Page 15 of A Duchess Bound (Dukes of Dominance #2)

T he Duke of Greenway crossed his arms, smirking.

Dorothy’s breath came in uneven shudders for air, her breasts straining against her stays.

She had done it, and her body was alive with need for his touch.

In the minutes between greeting him and slipping away from the ton, she had imagined this moment happening.

Dorothy had imagined him seizing her in the throes of passion and pulling her flush against him.

She had imagined their lips meeting hard and all her senses becoming overwhelmed by the scent and heat of him.

Instead, he stood too far away and gazed at her as if she was the object of some amusement, rather than a woman lost in her lust and in need of sore relief.

“Wh—what are you doing?” she asked.

“Me? I am waiting. Tell me what you want.”

A lump rose in her throat. “What do I want?”

“Tell me, and I will give it to you.”

Her mouth was dry. She wet her lips and swallowed hard. Dorothy’s heart hammered so violently against her ribs that it was a little difficult to breathe. “I w—want to do this.”

“ This ?” he asked, raising a brow. “You want to continue standing across from me in a dark room? That is a rather odd request, but I shall oblige.”

She groaned. “You know that is not what I mean.”

“Then, say what you mean.”

Heat rushed to her face. Did he really expect her to say such scandalous words? She might die of humiliation if she did. “Ladies are not supposed to…” she trailed off.

He took a step closer. “Ladies do not let themselves be alone in rooms with rakes,” His Grace said in a low voice. “You can hardly use that as your defense, my lady.”

Her breath caught in her chest. “I—I am still…”

“Say what you mean,” he insisted.

A flash of annoyance shot through her. “Do something!” she snapped. “I did not come here to be mocked.”

His easy, smug expression never faltered. “Then, what did you come here for? Do you even know?”

Dorothy’s eyes darted to his lips. “I want you to kiss me.”

“Is that all you want?”

He stepped so near to her that Dorothy felt the warmth of his body bleeding into hers. A low groan tore from her mouth. Her core ached, and she pressed her thighs together. That accursed man knew what he was doing to her! She was certain of it.

“No,” she breathed. “No, that is not all I want.”

“Oh? And what more do you want?”

“I want you to touch me.”

The words were so soft that she was not even certain that he heard, but His Grace stepped impossibly nearer and ducked his head. His breath was hot against her neck, and Dorothy trembled.

“Touch you where?” he whispered, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear. “Just say the words, my lady.”

“Anywhere.”

He did not answer. Instead, they remained close to one another, the sound of their breaths too loud in the air.

Dorothy’s toes curled in her slippers. Did she dare touch him?

Her thoughts were all scattered, and the room was too hot.

Dorothy found that her focus was shattered.

There was nothing else in the world except for her wanting his body and him.

“I want to hear you say the words,” he said slowly. “Say that you submit to me, and I will give you what you want.”

She nodded, not trusting her voice. He kissed her with such force that it left her breathless. Dorothy’s hands found his upper back, and she dug her fingers into the fabric of his jacket, clinging to him as he ravaged her mouth. He grasped her waist hard and dragged her against him. Dorothy moaned.

That familiar curling, hardening sensation rose within her, and her hips bucked reflexively against him. He drew his mouth away with a low, dark laugh. “So eager and ready for me,” he purred. “You have misled me. I thought you were a proper lady.”

“This is all your doing, you accursed rake!”

His eyes gleamed in the moonlight. He pulled her with him, taking her across the floor. “Get on the desk,” His Grace said.

She pulled herself onto the hard surface, facing him.

He drew her in for another kiss, putting his hands on her knees and forcing her thighs apart.

Dorothy did not resist. She kissed him as if he were air and water and sunlight and everything in the world that she might need.

He pressed himself between her legs, and her body shivered in wondrous delight.

She curled her hands in his hair. He seized her wrists and tore his head back.

Dorothy took in greedy gulps of air, her lips parted and tingling from the kiss. “I agreed to touch you,” he said. “I did not agree to let you touch me. Lay down.”

She did, the desk hard against her spine. Sweat pooled at the small of her back, sticking her chemise to her skin. He took her wrists and placed them over her head. “I want you to keep your hands right here,” he said. “If you move them, I will punish you.”

A shiver traced down her spine. She ought to flee. But the low timbre of his voice sent the most pleasant sensations jolting through her. Dorothy did not want to leave. She wanted to see what this man would do to her.

“Please, touch me,” she whispered.

He bent over her, suddenly large and looming, and pressed his weight against her.

All the air left her lungs as he kneaded her breasts through the material of her gown.

Dorothy’s hips jolted upward, and he smiled mockingly.

“Look at how wanton you are,” he growled.

“Your body is so ready for my attention. Poor thing, have you been writhing in agony this entire week, burning for my touch?”

She tossed her head back. “Yes,” she whispered.

Her breasts heaved and strained against her stays. When His Grace slipped a hand beneath her bodice and brushed his thumb over the nipple of her right breast, a breathless whine tore from her throat.

“Good girl,” he murmured.

She nearly came undone.

“I love how you react to me,” the duke said, coaxing her nipple into pertness.

He pinched her nipple, and the jolt of pain echoed between her thighs. She went to touch him, and he drew back. Bewildered, she stared at him, feeling cold and lost. “Above your head,” he said. “This will be your last warning.”

Dorothy raised her hands over her head once again and grasped her wrists, digging her nails into her skin to brace herself.

His Grace leaned over her once more and held her breasts, weighing them in his hands and coaxing her other nipple into a small, rosy peak.

