My Once and Future Duke (The Wagers of Sin #1)(44)

In fits and starts she shoved and yanked at his clothes. His jacket hit the floor and then his cravat. He pressed her back into the cushions, his lips murmuring over the swells of her breasts as he stripped off his waistcoat. Frantic to feel his skin against hers, she twisted her arms behind her, trying to reach the remaining buttons of her dress.

His breath puffed in a faint laugh on her throat. “Leave it,” he whispered, untying the string that held her chemise closed.

“Take off your shirt,” she gasped, and he obligingly whipped it over his head.

She spread her hands on his bare chest, almost whimpering with want. God, he was perfect, lean and firm and so hot against her palms. He growled some indistinct encouragement as he tugged the chemise aside and licked her nipple.

“Oh—-!” She lurched upward, gripping his arms. His muscles bunched and flexed, and then his hand was on her knee, sliding upward.

“I wanted you the moment I saw you,” he whispered, his fingers pausing to tug at her garter. Sophie jerked in disbelief. His expression was fierce, his eyes burning. “I want to make love to you, Sophie, so badly I can hardly bear it.”

His heart was hammering; she could feel it beneath her palms. Her blood was running just as hot, and she looked him right in the eyes and said, “Yes. Yes.”

The rakish grin flashed across his face for a moment, and then his hand reached the top of her thigh. His fingers brushed the curls between her legs, and she spread her knees wider. She stared at him, her eyes wide with pleading.

He swore under his breath, then tossed up her skirt as he dragged her to the edge of the sofa. She sprawled wantonly, one foot on the floor, her other propped on the back of the sofa, the duke on his knees between her thighs. He pressed her back again, his big hand cupping her cheek before sliding possessively down her chest, pausing to fondle her breast, then spreading wide across her belly. His eyes were stormy gray as he touched her again, his fingers bold and unhurried, making her writhe and gasp.

Ware’s touch seemed electric; she was sure her hair would be standing on end if she weren’t tossing her head back and forth, her breath rasping in her throat as he stroked her and bent over her, his mouth on her breast. She flung her arms wide, gripping the cushions, trying to anchor herself as she felt the climax building inside her.

“The way you look,” said the duke, his voice guttural. “It could make me come, just looking at you.” She pried open her eyes to see him looming over her as he shoved down his trousers with one hand. Sophie caught her breath—-he pressed her thighs wider apart as he knelt one knee on the sofa—-and when he thrust deep inside her on one hard slide, it pushed her over the brink. She came with a broken cry, her body spasming hard.

“Christ,” said the duke hoarsely, his fingers digging into her hip to hold her tight against him. He withdrew a little, then thrust home hard, eliciting another tremor in her body. “Can you do it again?”

“What?” She could hardly speak; her hair was in her face, and she felt drunk as she gazed at him, above her, inside her, around her.

“Again,” he said, his voice taut, and he slid one hand back beneath her bunched--up skirts.

“I—-I don’t . . .” Her voice choked off as he stroked her. Every muscle in her body twitched, and she gave a high--pitched whimper.

“If timed just right, some women can climax again almost immediately.” He pulled back then pressed deep again.

“I don’t know,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “Try . . .”

He bared his teeth in a feral grin and increased his pace. Sophie wasn’t sure she would survive. He was so big and strong, so hard and thick inside her. Her stomach was twisted into a hard knot, and she could hardly breathe. She gripped his arm, braced beside her head, and found his muscle as hard as iron, his skin slick with sweat.

And incredibly, the wave of pleasure rose inside her, faster this time, not quite as intense but still hard enough to catch her off guard. She heard herself sobbing even as her body rose to meet his thrusts, harder and faster than ever until he bore down and went suddenly still. His grip on her hip was painful for a moment. His breath hissed and his head dropped, and she felt his climax deep inside her.

“Your Grace,” was all she could gasp.

A laugh rumbled in his chest. He kissed her, his lips lingering a moment on hers. “I think you ought to call me Jack now.”

Her smile felt silly and insanely happy. “Jack.”

“Sophie.” He kissed her again. “My Sophie.”

It sent her heart leaping. “What now, Jack?” Playfully she looped her arms around his neck, marveling at how warm he was. Even with her dress mostly off, she didn’t feel the slightest bit chilled.

“Now . . .” He cupped one hand around her breast, spilling over her corset, and rolled his thumb over her nipple. Sophie flinched, and a dark smile crossed his face. “I’m going to make love to you properly.”

“Properly?”

“Yes.” He bent his head and swirled his tongue over the nipple, causing her to shudder again. “In my bed, with the lamps lit so I can see every flicker of passion in your face, with none of this”—-he tugged at the fabric of her skirt, crumpled between them—-“in the way.”

Yes. Even with her body still humming with pleasure and spent of all energy, something inside her leaped at the thought of what he offered. She wrapped her legs around his hips, reveling in his weight atop her. “That does sound very proper. Very ducal.”