Any Duchess Will Do (Spindle Cove #4)(79)

“Griff.” She writhed on the desk.

He didn’t pause to reply, but answered her by sliding one hand to her breast, squeezing and kneading her through the fabric.

She clutched at his head, shoving impatiently through layers of petticoats to weave her fingers into the lush, dark waves of his hair and grip tight. She held him fast to her, grinding against his hot, wet, talented mouth.

“Yes,” she panted. “Please, don’t stop.”

He wouldn’t stop. He showed no signs of flagging in the least. His every lick and thrust pushed her higher. She began to whimper, wordlessly begging him for release. He moved his head back and forth, nuzzling her pearl.

“Oh. Oh.”

She arched straight off the desktop, rocketing through an intense, soaring climax. He pressed the heel of his hand to her mouth, giving her that something she needed to bite and moan and cry out against.

Eventually the tremors of bliss subsided, and he let his hand slip to cup her breast again. For several moments she stared mutely up at the ceiling while he fondled her br**sts and dropped lazy kisses along her thighs.

There were no words she could utter. None.

“Did you enjoy that?”

“Yes,” she managed. There were no words, save that one. “Yes, yes, yes.”

“Do you believe that I worship every inch of this lithe, delectable body? Do you understand that I would take a saber to the kidneys before letting you come to harm?”

She nodded, breathless.

“Good.” His expression darkened. “Because now I’m going to teach you a lesson.”

He lifted her to her feet, spun her about, and then moved her toward the desk until she bent at the waist. Her breath rushed out as her br**sts met the unyielding surface of the desktop.

Behind her, Griff pushed up her skirts with brisk motions, gathering all the heavy fabric of gown and petticoats and shoving it above her hips.

His hand cupped her backside, and his knee nudged her thighs apart.

“This is what happens to serving girls who forget themselves with a duke. They get a firm reminder.”

At the playful sternness in his voice, Pauline felt the slope of her inner thighs erupt into gooseflesh. Her ni**les hardened against the cool, polished wood.

“Impertinent minx.”

His palm spanked lightly against her bottom, and she let out a breath that was part startled laugh and part sensual excitement. There was no pain, only a stinging pleasure.

“Saucy temptress.”

Another delicious smack.

She knew he wouldn’t hurt her—this was a fantasy for him. If she could play at being a seductress, he was welcome to play his role, too. She liked that he would be playful. It meant he felt safe with her.

He leaned over her, pinning her to the desk with his body weight. His breath was hot against her neck. “You are a very naughty girl.”

As he whispered to her in a rough, needy voice, his hand worked between her legs, rubbing her aroused, sensitized sex.

“You like this,” he said. “You like to imagine that you drive me out of my mind with wanting. Until my c**k does all the thinking, and I forget myself completely.”

“I . . .” Her voice failed her as his fingertip brushed over her pearl.

“Answer me,” he demanded. He slipped a finger inside her.

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?” He thrust his finger deep.

She moaned. “Yes, your grace.”

“Know this,” he said. “I do not forget my place. And you will not forget it, either.”

Oh, how she hoped his rightful place was deep, deep inside her. She wanted him so badly, she would have said anything he pleased. Called him by any name he liked.

He slid his finger almost entirely out of her slickness before pushing back in. “Who am I?”

“A duke,” she managed.

“And what do you want of me?” He withdrew his fingers, leaving her empty and aching for more.

“I . . .” She writhed on the desk. “I want you to tup me.”

At her use of such crude language, she felt his c**k jump against her thigh. Despite all his chastisement, she knew her words excited him. This language was who she was, after all. Common. Low-born.

“Manners.” He gave her bottom another teasing smack. “Remember whom you are addressing.”

“Please, your grace.” By now she was desperate for him. She made her voice as sultry and enticing as she could. “Tup your humble servant, I beg of you.”

“That’s better.”

He lifted her hips and slid into her in one smooth, thick stroke. Her moan of satisfaction echoed his.

She was wet and ready from his earlier efforts. He didn’t need to proceed slowly, so he wasted no time setting a brisk pace. Driving deep, and deeper still.

Pauline gripped the edges of the desktop to keep from being tupped straight off the desk. The heat and fullness of him thrilled her. He was reaching unexplored places inside her, showing her new, dark facets of herself. The pleasure consumed her.

“Harder,” she gasped. “Harder, if it please your grace.”

He growled. “Oh, it pleases me.”

He lifted her by the waist until her toes left the carpet, holding her off the ground as he pumped his hips harder, faster. She bit the soft flesh of her forearm to keep from crying out. He had her weightless, utterly at his mercy as he rode her at whatever angle and pace he desired. He was using her for his pleasure, and using her well.