, sweetheart?” He found it in him to stop.

“I want to please you.”