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He pressed on his aching cock tenting the placket of his trousers. “We’re very amenable, Miss Dawson.”

She chuckled, and the low, husky sound wrapped around his length and squeezed. This woman had him wanting to throw away all his conditions. But he couldn’t risk it. Couldn’t allow himself to be that vulnerable with someone.

“Let’s make our way to my bedroom, and I’ll show you.”

She walked over to her kitchen and began washing up. His gaze homed in on her arse. Similar to her breasts, small, the curve of her hip down to her thigh giving it a slight heart shape. Her lines were a thing of beauty. He wanted to trace every single one.

With his tongue.

He prayed she’d allow him to bind her. Because it was becoming very apparent to Rafe that if he didn’t have her, it’d haunt him for the rest of his life. He was haunted by enough demons already. He didn’t want to add that one to the list.

She grabbed something off one of her shelves and walked toward the back hall. She paused just before it. “Don’t take too long, Your Grace. I won’t hesitate to start without you.”

His heart kicked against his sternum. Bloody hell. He slowly stood and divested himself of his trousers and stockings with trembling hands. His whole body shook with want. He wanted her so bloody badly, and he didn’t even understand why. Because she was a challenge? Because she was all fire? Because he didn’t feel like a duke with her?

It wasn’t often—no—it wasn’t ever that Rafe had to pursue women. They tended to show up wherever he was…already well on their way to naked. And not one had ever blinked twice at his requirement. It was well known among the ladies of the ton and the wenches at his gentleman’s club. It was…a part of his draw. It made him a curiosity.

Most thought it was because he had some sort of proclivity, a dominant tendency. He made his way toward the back hall. It wasn’t. He gladly played into that fantasy because it seemed to be what women wanted from him, and it hid the truth. It had nothing to do with making his partner feel helpless, and everything to do with making sure he didn’t.

Being in the throes of passion was when one was at their most vulnerable. It was impossible to protect oneself at a time like that. So, when it came to sexual intimacies…Rafe had thought he’d never be comfortable enough to partake. Not after what he’d been through.

His scar burned, memory after memory fighting to surface. He ground his teeth. He refused to let them.

He’d come a long fucking way. And so much of it was thanks to Derek. Derek didn’t know the specifics, but he knew enough. He’d been there in the beginning, when Rafe had tried and failed to bed women. Until they’d figured out a solution—the two solutions. If the women were bound, Rafe’s panic didn’t surface. Or…if Derek was there too. The only time Rafe ever bedded a woman without her bound was when Derek joined him. Because Rafe trusted Derek with his life. That kind of trust was so rare for him that it was nearly non-existent. Derek and his grandmother were the only ones who had that privilege. Not even Rupert, as close as they were, held that level of trust.

Rafe stared down the dark hall. A flickering shadow danced in the room at the end of the hall. Where Miss Dawson was waiting. Where her idea was waiting.

He drew in a slow, measured breath. Then released it. Released the demons of his past. Right now, he wanted to be fully in the present.

He ambled into her room, and the moment his attention fell on her, the lingering memories dissipated like smoke.

A cheeky smile graced her lips, brown eyes glowing. She’d undone her hair, and it tumbled in waves behind her. She was sitting on the edge of her mattress, leaning back on her palms—which did the loveliest things to her breasts. He groaned. Her legs were pressed tight together, hiding the heart of her from him. But the languid way she held herself, and the soft mischief in her eyes, made it clear it had nothing to do with modesty.

Her gaze swept over him, and she snagged her bottom lip with her teeth. Her appreciation was heady. His cock, now on its way back to hard, agreed.

“Sit,” she murmured. She gestured toward the armchair directly across from her. The one blatantly moved to the center of the room.

He lowered himself into the chair, skin prickling with anticipation. He loved that she provided him with orders with the complete confidence he’d obey.

“So…” Her eyes danced. “I won’t let you tie me up, and I won’t take you up on your extremely gracious offer.”

His lips twitched as he fought hard against a smile. He let out what he hoped was a bored hum of acknowledgment.

She ever-so-slowly spread open her thighs, and his lungs faltered. “I can’t deny you’re magnificent to look at, Your Grace,” she said huskily. “We might not be able to touch each other today.” One of her hands slid slowly up her stomach, over each rib, until settling to slowly trace the curve of her right breast. Back and forth. Back and forth.

She cupped her breast, and their sharp inhales filled the chamber.

“But I can touch myself.”

He swallowed hard, hands fisting the arms of the chair.

“And you, yourself.”

She gestured toward his lap where his cock was making it very obvious how it felt about the suggestion.

“Show me what you like, Duke.” Her thumb flicked over her nipple, and she shuddered. “Give me fodder for my fantasies.”

Fuck.