The Duke of Defiance (The Untouchables #5)(65)

Talking to her was like trying to sail in a hurricane. You could try, but you’d be much the worse for wear—if you made it through. “Get out.”

She opened her mouth, but he cut her off. “Now. Before I ask Bucket to escort you.” His lip curled, and for the first time, she shrank back.

Pursing her lips again, she spun around and stalked out.

Anger and frustration and deep-seated resentment boiled to the surface. He tossed the letter onto the settee and began to tear his clothes off. One by one, each piece landed in a heap on the floor until he stood in his smallclothes. He managed to stop before he’d completely stripped.

“Bran?”

Jo’s familiar voice cut through the haze of disorientation and lingering rage. He spun toward her and closed the distance between them, tugging her into the room and then slamming the door shut.

“What did your sister call me yesterday?”

She blanched. “The Duke of Defiance.”

“Why?” It was a question but he ground it out through his clenched teeth like a demand.

“She was trying to defuse the situation. People were gossiping about Evie riding in the park and you being rude to Talbot. Then your mother jumped in and told everyone you’d always been defiant. As you can imagine, that didn’t really improve things. Nora sought to make you sound dashing and…desirable?”

He would maybe laugh at that absurd progression if it hadn’t been about him. If it hadn’t been about the one thing he despised being called. Because it was true, and he was powerless to stop it.

“Yes, I was difficult and defiant. Have you any idea how hard I tried not to be? How worthless I felt because I couldn’t seem to help myself? All my problems were beyond my control. I wanted to be a good, dutiful son, but I just couldn’t.”

Her eyes were wide as she listened. Then her gaze roved over him. “You’re practically naked.”

He said nothing, just glowered at her. But she didn’t flinch. Instead, she came toward him. “What can I do?”

It was a curious thing, that as a general rule he didn’t like to be touched, and yet Hudson’s daily massage ensured that he didn’t get too overwhelmed. He did, however, like to be touched by Jo. “Come here.” He held out his hand. “Massage makes me feel better.”

She took his hand between hers. “What do I do?”

“Apply a bit of pressure. Like this.” He demonstrated on her hand. “But a little more firmly, if you can.”

She started along his fingers and worked up his hand to his wrist.

“Press here.” He showed her the spot on the underside, and she followed his direction. “Now up to the elbow. And press here.” He showed her that spot as well. She worked slowly and methodically. “The shoulder. It’s better if I sit.”

He went to the settee and sat down. “Come stand here.” He gestured for her to move between his legs. “Put your palms on my shoulders and press down, then work your fingers in as hard as you can.”

She pushed on him. “Like that?” He nodded, and she did it several more times before digging her fingers into his muscles. She massaged him for several minutes. He closed his eyes and immersed himself in the calming sensations.

Gradually, he became aware that his cock was hard as stone. At about that same moment, he heard a click. He opened his eyes and saw her walking back from the door. She’d locked it.

He closed his eyes again, wanting to lose himself once more in her touch. She massaged his other elbow and wrist, finishing with his hand. Then he felt her lips on his ear, her tongue tracing along the edge down to the lobe, where she suckled his flesh.

He inhaled sharply. Her mouth continued a path along his throat, then down to his collarbone. He felt her hand brush his thigh. Then her fingers stroked his cock through his undergarment. He pushed forward, seeking more of her touch.

She pulled at the waistband, and he lifted up so that she could pull his smallclothes down his hips and strip them away. He opened his eyes and saw that she was lifting her skirts. With one hand, she pushed him back against the settee. She put one knee next to his thigh and straddled him, setting her other knee on the opposite side.

Her eyes held his as she reached between them and stroked his length, pulling along his flesh—up and down and back again. Need gathered in his belly, his balls, everywhere. He arched into her hand, seeking more.

She lowered herself, and his tip found her wet heat. She guided him inside, slowly, torturously. Impatient, he thrust up, impaling her.

She sucked in a breath and clutched his shoulders, applying as much pressure as she had moments ago. But this was so much better.

Wiggling her backside, she settled on him, taking him as deep as he could go. Her lips took his in a searing kiss as she began to move. He gripped her hips and helped guide her up and down, sheathing and unsheathing his greedy cock.

She dug her fingers into his shoulders and tore her mouth from his. “Let me.” She took his hands from her and pushed them up next to his shoulders. Staring into his eyes, she lifted herself almost completely off him before sliding back down. She did this several times, increasing her speed incrementally.

He feared he would die from the anticipation. The pleasure building inside him was a blessed torture. She brought him to the edge time and again before flinging him back from completion.

Then something shifted, and she gasped. Still, she kept her gaze locked with his, though her eyes narrowed. She began to move faster, her thighs slapping against his as she rode him fast and hard.