Any Duchess Will Do (Spindle Cove #4)(78)

She fidgeted. He must forget, a little. From their very first meeting, he’d afforded her more respect and attention than any nobleman would ever intentionally give a servant. “What matters is, we have to remember ourselves eventually. If we don’t, society will force the point.”

He stared at her for a long moment. “Perhaps you’re right. We should remember ourselves.”

“I’m glad you agree.”

He crossed the room, closed the study door, and turned the key in the lock. The tumbler gave an ominous click.

“Clear the desk, Simms.”

“What? I don’t see—”

“Don’t argue,” he clipped. “You’re a serving girl, and you wanted me to recall it. I’m the duke in the room, and I’ve bid you to clear the desk. It’s what you do, isn’t it? Clear tables?”

Is that what he was initiating, then? Playing roles? The libertine duke and the naughty serving girl?

Well . . . After about two seconds’ pause, Pauline decided she could get inspired for that.

She reached for the inkwell and cautiously moved it to a nearby lamp table, where it wouldn’t spill. Then with one hand, she made a broad sweep across the desktop, sending blotter, papers, sealing wax, and more crashing to the floor. “There.”

“Such impertinence.”

“It’s what you like.”

He tugged at his cravat, loosening it as he crossed the room. “You need to learn your place.”

“Is this my place, your grace?” She pushed herself up to sit on the desktop, legs dangling.

“For now.” He sat in the desk chair before her, boots sprawled on either side of her dangling legs, and fixed her with a dark, commanding gaze.

The moment stretched into a thin, brittle thing. Pauline sat very still, just waiting for it to snap.

“Lift your skirts,” he said.

Whoosh.

His words were a starting pistol, and her pulse took the cue to race.

After kicking off one slipper, she toed the other one loose. Both dropped to the floor. She placed her stockinged foot on his thigh and slowly drew the lacy hem of her frock higher, revealing her leg all the way to the knee. “Like this?”

“Higher.”

She dragged her lacy hem upward, inching it along her thigh. Her garter peeked through the edge of her petticoat—a saucy wink of lavender ribbon.

“More.”

She slid her foot to his groin, cupping the growing bulge in his trousers. With slow motions, she teased him harder, rubbing her silky instep up and down the long, firm ridge. Soon, the sounds of labored breathing filled the air. Both his and hers. The smooth friction against the sensitive arch of her foot was a surprising source of pleasure.

And the way he looked at her . . . Unashamed of his rampant arousal, penetrating her with his dark, intense gaze. He had her panting and wet for him, without so much as a kiss.

“Higher,” he demanded, encircling her ankle with his strong grip. “All the way to your waist. Show me everything.”

The dark command in his voice thrilled her. She wriggled on the desk, working her skirts higher. Until cool air rushed over her exposed, aroused cleft.

“Yes,” he said, sitting forward in his chair. “That’s it.”

He caressed her calf, running his hand up and down the silky curve. His thumb pressed against the hollow of her knee, and her thighs fell apart. As if he’d found some hidden lever.

He grabbed her by the hips, jerking her to the edge of the desk. His fingers traced the dewy folds of her sex, slipping over her aroused flesh. Such sweet, sweet torture.

“Take me,” she pleaded.

He clucked his tongue. “I shall do as I please. And it pleases me to taste you.”

As he lowered his head, she squirmed away, breaking the little scene they played.

“Griff, wait. No one’s . . .” She licked her lips, nervous. “No one’s ever done that for me.”

He raised his head. His smile was slow to spread and overtly wicked. “If you hoped to dissuade me, that was the wrong thing to say.”

He framed her hips in his hands and pulled her forward again, pressing his mouth to her core.

And as promised, he kissed her. There.

So shocking. So indescribably arousing.

She jolted in his arms, but his grip on her body was like iron. He was not going to let her escape this erotic embrace. So she reclined, limp, on the mahogany surface, surrendering to the inescapable bliss. She spread her arms wide, covering the full span of the desk. All the papers and correspondence were gone. At this moment she was his work. And he was attending to her thoroughly. Single-mindedly.

Masterfully.

His tongue explored her most feminine, intimate places with confidence and zeal. She relaxed her thighs, spreading herself for his kiss, trusting that he knew what he was doing.

And he did. Oh, he was good at this. A true champion. She had no basis for comparison, but she’d wager the entirety of her thousand pounds on the fact. If there were an order of knighthood awarded for proficiency in pleasuring women, he would have achieved the top rank.

He licked up and down her slit, savoring her as if she were most delicious course in a royal banquet. When he lavished attention on that tight, swollen bundle of nerves at the crest of her sex, she couldn’t help but moan. Then he parted her folds with his thumbs, using his tongue to delve inside her sheath. He moved his tongue in and out, in shallow thrusts that mimicked intercourse.