Page 30 of A Virgin for the Rakish Duke (Romancing a Rake #3)

“You have had the advantage of me. You have watched me undress in this wicked mirror. I think we should even the score—to use a sporting metaphor.”

Jeremy felt as though his blood was afire.

She is a seductress. I am unaccustomed to being seduced, to a woman placing herself in the position of supremacy. It is intensely arousing...

“What do you suggest?” he said, almost panting.

“Now, I will turn my back while you undress. But watch you in the mirror,” she professed wickedly.

He quirked a brow. “For a woman who insisted that our relationship become one that is utterly transactional, you are proposing a great deal of intimacy.”

“It is purely transactional,” she tilted her head like a kitten. “I desire to see you in a state of undress, and you provide that service to me.”

He chuckled deeply. “And what service should I ask for in return?”

Harriet flushed. “I cannot tell you what you desire any more than a merchant can tell their customer.”

“Ah, but a fine merchant might anticipate the desire of his customers and ensure the goods are available,” he countered shrewdly.

He took a step towards her, and her arm bent at the elbow.

Leaning close as though to kiss her, he reached for her shoulders and spun her to face the mirror.

His reward was her gasp of surprise, quickly stifled.

She gazed into the mirror, meeting his eyes as he loomed over her shoulder.

Without so much as glancing away, Jeremy discarded his coat and waistcoat, then unlaced his shirt before tugging it from the waistband of his breeches and hauling it over his head, tossing it away casually.

He watched Harriet's eyes rove over his body in the mirror and felt it as a physical touch.

“A man might be without his shirt in public and not attract attention. Laborers on a hot day, for example. A woman is never in her shift except alone or with another woman,” Harriet reflected.

“Another woman? Now, there is a service you may provide,” he smirked with relish, attempting to gain the upper hand in their dance by shocking her sensibilities.

Indeed, she flushed bright red, but her eyes met his steadfastly.

“Certainly, sir. What other woman would be your pleasure?” she asked.

Jeremy blinked, then allowed his smile to deepen. He would not be bested in this duel. He stepped closer, his hands gently resting on her upper arms, letting her feel the proximity of his bared torso.

“How about your friend Jane?” he whispered.

Harriet's eyes went wide as saucers, and her scarlet cheeks grew even brighter.

“Very well, though I cannot imagine how two women... how... what would...”

Jeremy chuckled in triumph as Harriet faltered.

Her chest was heaving, eyes sparkling, and she could not find the words to vocalize the wicked and scandalous thoughts that Jeremy had thrust into her mind.

Then she tilted her head, studying his laughter.

Without breaking eye contact, she gathered her shift at the front, pulling it up until it was bunched about her waist.

Jeremy felt his own eyes go wide.

“Would it be something like this?” she asked as her hand moved.

She bit her lip hard enough to leave white spots where her teeth dug in. Her breath started coming in short, harsh pants, growing increasingly ragged and rapid.

“Allow me,” he said smoothly.

He swept behind her. Harriet gave an involuntary squeak as he reached down to take her hand. He threaded his fingers through hers, adjusting her grip with deliberate pressure until she felt the change—until the movement was no longer hers alone but theirs together.

Her breath came faster. Lips parted, head tipped back, throat exposed.

Jeremy’s other hand rose to her breast, cupping, stroking, coaxing her into arching against his palm.

Heat flared where his body touched her hips, the rigid line of him straining unbearably against his breeches.

It was impossible to ignore now. He pressed closer, needing her to feel exactly how much he wanted her.

“How… do you know?” she gasped.

“ Observation ,” he whispered at her throat, his teeth grazing her skin. “I took careful notes. The most effective method seemed to be...”

He broke off, spinning her to face him. In one swift motion, he pulled her shift over her head and cast it aside. Then he dropped to his knees. Before she could draw breath to protest, his mouth was on her.

Thought fled. Games vanished. Jeremy's lust was a raging inferno inside him now.

He held it in check, barely, feeding its fire with the pleasure he brought to Harriet.

Yet every stroke of his tongue was measured, merciless in its purpose.

Her fingers tangled in his hair as she writhed against him, biting back moans until they escaped as breathless cries.

“I have… dreamt about this so many times, since…”

Beyond the dressing room, subdued voices reached them, the sound of actors projecting their speeches to fill the auditorium.

The play was forgotten utterly, as was their reason for being at the theater at all.

Jeremy lost himself in the giving of pleasure, until Harriet was falling upon him, her limbs liquid and her body limp.

Harriet could still feel the echoes of Jeremy inside her body—the phantom press of his mouth between her thighs, the way he had murmured her name against her skin like a prayer and a sin all at once.

Her legs were trembling beneath her shift, her breath coming shallow and quick, but the need in her hadn’t faded. It had shifted.

He had worshiped her. And now, she wanted to return the offering.

She blinked up at him, dazed, lips parted.

“Let me,” she whispered. “Let me do the same for you.”

Jeremy stilled, his broad chest rising and falling with shallow, uneven breaths. A sheen of sweat gleamed across his collarbone, and the muscles along his arms twitched with tension, as though he were forcing himself not to move, not to seize her again and press her to the wall.

“Harriet…” His voice was rough, warning, but his eyes betrayed him—dark, wild with heat, impossibly soft.

“I want to see you,” she said. “Touch you… All of you.”

The silence stretched between them, heavy with what had already happened and what hadn’t. Then, at last, he gave a single nod.

Her hands moved to the fall of his breeches. Her fingers fumbled the buttons, the fabric damp with the heat of his skin, and Jeremy said nothing—only watched her with a gaze so intent, so focused, it felt like it stripped her bare all over again.

She peeled the material down slowly, breath held, heart hammering.

He sprang free, hard and flushed and utterly… magnificent.

Harriet stared.

A flush rose up her throat. Her breath caught, and she bit her lower lip without realizing it.

He was thick. Longer than she’d expected. The head was already glistening. Veins pulsed beneath the smooth skin, the weight of him heavy and alive, twitching slightly under her gaze.

Her first thought was that he looked powerful, like every line of muscle and sinew had been carved by hand. Her second was that she wanted him. All of him. In every way she could take him.

“You’re… large,” she said faintly.

He let out a strangled noise—half laugh, half groan—and leaned back against the table behind him, knuckles braced on the edge.

“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.

And dear God—she craved more.