Page 40 of A Duke But No Gentleman (Masters of Seduction #1)

“Aye, that is what you are to me,” he said as he leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the lips. His face darkened with intensity. “My heart. My love. I should have spoken the words more often instead of just showing you with my body, assuming it was enough. If I had, maybe—”

Both of them had made mistakes.

“Hush,” she said, deliberately rubbing her hip against his manhood and enjoying how he sharply inhaled as if the movement wavered between ecstasy and pain. “Leave it in the past.”

“You are right,” he muttered, annoyed at himself for allowing his regrets to intrude. “No more talking.”

Imogene felt the palm of his hand on the small of her back, and in a fluid, almost dancelike move, he guided her backward until her legs bumped against the bed, and then she felt her backside sinking into the mattress.

Tristan caged her with his arms, his knee positioned between her legs keeping him on his feet. “Beautiful,” he said, staring at her with so much heat and love in his eyes that she believed him.

Trusted him.

Perhaps she always had on an instinctive level.

If she hadn’t, she would have never encouraged him or allowed him to coax her into exploring her undiscovered passions.

He had been a temptation she could not resist. Her tutor in the carnal arts and her lover.

He would soon be her husband and the father of her children.

Had they already created a child together?

Her womb clenched at the heady thought.

Laid out on the mattress like his personal banquet, Imogene gazed at Tristan as he stared down at her with hungry anticipation.

Straightening so he could gain use of his hands, he combed his fingers through her hair.

He plucked out every hairpin and wasn’t satisfied until her hair was splayed out like a golden sun on the mattress.

It was just the beginning, and she was not certain she could withstand the torment.

He seemed oblivious to his arousal, but she was keenly aware of the hot rigid length.

As he touched her hair and teased her mouth with his lips, the heavy length brushed against her flesh, and burned her like a brand.

She would have squeezed her thighs together to ease the warm tingles building deep within the core of her.

His fingers had not touched those sensitive folds, and still she was already wet.

Her body was readying itself for the union that they both were craving.

Tristan appeared content to take his time, and it was driving her half mad. Excitement and longing were entangled with a healthy dose of lust.

“My lovely duke,” she murmured dreamily. “Have I told you how pretty you are?”

“A few times,” he said. His fingers and mouth had moved on to her collarbone and shoulders. “However, I never grow weary of hearing how much I please you. Vanity is a hungry beast, and it must be fed often. Will you feed me and our son with these?”

He posed the question so casually, she had not deduced his intent until his mouth closed over her breast. Imogene tensed and arched her back slightly to meet the demands of his mouth.

Pleasure shot through her as straight as an arrow, its target the very heart of her intimate heat.

She squirmed against this sensual onslaught; the demand that he cease his teasing and take her was a persistent tickle in her throat.

“Will you?” he pressed, roughly suckling on her nipple. The exquisite pain was almost her undoing. Her breasts had been sensitive for weeks, and under Tristan’s calculated ministrations, they were inflamed.

“Yes,” she hissed.

“Of course you will. You have always been generous, and have never denied my whims,” he said, his breath coming out in hot puffs.

Tristan had tethered his own needs to give her pleasure, but he was chafing against his self-imposed restraints. Imogene silently wondered what she could do to send him over the edge.

It seemed only fair.

He nibbled his way down her flat stomach, and teased her navel with his tongue. “I cannot wait to see you swell with my child,” he said, inhaling deeply to take in the subtle fragrance of her desire for him.

He pressed a firm, loving kiss to her belly. A kiss meant for their child.

Imogene’s face crumpled as she struggled not to cry. She was overwhelmed by his acceptance and love.

As if sensing her distress, Tristan was determined to distract her. He shifted lower until the backs of her legs rested on his shoulders. Parting the feminine folds, his mouth was pure magic as he kissed the inner sweetness of her vulva.

Imogene could not muffle her cry of surprise, and her shoulders lifted off the mattress.

Her beautiful lover’s mouth was skilled and thorough as he teased the small fleshy knot and was rewarded with another raw moan of pleasure.

Her thighs tightened as he used his fingers and tongue to send her body spiraling toward the blinding gratification she had only found in his arms.

