Page 71 of A Virgin for the Rakish Duke

“Your powers of observation are terrifying,” he managed.

She flushed deeper, but didn’t look away. Her hand hovered before finally wrapping around the thick base of him. He was hot. Silken and rigid at once. He hissed through his teeth at the contact.

“Tell me if I do anything wrong,” she whispered.

“If you say that again, I’ll lose control entirely.”

She licked her lips. “I think I shall keep that in mind.”

Her hand stroked down, tentatively at first, then again. The second time, she watched his abdomen clench, his hips twitch. She added her other hand, experimenting with pressure, rhythm, the pads of her thumbs brushing over the sensitive head as she moved.

He groaned, long and low. His head tipped back. The column of his throat was tense and elegant, his chest rising sharply as he fought for breath.

Harriet shifted closer and leaned in.

His gaze snapped to hers, pupils blown wide.

“I want to,” she said simply, before lowering her mouth to him.

She kissed him first, soft and reverent. Then she flicked her tongue against the bead of moisture gathered at the tip. His entire body jerked.

“God, Harriet,” he rasped, one hand flying to her hair. “You don’t have to—”

“I know.”

And then she took him in.

The stretch made her jaw ache. She went slowly, feeling her way, letting her lips slide down as far as she dared. His taste was clean, faintly salty, unfamiliar but not unpleasant. She could feel him straining for control above her with muscles locked and hips frozen in place.

Every time she drew back and took him again, she gained a little more confidence. She hollowed her cheeks. Pressed her tongue beneath the shaft. Watched his muscles tighten, his legs shift, his breath break apart in small, helpless gasps.

“You are going to kill me,” he muttered, hand tightening in her hair. “Christ—Harriet—stop—if you keep—”

But she didn’t want to stop. She wanted to see him fall apart. She wanted to undo him, as he had undid her so many times before.

She moved faster now, sucking softly, letting her tongue swirl around the head, listening intently for every sound he made. His hand didn’t push her, but it trembled where it gripped, a quiet plea buried in restraint.

“Enough.”

The word cracked out of him like a shot. He pulled her off him with both hands, firm but gentle, cupping her jaw as he stared down at her like a man barely clinging to his composure.

Harriet blinked, dazed and breathless.

“I… I wasn’t done,” she whispered.

Jeremy looked like he was in pain. His cock still stood proudly between them, thick and aching, and his hands were shaking slightly where they touched her.

“If I let you finish what you started,” he began, voice ragged, “No… I—I want to finish with my name in your mouth for a different reason.”

Harriet swallowed as her cheeks went scarlet.

He kissed her right then. Deep, long, until they were both swaying, clinging to each other.

“Later,” he whispered at her lips. “Soon. But not like this. Not here.”

She nodded, dazed, aching, unsatisfied in a way that thrilled her to her bones yet excited her to no end.

She’d touched him. Seen him. Felt the power she had over him.