Page 23 of A Bride for the Forbidden Duke (Forbidden Lords #2)

Chapter Twenty-Three

V eronica went to her husband’s room, as he requested, and lingered once again in the doorway. He was half naked, sprawled in bed, his gaze already on her.

One of his bare legs was uncovered, and she wet her lips at the sight of how much bulk he carried. She longed to have her thighs either side of one of his, enjoying how the muscle felt sliding between her legs, grinding against her heat.

“Husband,” she said, cocking her head.

“Wife.”

The word rang through her, grounding her in his possession. Once she would have despised it, but now, Veronica felt kept —wanted. She draped her leg forward, tucking it around the doorway, letting the slit in her robe expose what he wanted to see.

“Loosen the robe,” he told her.

Those familiar nerves fluttered through her as her fingers went to the belt, and she loosened it, letting it billow open around her breasts. They spilled out, hanging within the silk, not quite visible yet in full but not closed off from him.

“Come.” Henry raised his hand, flicking his fingers in a beckoning motion.

His eyes bore into her. The way he could command her without any words made her shiver as she stalked forward, closing the door behind her.

The Duke sat up higher in bed, his eyes raking over her, from her unbound hair, falling in loose waves around her shoulders, to her chest, to the glimpses of thigh he got as she walked. When she reached his side, he hummed, assessing her.

“I do not know if I wish to see how you ride me,” he said, “or if I wish to see you going to your knees.”

Veronica’s stomach tightened as she considered the options too. Her core ached at both, knowing that even if she pleased him, she would still find release. Her eyes dragged up his muscled upper body, every inch of him exposed to her. She longed to lick her way along every ridge and groove of his muscles until she let him devour her mouth.

“Veronica.”

Her name came, sharp as a whip, and she snapped back to attention.

“Your mouth or your heat?” he asked. “I asked you a question.”

The silk sheets clung to every line of his body, outlining the length he kept concealed from her. Suddenly, the thought of his form above her as he guided her mouth down onto him had Veronica almost swooning.

“My mouth,” she whispered. “I want you in my mouth.”

His smile appeared, wicked and dark. “And that is where you shall have me.”

He pointed at the rug on the floor before he placed a cushion from the bed down. As he moved, the bedsheets slipped, and she grew dizzy from the size of his endowment. She had thought she would not be able to take him into her heat, and yet she had. The challenge rose in her to take him into her mouth pliantly.

He smirked at her as he repositioned himself to sit on the edge of the bed. “You are not yet on your knees.”

“I am waiting for my order,” she whispered, allowing herself the admittance that she enjoyed his dominance.

His gaze darkened as he looked at her. “Fall to your knees, Veronica.”

Relieved, she finally did. As she sank down, Henry yanked at her robe tie harshly, pulling it completely off. The robe flew open, half falling off one of her shoulders to expose her. His length twitched at the sight.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, reaching out to stroke down her hips, his hands naturally sliding along her waist as she settled on the cushion. “Will you be good for me, Veronica?”

She nodded. “I will.”

“Put your hands behind your back,” he told her. “You may touch yourself, but only when I say so.”

“Henry—”

“Do I not command you?” he asked, raising a brow.

She nodded, her mouth clamping shut as desire nestled in her. She loved this—she truly loved how he spoke to her. Henry’s hand clasped his own length as he used his other one to cup the back of her head, bringing her forwards.

“Do not push yourself,” he warned.

“Do not be gentle,” she reminded him in return.

The look that crossed his face was lustful devastation as his hands tightened around her head. His fingers wound roughly into her hair, tugging her forward until her lips brushed the tip. It was softer than she expected, and she pulled back, looking him in the eye.

“Go on,” he told her, nodding.

Veronica closed her eyes and let herself give in to the base desires that he ignited within her. Her lips parted to allow in more of the tip of him until the entirety of the end was suckled between her lips, and Henry let out a harsh hiss of pleasure. He let go of his length, grasping her hair in both hands.

He would guide her, she knew. He would take care of her even as he treated her roughly.

He was heavy on her tongue, a delicious weight she welcomed as he pushed more of himself onto her tongue, sliding deeper. With each inch she took, she felt more and more connected to him, and without thinking, she reached behind herself to grasp his wrist—to simply touch him.