“Again,” he rasped, nipping her inner thigh. “The taste of you is as intoxicating as a mulled wine. I want to drink deep, and keep drinking until I’m drunk on the taste of you.”

To prove it, his mouth descended again. Imogene glimpsed a mischievous grin on his lips as he anticipated her response. She found her release—a second and third time. Someone screamed, and to her embarrassment, she realized as she trembled from the lingering quakes that it was her.

Her duke raised his head and their gazes met. From his smug expression, he was quite pleased with himself. He was never going to let her live this down.

By her fifth release, she was panting and could barely move.

“No more,” she begged. “If your goal was to melt my bones, you have succeeded. I congratulate you on your devious scheme. If you continue, I will be unable to leave this bed on my own.”

Tristan had the audacity to laugh at her. Imogene offered him a weak smile. She could not begrudge his mischief, when he looked so happy and unfettered from the rage that had been burning in his eyes since he had found her in his mother’s bedchamber.

“You have deduced my wicked intentions,” he said, slowly rising to his feet.

She laughed as he placed wet kisses on her stomach before crawling up the length of her body until they were face-to-face.

“If I had my way, the nights without you in my bed would end this day. I consider it my duty to keep you boneless and satisfied.”

“Can a person die from too much pleasure?” she asked.

“My darling lady, give me some credit. I will never give you too much pleasure… you have my promise that you will always have just what you require,” he said, his eyes glowing with amusement and something she could not quite define.

Imogene had her answer a minute later. Her eyes flared as she felt the head of his manhood press against the nest of damp curls between her legs. Without any hesitation, she shifted her right leg so he could— there .

She was so drenched, Tristan slipped easily within her.

He made a soft growling sound of approval as she felt her body stretch around his manhood.

Before she could marvel at how perfectly they fit together, he began to move within her.

Slowly, at first. His mouth closed over hers, and she could taste herself on his lips, She arched her back, savoring the feel of her erect nipples raking his chest.

“Christ, Imogene—I do not know if I can hold on. You feel—” He clenched his teeth as if he was in pain, and his pace quickened.

Imogene understood the wildness driving him.

She wrapped her legs around his hips, and slightly lifted her hips, silently inviting him to not be gentle.

His eyes widened in surprise, and she saw flashes of relief and approval cross his face.

He clasped her by the hips, and began to thrust at such a frenzied pace that she understood at once that he had been holding back for her sake.

“Are you mine?” she gasped, amazed that the lethargy that had overtaken her was fading as she felt the fires he was building within her.

His eyes were glazed with lust and his expression was fierce when he uttered, “Aye, love.” Tristan thrust deeply. “Yours.”

Anyone walking past the bedchamber door would have overheard his strangled shout of elation as he surrendered to the blinding pleasure.

Tristan tugged her hips closer and buried his face against her neck as his seed filled her in copious pumps.

Imogene cradled him in her arms, and this time she let the tears flow.

When his breathing had calmed, Tristan lifted his head and was distressed at the sight of her tears. “You have been crying.”

“Tears of joy, Your Grace,” she said, smiling up at him. “Every time I think our lovemaking cannot be bested, you prove me wrong.”

He laughed, which caused his manhood to twitch deep within her. Sobering, he braced his weight on one arm as his other hand slipped lower until his palm covered her belly. “Has our love play disturbed my son?”

Imogene was not fooled by his casual tone. Tristan wanted to know if he had banished her fears. If a child had been conceived, the duke was the sire. He had no doubts. “Your son is fine, Your Grace.”

If she was wrong about her delicate condition, she was positive her days and nights in Tristan’s bed would swiftly remedy her error.

“Good. Do you have any objections to our announcing our betrothal tomorrow evening?”

A wave of shyness washed over her. It was ridiculous considering that she was naked in her lover’s bed. “Not a one.”

If Imogene resisted, she suspected Tristan would keep her in his bed until he seduced the correct answer from her lips. It was a pleasurable notion. However, she was too tired to fight him. “I am yours if you will have me.”

He gave her a roguish grin. “Oh, I will, darling. Again and again.”

Tristan spent the rest of the afternoon rewarding her for making the right decision.