The Duke Meets His Match (The Infamous Somertons #3)(46)
“They wouldn’t dare enter.”
She nodded. His fingers deftly unbuttoned her gown and pushed back the silk. She slipped her arms through the sleeves, and the fabric slid down her body to pool at her feet. She stepped out of the fabric, and he unfastened her petticoat, and it followed the path of the gown. Large hands grasped her hips and spun her around to untie her stays. She turned to stand before him clad only in her shift and silk stockings, and was more enticing to him than any woman he’d ever laid eyes upon.
“Will you remove your shift?”
She swallowed, clearly nervous. But she was his Chloe, brave and daring. When her hands went to the straps of the thin garment, he thought he would burst with need. Slowly she raised the hem over her head and dropped it to the floor.
His eyes feasted on her creamy flesh. Her skin was soft, her breasts lush and full, her waist narrow, and her legs long and slim. “You’re so beautiful.”
He picked her up and sat her on the desk. The map crinkled beneath her, and he didn’t care. His thoughts were focused solely on her. On her slightly parted lips, the rise and fall of her chest, and the way her pupils slightly expanded when she grew aroused.
God, he wanted this woman.
Stepping closer, he nudged her legs apart with his thighs. He rolled down her stockings until her shapely legs were revealed to his hungry gaze. They were perfect, long and slightly muscled; he envisioned them wrapped around him as he thrust inside her hot, welcoming body.
Easy. She was a gift, and he needed to make this last, needed the memories for the long, sleepless nights ahead.
His hands skimmed her bare legs. “I’ve lain awake dreaming of kissing and licking you everywhere.”
“Everywhere?” she asked, her eyes focused on his face. Her pulse fluttered wildly at her neck.
“Here.” Lowering his head, his lips grazed hers. “And here,” he said, kissing a hot trail down the column of her slender throat. He lingered where her neck met her shoulder. “And your lovely breasts.” He heard her sharp intake of breath as he plumped one lush breast, licked and sucked her hardened nipple, then moved to the other. Her whimpers of pleasure urged him on, and a desire to taste her was so strong his knees nearly buckled. Laying her back on the desk, he greedily nipped and tasted, then his tongue dipped in her navel in a sensual swirl.
“And lower.” His palm cupped her sex and she gasped. He lowered to his knees and parted her silky thighs. Her womanly musk that spoke of her arousal made him grow even harder. Christ. If he didn’t taste her soon, he’d go mad. He lowered his head, blew gently on the blond curls.
She squirmed, her fingers grasping fistfuls his hair. “Michael?”
“Let me pleasure you.” He pressed a kiss to the top of the curls, then gently parted the delicate pink lips of her sex. Then she was bared before him, swollen and wet. Glistening in her feminine glory of arousal. For him. There was something feverishly arousing seeing her spread before him on his desk where he’d spent hours with his maps and his solitude and his memories of war. She was his fantasy, and he never need experience dread or fear or loneliness in this room again. His gaze greedily memorized every inch of her, and the stunningly erotic image burned in his mind and replaced all the others he wanted to forget.
He slid his hands beneath her bottom and raised her to him. With the tip of his tongue, he traced her swollen lips. “Michael!” she cried out.
He ran a finger down the wet slit and she shuddered. The scent of her arousal filled his senses and fueled his arousal. His tongue replaced his finger and the taste of her was like nothing he’d ever experienced. It filled his senses and drove him to the brink. He licked and laved and teased, and when she raised her hips, he gloried in her response.
Her soft moans drove him onward, and when his tongue traced the sensitive pearl at the crest of her sex, she arched high off the desk and into his mouth.
“Oh, my,” she whispered. “I never imagined.”
He raised his head to meet her gaze. “Let yourself go, love. Come for me.”
Her hands threaded in his hair, but this time, she held him against her. He tasted her wet heat as she surrendered completely to his strokes. He loved her soft moans, her uninhibited reaction. He wanted to hear her cry out his name as she found her release. He flicked his tongue where she craved it most, the tiny bud between her thighs that made her tremble and moan. He gave her no quarter, but reveled in the way she shivered and squirmed and gasped.
When her body grew taut in need of release, he slipped a finger inside her tight sheath and swirled his tongue over the sensitive nerves. She cried out, and he felt the tiny tremors of her climax on his finger. He was harder than he’d ever been, aching and heavy, desperate to free his cock and thrust himself deep inside her tightness.
But this was for her, for the singular woman she was. And for what she’d done for him. His heart squeezed with an emotion he dared not name. He may not be able to keep her…to hold onto her forever, but he’d have this memory.
Standing, he held her, kissed her forehead, her eyes, her lips. “To my dying day, I’ll never forget how lovely you are in your passion.”
Chapter Nineteen
Chloe had never imagined a man could make love to a woman the way Michael had pleasured her. It was glorious, marvelous. She should be ashamed to be naked in the middle of the day sprawled on a duke’s desk in his study. She should be ashamed, but shame was the last emotion she felt. What she’d shared with him wasn’t just physical, but something intense and emotional. Something rare and special.