He moved, as if to remind her of her orders, but he stopped and only slid himself into her to the base. She hummed a moan, completed when he had his entire length in her. Veronica’s eyes lifted to meet Henry’s. They were hooded, sharply aware of her. Her breathing came slow as she forced herself to even it out.

“Like this, you look radiant,” he told her, brushing a thumb over her cheek, releasing one tight grip on her hair. “You were made to take me like this.”

Her eyes fluttered on a moan, nodding slightly. Her tongue began to explore his length, the heavy weight of it grounding her strangely. She ached to press close to him, to nuzzle him back into the sheets, to crawl over him.

She pressed her face towards his hipbone, aching for more. She was growing more aroused herself, and the knowledge of her hands not being able to wander, except for this hold on his wrist that he allowed, drove her to near madness.

“I am going to move,” he told her. “And as you requested, I will not be gentle.”

Oh, her body remembered well enough how her husband was not always gentle.

He pulled out, sighing indulgently, before pushing back into her. Veronica let her mouth open slackly when he rubbed her cheeks, coaxing her to further relax. And when he thrust into her harshly, she did not crave the feeling of adjusting, for the roughness only served to have her core heating further.

“Veronica,” he groaned, sheathing himself in her. “ Veronica .”

He said her name like an undoing as she hollowed her mouth, allowing him to have a tighter place to thrust. She imagined it was her most intimate part again—for he had buried himself there many times since that first night, and she craved it endlessly.

Yet this… This allowed them to be closer, her nose pressed to his hipbone, and his hands in her hair, holding her closely. She kept one hand behind her back but the other remained on his wrist, just wanting to have that connection to him. Henry sped up his thrusts, his length finding a home in her on every movement. His face, twisted in pleasure, was something she did not look away from, not once.

His thrusts were powerful, controlled, just like him. They did not loosen in pleasure nor grow slack the closer he got to his climax. She welcomed it when it came: a burst of pleasure as he emptied himself into her with a long groan, grasping her face, her head, fisting her hair as the rolls of his hips grew shallower as his desire ebbed.

By the time he slipped from his mouth, Veronica was aching, and Henry’s gaze only grew darker when he noticed her flushed chest and heavy breaths. Tears gathered in her eyes, and he brushed them away.

“I must confess. I am truly enamored by you,” Henry said, and then he brought her face up to his in a hard pull, his mouth hungry on hers.

He twisted her, so she lay back on the rug, the softness of it like a balm against her back. His hips slotted against hers, utterly naked, and he tore away the remainders of her robe that caught between them.

“Touch me,” she begged, her chest heaving, brushing against his. “I am yours.”

“Then bare yourself for me,” he growled.

And so she did. As Veronica lay back, she let her arms drape through her mane of hair, spreading it around herself in a way that had his eyes alighting.

In the candlelight of his room, he looked sun-kissed, a statue similar to that of the Greek ones in the garden, Herculean and handsome. And he was hers .

His mouth dragged down her skin, from mouth to throat and then throat to navel, setting her body alight wherever his tongue mapped. He devoured her, biting, leaving little pink marks everywhere as if there was not an inch of her that he could not bear to claim. His hands roamed her: thighs, ankles, gliding up her calves, her ribs, her breasts, her arms. He parted her legs, sliding his hands beneath her backside, and grinded her aching core against his thigh.

“Can you come from this?” he asked.

His brows rose, almost in wonder, at how she circled her hips for the pressure she sought.

Veronica let loose a pleased sigh, nodding. “Please guide me,” she gasped out.

He never once let go of her hips as he pulled her back and forth over his thigh, and when she was nearing that edge of pleasure, Henry slipped two fingers into her heat, and Veronica let out a mewl loud enough to wake the whole house.

Henry tucked her legs around him, spreading her with his fingers as he braced himself over her. She grinded into the friction, gasping as she gazed at him.

“You are so loud, Duchess,” he groaned, mockingly berating her. “Whatever will anyone say if they hear you?”

“I—I do not care.”

He spanked her thigh. “Very unfitting of a lady of your stature.”

“If I am loud, then they shall know the man making me so,” she countered, moaning through a laugh as he gave a particularly quick curl of his fingers into her core.