He kissed her neck, his lips lingering like a promise.

Dorothy tilted her head in silent invitation.

She had no thought other than the burning desire building within her.

“Please,” she murmured.

He chuckled against her neck. “Some other time, I will have you say that to me on your knees.”

His Grace kissed her again, harder.

“Please, touch me.”

He squeezed her breasts, and she whined.

She ached so badly that it seemed impossible for her to bear it any longer.

Dorothy was on the precipice of falling to pieces, her mind working fast but lost in a daze of pleasure.

It was as though she were a ship caught in the midst of a terrible tempest and struggling to find land.

“I am touching you,” he said. “Didn’t you notice?”

“No!” she exclaimed, bucking her hips. “Touch me there . You know where I mean!”

He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and brushed his nose against hers. The duke’s hands left her breast and instead grasped her hips. “How do you know about there ? What are you, my lady? Are you already ruined? Are you a wild spinster?”

Heat rushed to her face. She shook her head, but His Grace did not touch her where she wanted him to. Instead, he merely held her in place. His face was infuriatingly smug. “I am waiting for an answer. Why do you know?”

“It is your fault!” she exclaimed, panting for breath.

She wanted to touch him! Her fingers curled hard into her wrists as she fought the urge to seize him and drag him down to her.

“How is it my fault?” His Grace asked. “I do not recall explaining anything about worldly pleasure to you. I will show you nothing more until you explain yourself.”

All her fight was gone. Dorothy’s desire to maintain a scrap of dignity had long fled, buried by her desire to experience pleasure. “I—I might have…” she trailed off. “I might have touched myself. Because of you.”

His grin grew wider, and he looked so insufferably smug that Dorothy had to resist the urge to leap from the table and strike him.

“I hate you,” she said instead. “You know what you are doing to me.”

He shook his head. “That does not sound like the words of a woman who wants me to touch her, much less one who has agreed to submit to me.”

“You—”

“Tell me about it,” he said. “How did you touch yourself?”

She gulped. “I hitched up my skirts.”

“Lift your hips.”

Dorothy did, and he took great handfuls of her skirts, heaving them up past her waist. Cool air drifted over her legs and between her thighs.

He would be able to see her maidenhood. And he would see what she now felt, which was a growing wetness between her thighs.

She trembled, feeling wonderfully and terribly exposed to his gaze.

“Oh, look how ready you are for me,” he said. “You poor girl! You look as though you have been suffering terribly.”

“Yes,” she breathed.

“What did you do after pulling up your skirts?”

“I touched my thighs.”

“Like this?”

With agonizing slowness, he drew a single finger down the inside of her thigh. A high-pitched moan tore from her throat.

“So loud,” he said. “Careful, my lady. You might draw the attention of some passing servant.”

She gasped. Hot horror rose within her, for how could she explain something like this? Dorothy curled her hands into fists. Tears of shame sprang to her eyes, and yet?—

She found that she could not bring herself to leave. If anything, the thought of being caught only heightened her pleasure.

“Can you imagine what a scene that would be?” he asked. “If someone wandered by and found the prim and proper spinster lying on this desk with her thighs spread wide and her cunny gleaming with arousal?”

She sobbed, the ache growing so great that it consumed her entire being. “Please, Your Grace. Please , touch me.”

“As you wish.”

He grasped her thighs with punishing force and flicked his tongue against her pearl. Dorothy gasped. “You cannot possibly?—”

But he was .

He licked her. And then, he was inside her.

Dorothy’s inner walls clenched. She sobbed with need and rocked against him, as her release curled more and more tightly inside her.

Dorothy was lost to the pursuit of pleasure, everything falling away except for the sensation of his tongue enthusiastically flicking against her sex.

She came with such force that she jolted upward, her fingers gripping his hair.

Dorothy rocked against his mouth like a mad woman, as waves of pleasure crashed over her.

Black spots obscured her vision, and her breath left her.

She screamed, and he silenced her with his mouth.

Dorothy felt and tasted her own release on his lips, and slowly, all her muscles loosened.

She gasped for air, feeling wonderfully used.

“I told you not to touch me,” he murmured, drawing away. “You did not listen.”

“I am sorry,” she said, struggling to regain her breath. “I am so sorry, Your Grace.”

He shook his head. “You will be. I shall have to punish you for being so disobedient.”

“Punish me?”

She pressed her thighs together. His Grace’s gaze lowered to her legs. “Yes,” he said. “That is precisely what I shall do, and if you want any more pleasure from me, you will endure it.”

Dorothy did not quite understand what he meant by punish , but she sensed that it had something to do with his request to submit, and this wonderful pleasure burning inside her.

“I will endure it,” she said, nearly breathless. “I will endure anything.”

He winked. “We shall see, my lady. Now, you will need to make yourself look acceptable before returning to the ton. We cannot have the noble Duke of Leedway’s spinster sister looking as though she has been ravished over a desk.”

Her face grew hot. Dorothy righted her bodice and slid from the table. She straightened her skirts beneath His Grace’s watchful eye. Once she was satisfied, she looked at him. He gave her a smirk and a sharp nod.

“It has been a pleasant evening, my lady. I shall leave you be for the remainder of the night. After all, we would not want people to talk.”

“Right.”

Her senses were beginning to return to her, and her thoughts found order once more. Dorothy knew that she ought to regret what she had done. She ought to be horrified by this deed.

But she could not muster even an ounce of regret for the night. On the contrary, Dorothy was already thinking of their next encounter and what delightful surprise a punishment might be.