Page 69 of The Devilish Pleasures of a Duke

“You feel like cream, Emma,” he said, his face intense. “I’d like to taste you—”

She was dying, lost, desperate. So desperate. “Don’t say—”

“I’d like to rub my face in you. All that cream.”

Her hips bucked. She spread her legs shamelessly, riding his knuckles when what she really wanted, needed, was his thick member inside her, assuaging her hunger. “I can’t—”

“May I have a lick, please?”

“—breathe. I can’t think or breathe.”

He withdrew his hand, waited a heartbeat before plunging his fingers back inside her snug passage. Her back stiffened; her quim gripped him so tightly that he groaned, then worked her faster. Her sensitive muscles shivered.

“That’s it, love,” he whispered, low and wicked. “That’s how a proper lady shows her lord what she wants.”

She sobbed as her body convulsed. Then, as if the pleasure, the relief, did not completely undo her, he bent his head without warning and burrowed his face between her thighs. Warmth burst through her veins as his tongue replaced his fingers and thrust into her swollen folds.

A proper lady.

Oh, yes. Yes. She was squeezing his shoulders with her legs, hugging his hard body. And he seemed to like it, even when she undulated against his mouth. He made a growling sound, and his big hands clasped the cheeks of her bottom to draw her closer.

The pulsations were still echoing all over her body when he pulled himself off her. He slid off the bed, his face carnal and beautiful in the grainy shadows. He stood studying her bare form, undressed with hurried grace as if he guessed how she ached to behold his nude body. Indeed, Emma could not take her eyes from him.

Lustful, that’s what she was. As badly behaved as Hermia pursuing male aristocrats to sketch for art. But Adrian was a masterpiece of nature. His bare chest might have been sculpted from marble, the striated muscle and faint scars bearing witness to strength tested.

In fact, she was so impressed by what she beheld that her appreciative gaze drifted downward over his hard belly to the heavy organ that stood like polished steel between his thighs. A sigh of unadulterated desire escaped her. He was a man to make any woman weep.

She closed her eyes to mask her thoughts. And heard him laugh as he lowered his beautiful body to the bed. “It’s all right to look at me, you know,” he said, walking his fingers across her breasts, giving each nipple a pinch before he parted her juicy pink folds.

“I want to look at you,” she whispered. “You’re ever so lovely.”

“You’re better than cream and cherries, yourself. You liked what I did, didn’t you?”

She writhed against his gentle stroking, still unbearably sensitive. “I would think my present position speaks for itself.”

He slipped his free hand under her bottom and moved her onto her side. “Then let’s try another position.”

He lifted his hand from the throbbing flesh he had recently stimulated, inhaling deeply. And then, as if she were a delicacy, he licked the essence of her from his fingers. She was too shocked, too aroused to react. She had never—the satiny knob of his penis pressed between the cheeks of her bottom and slowly penetrated her cleft. The sensation, the silken pleasure of his huge shaft as it pressed toward her feminine core, stole her breath.

She arched her shoulders in anticipation. He brought his large hand up to her breasts and tugged her tender nipples between his glistening fingers.

“Now,” he whispered, biting the back of her neck, “I want you to forget everything you know about being a lady.”

He chuckled at her outraged gasp, but a moment later, after she’d wound up on her stomach, he was too engrossed in sinking his cock inside her to even think, let alone speak. The damp walls of her sheath squeezed him in welcome. He drew a breath between his teeth and teased the head of his erection into her passage. With every inch of him she drew inside, he could feel her flesh resist, then moistly stretch, making a home for his pulsing shaft.

He felt the shiver that quivered down her spine. And sent him over the edge. His proper Emma had the graceful back, the sexual allure, and shapely arse of a courtesan. His. He was almost all the way inside her. His teeth ached.

His alone.

He lifted his arms above his head, releasing a soft growl of sexual possession, and surged. She bucked, groaning into her pillow, and lifted herself onto her knees.

He turned his head, afraid that if he watched her delicious body taking him inside her he would spill his seed upon her thigh.

“Does it hurt?” he whispered in a raw voice, not certain he could stop at this point, anyway.

She gave a small shake of her head. “Only a little.”

He thrust. She arched her pelvis and rotated her hips with exquisite slowness, gloving him to the hilt. He withdrew, struggling for breath. His spine flexed, he pumped into her, harder now. A little faster until his cock felt ready to burst in its skin. She moaned softly; her body tautened, and he kept telling himself she was no virgin, but a woman experienced. A woman who had not made love in years; yet she’d aroused him to the point he could not even speak.