His name tumbled from her lips in a high moan as pleasure shuddered through her.

His mouth slotted over hers as he draped himself above her. “I shall never stop pleasing you,” he swore. “I shall never stop until everybody knows exactly who lets you drown in such desire.” His eyes bore into hers, dark and dangerous, the shadows flickering behind him. “If I am your undoing, Veronica, then you are certainly becoming mine.”

It was those words—the full meaning behind them that she found herself wishing foolishly for—that had her cresting that edge and falling headfirst into pleasure. She cried out, tightening around his fingers, as she flooded him. Her hips canted up to grind even harder as she gasped, quickly growing overstimulated.

And through all, Henry watched her, pleased. He withdrew his hand and guided her to lie back on the rug properly. Boneless, Veronica reached for him, tugging him down beside her. She truly expected him to get up and leave, to excuse himself for late night work or the washroom, but he did not. Instead, he let Veronica dance her fingers over his shoulders as she felt him slowly loosen the tension in his body.

“I suppose we should move to the bed,” he murmured. “But you are so warm, I cannot bear to disturb your relaxation.”

Veronica hummed, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “Then we shall lie here for a while. I do not wish to move.” To make her point, she draped her leg over his, feeling where he was already growing aroused again, but he did not move to seek more pleasure. She felt sated herself and thought to perhaps tease him in the morning.

“Your Grace,” she murmured.

“Oh, no.”

“What?” she asked, incredulous at his here we go tone.

“You only use my title lately when you are teasing or you wish for something.” He turned to look at her. “And you have teased me delightfully this evening. So, what is it you want to ask?”

She paused, chewing her lip. Her hair tumbled down her shoulder, brushing his chest, and he began to play with it idly. “Well… I know you feel some guilt towards my brother’s disappearance.”

Henry groaned. “I had half a mind to bury myself in you tonight, but now, I find the flames of my desire are completely banked.”

She giggled, playfully hitting his chest. “Nevertheless, I know you feel some remorse. And… Well, I was rather thinking, what better way to extend an apology to him than to host a ball? I did tell Robert we would help him be reintroduced to society. You agreed to endorse him, and your name supports his reentry, so it seems fitting, does it not?”

Henry hummed, nodding. “I see.”

“You see?”

“I see.” He slowly turned his gaze to her. “I see that you are finding an excuse to throw the ball you have likely been wanting since we wed.”

She feigned a gasp. “That is absurd!”

“Is it truly?”

“Incredibly,” she said and then remembered what he had said about the flames of desire.

Perhaps she could fire them again.

She draped herself over him, her leg tucked around his still, as she slowly shimmied down his body. “I would never scheme such a thing. I merely think a ball would be in our best interests. We get to show an appearance as man and wife.” Her fingertips danced down the trail of dark hair leading to his groin. “And… Well, we do some reintroductions.”

She was careful to keep her brother’s name out of her speaking as Henry twitched as her fingers explored. She wrapped them around his length.

“Are you trying to seduce me to get your way, Duchess?” he asked, a rare smile on his face.

“Me? Never.” Veronica let her mouth ghost along the tip. “I am only reminding myself of how much you enjoyed this earlier. And how much I enjoyed letting go and having you control me…”

She eyed him suggestively before her lips wrapped around him obscenely.

“And this also has— ah —” She sank her mouth down onto him. Where Henry had one arm tucked behind his head, he quickly moved it to cup her face. “—nothing to do with the fact that the ballroom has been the most recently redecorated room? The curtains, the new central piece for the Westley crest, and the ornaments?”

Veronica only eyed him as she teased and convinced him.

“Yes, I have noticed, my dear Duchess.”

Releasing him, she smiled. “I merely think it is a mutually beneficial suggestion.”

“Mmm,” he hummed in acknowledgement. “If you keep up what you are doing, then perhaps I can consider it.”

“Like this?” she asked coyly, taking him into her mouth once more.

“Exactly like that,” he breathed, his eyes slipping closed as he grinded up into her mouth.

Veronica already knew her answer, of course, for she was a duchess, and that was part of her role. Henry was already emerging into society more at her side, understanding that he needed to show up with her as Duke and Duchess of Westley.

The ball would go ahead, and Veronica would have a glorious time planning it.