Page 12 of A Bride for the Duke of Sin (Ton’s Wolves #3)

CHAPTER 12

I f Ethan had only been mildly aroused when he walked into the kitchen to find her already getting acquainted with the staff and seeing to breakfast, then he was thoroughly, doubtlessly inflamed with desire right now that it bordered on pain.

“So… you have been watching me?” He smiled, strangely overjoyed that she found him interesting enough to study what he perceived to be his calculated moves.

She shrugged and pointed at his chest. “You must find a better way, Your Grace,” she told him, her eyes wide. “You cannot simply use these moves over and over ad nauseam .”

That was another thing about her that he found so attractive—that expanded vocabulary of hers. The way she seemed to take in everything around her and seemed to know the perfect words to describe it.

But he could think of better ways to put that lovely tongue of hers to use…

“You know, Duchess, that I could order you to be mine?” he murmured in her ear, delighting in the slight shiver that coursed through her.

So, she was not as unaffected as she liked to pretend.

Good .

“You would have to obey me like the good, little wife that you are…”

A soft sound escaped her, barely noticeable, but it was there .

Spurred on by her reaction, Ethan continued. “You would enjoy it, too, taking orders from me. I will make sure of it.”

He watched as her white teeth caught her bottom lip, her nostrils flaring ever so slightly as her eyes darkened with the telltale signs of lust. Her cheeks were a delectable pink, her decolletage flushed.

“You will beg for me, Duchess,” he told her in a low voice. “Beg for me to touch you in places you have never been touched before. And then…” He paused as her little tongue darted out to wet her parted lips.

Who was seducing who? Ethan was not so sure anymore.

“And then, you would beg for me to sink myself so deep inside you that you would never be able to leave my bed,” he finished, finding himself oddly captivated by the image he had spun for her.

Of their naked limbs entwined between the silken sheets of his bed.

Of her with her thighs spread before him while he devoured her innermost flesh.

She had once asked if Wolves like him ate people. Ethan would gladly devour her and leave her quivering, wracked by orgasms, right before he thrust his aching cock into her sweet, sweet depths…

If only she would let him.

“How… lovely,” she murmured, raising those lust-filled eyes to his, nearly bringing him to his knees. “But if you cannot give me your love, then you cannot have my body.”

There it was again—that wall between them.

Must he dash himself over and over against it? Battering her defenses until she gave in?

“I could give you so much pleasure,” he told her.

But she shook her head. “I would not allow a rake like you to touch me.”

Her walls held fast. Her will was like an indomitable fortress.

He could use all the weapons he had in his arsenal and still, she would stand firm before him. Majestic. Unbowed. Unconquered.

But every fortress had to have its weakness, and there were ways around walls.

“Very well.” He stood up, grinning mischievously at her. He strode to the door and locked it from the inside. “Then you shall touch yourself, Duchess.”

He had locked them in .

Her heart hammered in her chest—not from fear, no, but from sheer excitement .

Had she pushed him too far? Had she demanded too much of him as her husband?

He did not force himself on her, and yet he was being thoroughly wicked.

Touch yourself .

Could she really? Right here in the breakfast room, with the morning light streaming in through the windows?

It sounded so sinful. So wrong .

But desire licked at her skin like flames, scorching her from within until she let out a soft sound akin to a whimper.

And between her legs, there was that strange throbbing that would not abate.

“Have you ever touched yourself, Phoebe?” he asked her softly.

She shook her head and let out a slight laugh. How could he even ask her that question?

“Of course not.”

“Then it shall be my pleasure to guide you.”

His voice, low and guttural, rasped against her senses, more visceral than if he had reached out and touched her himself.

“Close your eyes, Duchess,” he told her.

She did as he instructed, but it only made her predicament worse. Without sight, she now felt everything .

“Now, touch your neck slightly. Allow your fingers to trail over your skin ever so gently.”

She followed him, noting briefly the warmth of her cheeks before her fingers drifted to her neck, and she shuddered. Beneath her fingertips, she felt her pulse jumping.

“Lower, Duchess…”

Her fingers had reached her collarbone now, skirting the lacy edge of the neckline of her dress. Her breath seemed to come out in little gasps as her chest strained against the fabric that seemed to have become too tight. Too restricting.

“Good girl.”

His softly worded praise seemed to swell within her.

“Now, touch your breast, sweetheart…”

Her eyes flew open. He cannot possibly mean to?—

“I did not tell you to open your eyes, Phoebe. Close them again and touch your breast. ”

Her eyes fluttered shut, and she obediently palmed her breast, unsure of what he was doing.

As her fingers brushed against her nipple, she jumped just a little. “Oh!”

“You like that, Duchess?” he asked her. “You like touching your breasts?”

Phoebe bit her lower lip. It was a strange sensation, one that seemed to only heighten the throbbing between her legs.

Did she like it?

“Oh, yes…”

“Good. You can pull your dress down. It will be better without it. So much better,” he promised her.

