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Her naivete made him even harder, his cock pressed against the cushion of her arse cheek feeling like the epicenter of his very being. What would he not give to thrust against her chemise-covered arse, just to feel the pleasure and relieve this tension.

Not to mention sinking into her…warm, tight, untouched by anyone…

Fully and completely his.

But he couldn’t. He had set this rule, no one else. How weak would he be if he’d break it?

“Something you shouldn’t bother yourself with,” he said.

“But—”

“Sleep, Duchess,” he murmured, one inch away from her ear, her silky hair tickling his lips. “If you want to come to my bed tomorrow, you will sleep now.”

It was the third night that he gave in.

Like always, she lay pressed with her back against his front, his hard cock nudged against the focus of all his desires—her arse. His arms were wrapped around her, the sweet scent of roses in his nostrils, her breathing calm.

Then, like a little fish, she flipped around and faced him.

Suddenly, her face was right against his.

His breath halted, his lungs unable to function. Her breasts were now thrust against his chest, her leg thrown over his hip.

“Turn around,” he commanded, his voice strangled and raspy.

“I…er…I wondered if it would be against your rules if I get to feel the same sort of…pleasure. Er…release…like when you spanked me. Do you always have to spank me for that?”

He ground his teeth, attempting to suppress a groan. God, give him strength not to throw himself on her. “No. Spanking is not required for…that.”

“Oh. It’s just…”

As she trailed off, he swallowed, his cock twitching.

She’d be his downfall, he knew it. An innocent, sweet creature like her was one thing that could completely destroy him. And she would never know.

“What?” he asked.

“I’m so restless… As wet as then…down there. And I want…”

His jaw clenched so hard he thought he’d break his own bones.

His hand was already moving up the curve of her hip of its own accord. “What do you want, sweet girl?”

Her hand tangled in his hair. “Why do you have this bit of white hair? You can’t be that old…not older than John would have been, surely?”

He swallowed hard and shut his eyes tightly. “My life has not been easy. I am not in command of the color of my hair. That’s the only explanation I can give you.”

He opened his eyes and glared straight into hers.

But her hands were soft caresses in his hair, and he couldn’t help but melt into her.

His hand was already moving down her stomach, and she hitched her breath, tilting her head backwards, her eyes in a sweet agony on him.

“Is this what you want?” he asked.

He should stop. This was torture. This was taking him in a direction he had vowed to avoid.

“Yes,” she said, her hips moving in a wave towards him. “Yes.”