AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I won’t perform.”
“Are you afraid you’ll beg me for another kiss?”
“Don’t be ridiculous! I can certainly control myself.”
“Then what’s the danger?”
“No danger. A kiss is just a kiss. I’ve had kisses before.”
“You have?”
“In books. My favorite author, Miss Villeneuve, always includes plenty of kisses.”
“This will be different. You won’t be able to shut the book and go about your business. This kiss, my kiss, will be an awakening.”
“You truly are the most maddeningly arrogant rogue in London. I have to kiss you now, don’t I,if only to prove to you that not every woman succumbs to your charm.”
“It’s your moral imperative. For womankind.”
He was goading her on, possibly even laughing at her. But what they were talking about was a kiss. And she’d thought about kissing him so many times before. This was her opportunity to put her wild imaginings to the test. Surely his kiss couldn’t possibly live up to her dreams.
She closed her eyes. “Kiss me, Your Grace. And be swift about it.”
A low laugh. Heat from his body as he drew closer. His enormous hands cupping her face. Fingers against her throat. A finger sliding over her lower lip.
“You have such lush lips,” he murmured. “I’ve thought about kissing them. Tasting them.”
“You have?”
“Many, many times.”
A soft sigh of contentment. Hers. An admission that she’d thought about the same thing and she wished he’d get on with making it a reality. But he prolonged the moment, driving her nearly mad with anticipation.
With both of his hands wrapped around the back of her neck, he used his thumbs to tilt her chin up. She felt so small inside his grip. The light pressure of his fingers against her throat, the way he positioned her to his liking... it was all thrilling and new.
Her nipples hardened into peaks against the thin muslin of her gown. If she moved slightly forward they would brush against his chest . . .ah, there, that felt good. She wanted to press against him, but stopped herself.
Just a kiss.Onekiss, she reminded herself.
Finally, he kissed her. It wasn’t a mere peck upon the lips. This was something entirely different. A slow, sensuous exploration that demanded a passionate response.
A kiss was rather like a sonata. There was an exposition, wherein the duke stated his purpose: namely, to drive her insane with desire. And then there was a development, wherein she responded passionately, opening her lips to his exploration, moaning softly as his tongue stroked inside her mouth, awakening the most delightful sensations. An interlude of gathering tension, increasing tempo... followed by a recapitulation, wherein the duke repeated the elements of the exposition, kissing her with soft, lingering strokes, until it was as though she’d been looking at separate elements of a landscape, a hill, a tree, a sky, and now... now she’d reached the summit and could see the entirety and grandeur of the scene.
His hands migrated to her waist, clasping her tightly, triggering a melting sensation, a lovely ache of awareness inside her body, and inside her heart.
He slid the yellow cashmere shawl she wore down from her shoulders and it pooled on the carpet.
One of his hands moved higher, his thumb brushing over her nipple.
He set the tempo, teaching her the way of it,the melody of it, the lilt and sway, lips teasing, nibbling, and then tongue sliding inside, smooth and legato.
Her body reacted with a trill of grace notes up her spine, her heart beating the percussion, accompanied by a rush of heat inside her belly, and a pulse between her thighs.
She was actually kissing Westbury. Not some fictional duke she’d conjured in her mind. West. The one in her arms, the one she was learning, firm lips and questing hands.
She wasn’t submitting to him, she was studying his hedonistic language, the language of tongues, sighs, and moans... taking the simple, ageless theme he taught her and embellishing it into endless variations.
He moved his lips away from hers, kissing the hollow of her neck, his touch like the brush of fingers on piano keys.