Once, Phoebe heard of a scandal wherein a young lady had been caught with her lover, with her dress pooled around her waist. She had often wondered about it.

Now, she knew the reason why.

She pulled her sleeves down, pushing her dress and chemise down her chest. When the fabric caught on a nipple, she let out a slight squeak, and the ache between her legs pulsed .

“Now, I want you to put your hand on one breast. Give it a slight squeeze, Duchess.”

Phoebe whimpered as the soft flesh filled her hand, the puckered tip nestled between her fingers. She gave it a soft squeeze as he bade her, and the sensations had her sagging into her chair.

Oh, that feels very good…

“You like that, sweetheart? You like touching and squeezing your breasts, don’t you?”

She nodded.

“Now, take that little bud between your fingers and give it a light pinch for me.”

At that point, lust had clouded Phoebe’s sensibilities so much that she could hardly think of anything. All she knew was that his guidance elicited a pleasure she had never known before.

When she gave her nipple a little squeeze, her head fell back, her mouth open in a breathless gasp.

“Ahh…”

She could not help it. It felt so good.

So she did it again. And again.

With her other hand, she caressed her other breast and rolled her nipple between her thumb and finger as all the embarrassment seeped out of her.

She was nothing more than a creature of desire now, eager for more of Ethan’s instruction even as she took matters into her own hands.

Literally .

“That’s it, my sweet Duchess,” he crooned. “Revel in the feel of your body. Soak in all the sensations. It feels wonderful, does it not?”

Phoebe nodded. “Yes… Oh yes!”

From beneath her half-lidded eyes, she saw him drag a chair before her. He watched her intently as she squeezed her breasts once more, his eyes darkening until they were almost entirely black.

When her gaze dropped to his breeches, she saw the evidence of his desire straining against the fabric.

Knowing that this was affecting him as much as it did her gave her a boost of confidence. A sense of her own power.

“Now, lift your skirts and open your legs for me, my sweet, but keep one hand on your breast,” he coaxed her.

Was he going to relieve the ache between her legs? Oh, how she wished he would!

“You feel that, don’t you? That ache in your sweet flesh?”

Phoebe nodded and whimpered. “Ethan, please…”

She caught the flash of his smile at her pleas.

“Do you have any idea how arousing it is when you say my name like that?” he growled.

So, she did it again.

“Ethan… Oh, Ethan…”

He let out a slight sound, shifting slightly in his seat.

“Minx.” His voice had gone lower, almost gravelly. “Open your legs for me.”

Phoebe wanted nothing more than to squeeze her legs together to soothe the ache, but she knew that only he could help her alleviate the torment she found herself in. She trusted him to.

She felt the cool air on her damp thighs as she did so, baring her flesh for his perusal.

“Now, I want you to touch yourself right where it aches the most, Duchess.”

She bit her lower lip as she tentatively slid her fingers down the patch of curls at the apex of her thighs.

Of course, she had touched herself when she bathed—but just a little. Back then, she had not felt the sensations she was feeling now.

She had never before touched herself for the mere pleasure of it.

Phoebe felt the heat of her mound through the thatch of her curls, whimpering as she pressed a little harder. Her fingers found a new kind of wetness that differed from her monthly courses. It was almost… slippery.

She ventured further, deeper into her slick folds, and let out a soft cry as her finger slid against a slight bump.

There.

It was the source of all that strange throbbing and aching.

She had found it.

“Does it feel good, sweetheart?”

She nodded as she touched it again, her head falling back, her legs widening as she slid her finger between her folds.

Oh… that feels wonderful!

“Good girl. You have just found one of your most intense pleasure spots,” he praised her.

Just one of—dear God, there were more ?

From the way he grinned knowingly at her, she already knew the answer.

Phoebe let out a soft gasp as she swept her finger up and down, up and down her wet center. Every single time she stroked that pleasure spot, as Ethan called it, she thrilled.

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you look right now?” he groaned. “Look at you, my sweet Duchess, with your breasts hanging out of your bodice and your legs wide open as you pleasure yourself. Magnificent .”

His praise seemed to seep into her already heated skin, adding to the pleasure that seemed to build up between her legs as her fingers worked faster over her sensitive flesh.

She had gone up on her tiptoes now, her feet rising off the ground as she felt something building up inside of her, coiling in her belly like a slumbering beast that had just awoken.

Phoebe felt as if she was hurtling towards a great unknown. As if she was in a cart that was going downhill much too fast.

Her finger slipped through her slick folds as she sobbed. It felt as if she was wound up so tightly, the pleasure building between her legs.

A sweet, aching torment that she craved with every stroke.

Faster. Faster. Faster.

“Aah!”

Her first climax crashed over her like a great wave, wrenching a keening moan from her lips. She felt her body burst into fragments of light and sensation.

Through the haze of lust and desire, she could see Ethan’s dark gaze on her, a slight smile tilting the corners of his lips.

He had done it. He had pleasured her without even touching her.

And heaven help her, she wanted more of it.