No Good Duke Goes Unpunished (The Rules of Scoundrels #3)(101)

He increased the touch, barely. Enough to drive her utterly mad. “No?”

“No.” She sighed.

The touch moved away, leaving an ache in its wake. “I see.”

She grabbed his hand in one hand. “Don’t stop.”

He laughed, the sound low and wicked, and levered himself up, taking her mouth in one of those long, maddening kisses, sucking and licking and claiming until she had lost herself in him . . . against him. And only then, when she was pressed against him once more, panting and nearly wild with heavy, tingling desire, did he give her the touch she craved.

He stroked against her pulsing flesh, soft, then firm, swirling and stroking and giving her precisely what she wanted. She gasped against his lips. “Jasper,” and he rewarded the soft cry, his thumb working a tight circle at the place where pleasure pooled.

It was coming again, that secret, sinful ecstasy that he’d showed her before . . . and she wanted it in his arms, against his warmth. With him.

With him.

“No.” She clasped his hand, staying his movements. “No . . . not without you.”

His gaze softened on her. “Lovely Pippa . . . I want you more than you can ever know . . . but I can’t take you. I can’t ruin you. I won’t.”

Frustration flared at the words. “I don’t care. I want it.”

He shook his head, his hand in that dark, devastating place. “You won’t want it. Not tomorrow. Not when you realize what you’ve done.”

She levered herself over him again, pressing a soft kiss to the high curve of his chest, adoring the feel of his groan beneath the caress. “I won’t regret it. I want it,” she whispered to the hair there. “If we cannot have . . .” each other. She did not say it. “I want tonight.” She lifted her head, aching with desire and need and the worst kind of love. “Please . . .” she begged him, her hands slipping down that trail of hair to the waist of his trousers. “Please, Jasper.”

He closed his eyes, the corded muscles in his neck stretching and tensing. “Pippa. I am trying to do right. To be honorable.”

The words came on a wave of understanding. He had once accused her of living in black and white, of thinking that everything was truth or lie. But in this moment, she understood grey. She saw that his right was so very wrong. That his honor would bring no comfort to either of them.

Tomorrow, he could have honor.

Tomorrow, everything could return to right and wrong. Up and down. Truth and lie.

But tonight, everything was different.

She leaned down, pressing her bare br**sts to his bare chest, taking his lips in a long kiss—one she’d learned from him—refusing to let him pull away. Refusing to release him to the specter of his honor, she said, “This is right, Jasper. One night with you. My first night . . . my only night. Please.”

His hand came to her breast, and she sensed the conflict raging in him—loved him all the more for it. “You will regret it. You and your distaste for dishonesty.”

She wouldn’t. She knew it with unwavering certainty. “I will never regret this. I will never regret you.” It was only then that it occurred to her that it was true. That for the rest of her life, married to Castleton or ruined spinster, this night would be the greatest of her life. This moment would be one she savored forever.

And she would not let it go.

“It’s your first night, as well . . . your first night in six years.” His eyes darkened, and she saw the promise of pleasure in them. The way it tempted him. “Let it be me, Jasper. Let it be mine. Please.”

His thumb moved, stroking over the tip of her breast, sending a thread of pleasure through her, straight to the place where his hand lay—an unbearable temptation. She gasped, and he kissed her once, thoroughly, before pulling away. “I have tried to resist you from the beginning. I have failed each time.”

“Don’t succeed now.” She whispered the plea. “I couldn’t bear it.”

“I never had a chance,” he replied, turning her in his arms, spreading her thighs wide and pulling her over him until she straddled his waist, her bare bottom pressed against the hard evidence of his arousal beneath his low-slung trousers. He reached up with one strong hand . . . one of those hands she’d loved for what seemed like an eternity . . . and pulled her down, ravishing her with his kiss—long and lush, making her ache everywhere—her br**sts, her thighs, that soft place between them.

She rocked against him, and he tore his mouth from hers with a hiss, throwing his head back to reveal the long cords of his neck, straining with pleasure. When he returned his gaze to hers, it was heavy with pleasure. “I am going to ruin you, Pippa. I shall show you pleasure you’ve never known, the kind you’ve never dreamed. Over and over and over until you beg me never to stop.”

The words rioted through the dark, deep parts of her . . . the ones that ached for him. “I am already there,” she said. “Don’t stop.”

He smiled, his hands coming to her br**sts, rolling their tips between his fingers until they were hard and aching. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” He pulled her to his mouth, taking her with lips and tongue and teeth until she was beside herself with sensation.

The human body was a glorious thing indeed. “Jasper . . .” she whispered, fascination and pleasure and desire packed into his name, and he released her from his grasp with one long, lovely suck, replacing his mouth with one finger, circling the straining tip with torturous slowness.