The Duke Identity (Game of Dukes #1)(36)

“I don’t mean for the kiss. I mean for everything else,” she said tremulously. “For all the tricks I’ve played on you. They were childish and…not nice.”

“Apology accepted.” His expression eased, his eyes crinkling with humor. “Although I must confess that your bucket over the door was quite inventive.”

“No more inventive than rigging a fountain.” She said it without thinking and could have kicked herself for his guard went up immediately. “I didn’t mean—”

“It’s all right. I did rig the fountain.” His lips twisted. “I owe you an apology for that too.”

“You don’t. I’m glad you did it,” she said in a rush.

He stared at her. “You are?”

Be brave. Be bold. Be a Black.

“I didn’t want Ransom to kiss me. That is, I did…”—she fumbled, and seeing his scowl, she forged on hurriedly—“but only because I wanted to forget you. To forget our kiss.”

Emotion flared in his scorched earth eyes. “Tessa—”

“But I couldn’t. I can’t.” Even though her heart was racing, she held his gaze. She placed a hand on his chest, felt his hard, pounding vitality beneath her palm. “Because, Bennett…you’re the only one I want to kiss.”





12





Ah, hell.

Staring at Tessa’s beautiful face, her shy confession in his ears, Harry knew he was lost.

He was attracted to her for so many reasons. Her artless beauty, her playful irreverence, the way she made him want to either throttle her or laugh aloud or kiss her senseless and it didn’t matter which because in the end it came down to this: she made him feel.

To top it off, she was gazing at him as if he was the only thing she wanted in the world. There was a vulnerable glimmer in her eyes, her sensual bottom lip caught beneath her teeth. She looked worried…as if she wasn’t sure the attraction she felt was mutual.

All of it, all of her, was like setting a match to the powder keg of his suppressed desires.

The lust he’d been keeping in check exploded, blowing reason to smithereens.

Before he knew it, he’d lifted her onto the billiards table, crowding into the vee of her legs. She gasped, but her arms lifted to his neck, her head tilting back. Whipping off his glasses and tossing them onto the green baize, he took what she offered. What he’d been craving since the last time he’d kissed her. Their mouths fused, his tongue delving into her sweetness. He feasted, and, Christ Almighty, she let him, encouraged him.

When she shyly licked his tongue, he felt that stroke all the way in his balls.

Hungrily, he found her earlobe, sucking it between his lips. Her wanton whimper made him shudder, his erection straining against his trousers. God, God, he had to have more.

Untying her wrapper, he pushed it off her shoulders, and it fluttered like a shed cocoon onto the table. He cupped her breast through her night rail. The fruit was delicate, not quite filling his palm, its firm, rounded shape infinitely pleasing. Her nipple was stiff beneath the fine muslin, the size of a small raspberry. When he drew a thumb across the taut peak, her eyes grew dazed, her mouth slackening.

“Like that, sprite?” he murmured.

“Oh, yes,” she sighed. “Do it again.”

Despite his arousal, he felt a tug of amusement. Hell, who knew that her boldness could have its benefits? He found himself torn between the desire to laugh and to wring more of those lusty sighs from her lips. The choice wasn’t difficult.

He bent his head, sucking her clothed nipple into his mouth.

“Zounds.” Her fingers speared into his hair, holding him close. “Bennett.”

He had the irrational desire to hear her say his real name. Instead, he tongued her, plastering the wet fabric against the prominent berry, flicking it until she moaned. He did it to her other tit, and she wriggled against him, so hot and needy that he reached for the hem of her nightgown. Pushed it up and up. The sight of his large, roughened hand on her milky thigh was unbearably erotic…and brought reality crashing back.

What the devil am I doing? I can’t—

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

He couldn’t resist her sweet pleas, the verdant need in her eyes. His hand moved up her sleek thigh, toward the apex, and lust slammed into him at what he found.

“Your pussy is so soft and wet,” he said thickly.

Her thighs tensed as he parted her dark, silky nest. He slid a finger along her slit, ripe and juicy as a summer peach. When his thumb skated over her hidden bud, she jolted.

“That feels…odd,” she gasped. “I don’t know if I like it.”

He hid a smile. “Let me know what you decide.”

Entranced by her expressive face, he adjusted his strokes to maximize her pleasure. Soon she was moaning, her dew coating his fingers. Damn, but she was responsive. So sweetly lusty. Her hips rocked demandingly into his touch, and he rubbed her nubbin harder at the same time that he cupped her breast, pinching the needy tip.

Her lips formed an “O” of surprise. She came suddenly, beautifully. Her moisture gushed into his palm, and his turgid cock jerked in response, seed leaking and dampening his smalls.

Groaning, he was bending to claim her mouth again when he heard a shattering noise.