One Dance with a Duke (Stud Club #1)(65)

He lifted his head and stared into her eyes. “We’re going to do this.”

Again, that thrilling little word. We.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“No fears tonight. No regrets tomorrow.”

“None.”

He sat back on his haunches and pulled her up, until they both stood on their knees in the center of the bed. After fumbling with the row of buttons at her back, he peeled the bodice from her torso, and she helped by wriggling her arms free of the sleeves. He found the laces of her stays and impatiently yanked them loose, casting the entire undergarment aside within seconds and eagerly taking her br**sts in his hands, through her thin summer chemise.

She swallowed hard as he admired them, lifting and kneading the soft globes with his fingers. He seemed lost in those curves—his touch unhurried, his breathing slow and thick. Her ni**les grew painfully hard, gathering to tight, prominent peaks that chafed against the thin fabric.

He eased her neckline down. The gap wasn’t generous enough to afford him access to her nipple. Instead, he bent his head and suckled her straight through her shift. Oh, God. The sensation of his soft tongue licking her through the rough fabric … it was so intensely pleasurable, she couldn’t help but moan.

She reached for the hem of his shirt, tugging it free of his waistband and sliding her hands beneath, running her palms over the tight muscles of his abdomen and the faint trail of hair leading to his groin. Emboldened by his gruff sound of approval, she slid her hand downward, cupping the rigid length tenting his breeches.

“You’ll have to tell me what to do,” she said, lightly tracing the shape of him.

He raised his head from her breast. Seeming to abandon his efforts to undress her, he finished pulling his own shirt loose. “There aren’t any rules to this. If I do something to you, and you enjoy it”—he yanked his shirt over his head and tossed it aside—“there’s an excellent chance I’ll enjoy it if you do the same to me.”

“Oh. Very well.”

As he reached for the closures of his breeches, she bent forward and took his nipple in her mouth.

He hissed out his breath, and she jerked back. “Not good?”

“Good,” he assured her, sliding a hand over her neck. “Very good.”

Smiling to herself, she bent and tried again. This time she licked first, teasing the small, flat circle to a tiny bud. He groaned as she fitted her lips around it, suckling gently, then nipping with her teeth.

“Holy God,” he grit out.

Heat surged between Amelia’s thighs. She’d never felt so sensual, powerful. With a few swipes of her tongue she’d incited a man to blasphemy, and she cupped the proof of his rampant desire for her in the palm of her hand. As she transferred her attentions to his other nipple, she tentatively stroked up and down his length.

“Enough.” He clapped a hand over hers, pressing her palm firmly to his groin.

She lifted her head. “Not good?”

“Too good.” With a pained expression, he pulled her hand away. “I’ve waited much too long for this, for it to be over before it starts. Lie down.”

She complied, smiling to herself. He said “sit,” and she sat. He said “stand,” and she stood. He told her to “lie down,” and she lay down … because at her core, she trusted him instinctively. She always had, from that very first night.

Kicking her slippers to the floor, she drew the counterpane back before reclining on the pillows. With focused concentration, he divested her of stockings, petticoat, and drawers, until she lay atop the sheets in only her chemise. The dampened cloth clung to her ni**les as feverish breaths lifted her chest. He sat at the edge of the bed, wrestling briefly with his boots and then standing just long enough to slide his breeches and smallclothes down over his hips.

Fully naked now, he straddled her thighs, making no attempt whatsoever to hide his erect member from her view. For about two seconds, a vestige of modesty diverted her gaze elsewhere, but she quickly gave into temptation and stared. His proud, thick shaft jutted out from a nest of black hair, making a dramatic impression against the white lawn of her shift. She had no grounds for comparison, but she found his sheer size and eagerness rather daunting.

“Don’t be timid.” The hint of amusement in his voice made her blush. “It’s going to be inside you. You ought to see it first.” He picked up her hand where it lay at her side, whispering, “Touch me.”

He wrapped her fingers around his shaft, guiding her hand slowly up and down his full length. Petal-soft skin slid with her palm, slipping over thick veins and rock-hard need. This softness, this strength—it would all be inside her soon. Her feminine places ached pleasurably at the thought.

She stroked him again, and a drop of clear moisture glistened at the tip. Intrigued, she dabbed it with her fingertip.

His hand tightened, immobilizing hers. “No more of that.”

He pulled her hand away and retreated to grasp the hem of her chemise. Skimming his hands up the slope of her calves, then her thighs, he pushed the fabric to her waist. After pausing briefly to adjust his weight, he hiked the shift higher still, exposing her soft, rounded belly and the swells of her br**sts. Fabric wadded beneath her arms. Should she sit up, so he might remove the garment entirely?

He seemed too impatient to bother. His hands ranged greedily over her body, grasping her br**sts, hips, thighs. With one hand, he reached between her legs, parting her sex. She was already damp there, and his fingers slipped easily between her folds. He explored her gently, his breathing growing rough. Growing self-conscious, she found herself wishing he’d at least kiss her while he touched her this way. But then his thumb found that sensitive nub at the crest of her sex, and she just didn’t care anymore. Her back arched, thrusting her br**sts upward. With a low moan, he bent and took her nipple in his mouth, sucking firmly as he circled that needy spot with his thumb. He slid a finger inside her, and her intimate muscles clenched around it.