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It didn’t make any sense—not when she hadn’t known him long—yet every touch had only made her more certain. He’d given her many things she’d been missing in her life and now he was giving her another—something she’d never thought she’d want.
And, despite the fact that he’d seemed so angry when he’d come into the library earlier, he wasn’t taking that anger out on her. He wasn’t taking from her at all.
He was giving to her. Giving heat and a shivery desperation. A delicious need. Pleasure to chase away the cold and the dark, the fear and the loneliness. So much pleasure...
She wanted more of it.
She tried to pull her hands away from his restraining hold, but his grip only firmed as his glittering green eyes scanned her from head to foot.
‘Are you okay?’
His voice was a soft, roughened caress, whispering over her skin like velvet.
‘Did you like that?’
‘Yes. Very much.’ She didn’t sound much better herself. ‘But I want you. I want to touch you.’
There was no hiding it so she didn’t bother.
He swept his free hand down the length of her body in a long stroke that soothed her at the same time as it excited her.
‘There will be time for that. But first, you’re wearing far too many clothes.’
With practiced, careful hands he stripped the rest of the clothing from her body, finally baring her.
She’d thought she might feel terribly vulnerable and exposed, being naked in front of a man. Being naked in front of anyone, really. But she didn’t feel either of those things. Only strangely powerful as he pulled the fabric away from her and she saw the look on his face became hungrier, sharper, as if the sight of her was something he’d been waiting lifetimes for.
And when she was finally naked, lying back on the rug, he knelt over her, his gaze roaming all over her body, and she felt for the first time in her life as if maybe there was something worthwhile about her after all.
What it was, she didn’t know. But it was certainly something that had this powerful duke looking at her as if she was the Holy Grail itself.
He ran his fingertips lightly all over her, inciting her, watching her face as he did so, gauging her every response as if there was nothing more important in the world than discovering which touches made her shiver and which made her moan. Which ones made her pant his name.
She’d long since lost any shyness by the time he pushed apart her legs, brushing his mouth over her trembling stomach before moving further down. And then all she could do was thread her fingers in his hair as he put that clever mouth of his between her thighs.
Pleasure exploded through her as he began to explore, his fingers delicately parting her wet flesh while his tongue licked and caressed, driving her higher and higher. Making her cry out as the most delicious ecstasy threaded through her.
She’d never thought this feeling would be hers. Never thought that sex could be something so intense, so incredible, that it would feel so good. She’d never thought it would make her feel treasured and desired rather than dirty and worthless, but with every flick of his tongue and stroke of his hand that was what he made her feel.
She pulled on his hair, crying his name as he pushed his tongue inside her and she shattered for a second time, her climax so all-consuming that all she could do was lie there with her eyes closed as it washed over her, feeling him stroke her gently as he moved away.
Then there came the rustle of clothing and the sound of a zip being drawn down, the crinkle of foil. And then the brush of hot skin on hers, setting every nerve-ending to aching life once again.
She opened her eyes.
The duke was kneeling between her spread thighs, tall, powerful and extremely naked. And somehow he seemed even more intimidating without his clothes on, because all that lazy amusement, the studied air of ennui, had vanished completely as if it had never been.
It was a smokescreen, she realised. A distraction. A disguise hiding the true nature of the man beneath it.
She’d imagined him as a panther, lazily sunning himself on a branch, and he was that. But a panther was a predator—and that was what she was looking at now, not the lazy cat.
He was all velvet tanned skin drawn over sharply defined muscle, broad and powerful and strong. A work of art. A Greek statue come to life. As hard as the bronze from which he’d been fashioned yet not cold, but hot. Heated metal and oiled silk.
And his beautiful face was drawn tight with hunger and intent. His eyes had narrowed; hot emerald was glittering from between silky black lashes. The panther ready to pounce. The predator ready to feast.
A delicious shiver chased over her body and she allowed herself to look down to where he was hot and hard and ready for her. She’d never thought that could be beautiful as well, but it was. She pushed herself up on one hand and reached to touch him, and he made no move to stop her, letting her fingers brush along the velvet-smooth skin of his shaft.
She looked up at his face as she did it, wanting to see what effect her touch had on him, and was thrilled to see a muscle jump in the side of his impressive jaw.
