Page 18 of Claimed by Her Forbidden Duke (Forbidden Lords #6)

Chapter Eighteen

“G ood evening, Brother,” Penelope greeted several days after her first secret meeting with Edmund.

He had not yet invited her for another night together, but she had been told upon their parting at dawn that Julian would require the house, as it was his own.

Their chances revolved around him making his abode available.

“Available, and very much warned against doing anything in his chambers , ” Edmund had joked as he’d pulled Penelope against him in the hallway, his teeth nipping the back of her neck. His hand was already wandering beneath her skirt even as they’d said their goodbyes. “Although the thought of doing something so forbidden is quite alluring . ”

He had listed several places Julian had specifically asked them to stay away from—the dining table in the larger dining hall, the chaise in the hallway, and his bedroom—and as he told Penelope each location and each filthy thing he wished to do to her, he brought her to another swift climax right there against the wall.

“I think next time will be rather interesting , ” he had told her as they left the escort’s house, each in their separate carriages so they were not connected to one another.

Ever since, Penelope had fantasized endlessly, and she felt a perpetual emptiness now that she had known the feel of Edmund inside her.

“Evening, Pen.” Finley’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts, his eyebrow raised in suspicion as she looked at the dinner served before her.

It was not pie, not like the one Edmund had prepared for her. It was a rich joint of meat, and she suddenly did not feel very hungry at all. Or perhaps she was but not for food.

For a gray-eyed, dark-haired man who made her feel things she never thought were possible.

“You seem rather chipper,” Finley noted. “Have I missed something?”

Oh, you have missed everything, and I will keep it that way .

“Nothing at all.” She smiled as she lay her napkin over her lap. “I simply had a lovely afternoon with Daphne. We went to the booksh?—”

“Heavens, not more books,” Finley muttered. “Honestly, Pen, the library cannot host more of your silly fiction novels.”

“They are not silly,” she protested. “And not all of them are fiction either. I am an educated lady.”

Her brother’s eyes flitted over her. “That you are, yes.”

She tensed, then returned to looking at the food. “Regardless, I have had a pleasant week.”

But as pleasant as her visit with Edmund had been—the whole reality of losing her maidenhood to him, and processing such a thing over the last few days—she knew that the tension that came with keeping this from her brother would eat her alive. She could not relax. She could barely speak to him without a layer of guilt making her fumble.

Her friends had been right—she had needed to claim something for herself. But the guilt that came with it was so great. There was another aspect of worrying over what would happen to Edmund if Finley ever found out.

Her thoughts churned throughout dinner, until, by the end of it, she wondered if she was only putting Edmund in more danger. Whether he wanted to see her or not, it was she who came with the brother who was easily aggravated.

But we are only having fun . Fun that I have only dreamed about, heard Cecilia’s stories of, and never thought I would experience.

She could not give it up, but she could not let it continue for very long either.

Halfway through convincing herself that she would tell Edmund that the next time would be the last time, that they had to be safe and honest, not risking Finley’s wrath, Finley startled her with more conversation.

“Penelope, we have a dinner engagement with Lord Frederick in three days. He has invited us to his townhouse for a gathering.” His lip curled. “I do believe your friends will be there, for Lord Frederick has it in his head that the Marquess of Wetherby and his acquaintances will also invest in our business venture. Together, we are forging great connections, and I believe this is what I need to finally make the Langwaite name shine. Of course, not to mention a most notable helping hand in all of this.”

“Who is that?”

“The Duke of Blackstone.”

Penelope fought very hard not to choke on her sip of wine, to keep her hand from trembling at the mere mention of Edmund, to place her glass down on the table as though he did not ruffle her so deeply.

“I see. Very notable, indeed.”

“He will be in attendance at the dinner, but I do believe his sister and cousin will not. I do not like that cousin of his. He is too… buoyant.” He sneered the word. “He does not always compose himself as a gentleman should.”

“I cannot say I have properly met him.”

“I will make the necessary introductions, but do not think that he is interested, Pen. Do not worry about that. He is the last man I would ever approve of.”

She dared to smile. “Will you ever approve of any man for me, Brother, or might I start packing my bags for the countryside?”

Finley did not properly answer her. He only wiped his mouth and chuckled as he left the table, as if her question was utterly inane.

Penelope was left feeling forlorn, watching after him, but as soon as he left the dining hall, she exhaled in relief. Her cheeks warmed at the prospect of seeing Edmund again.

However, when she retired to her room, she found a note on her bed. That same, swirling handwriting she was growing to crave seeing on that thick, creamy paper.

Penelope,

Please excuse the rushed and late note. I hope this reaches you in time. It seems we have been offered another night together, for Julian has been held up by a client tonight.

I must see you.

A carriage will be waiting, and if you have eaten dinner, then we shall simply skip right to dessert this time.

Sincerely,

A very greedy duke who must get his hands on you immediately.

* * *

Greedy hands grabbed her as soon as she entered through the back door of Julian’s house, a mouth already on hers as the door was kicked shut behind her. Her back was pinned to it, hands already roaming.

“You came.” His voice was breathy, his lips skimming down to her neck, already venturing beyond the silken neckline of her dress.

She could feel how he ached for her already, and she had the vulgar thought to simply pull up her skirt and let him enter her right there. No preamble, no more waiting.

“It has been days, and it has felt like an eternity.”

“You kept me waiting,” Penelope told him, her voice light and teasing, tilting her head back.

This was all so new to her, and yet she felt bolder and bolder beneath Edmund’s hands. He was still the Duke who intimidated her, but she had pulled back a veil and revealed another man beneath. A man who yearned for her body as she yearned for his. A man with a cutting glare yet attentive touches. Roughness meeting gentleness between the sheets.

“ Julian kept me waiting,” he all but snarled. “You have distracted me all week, and yet you have not even been in my sight.”

“What power you presume I have over you.” She giggled.

Edmund pulled back, his dark hair mussed and his gaze heavy-lidded. “Penelope, you do ,” he told her.

She simply laughed again, drawing him into a needy kiss where she let herself get lost in the way his tongue brushed against hers.

When he next spoke, it was against her lips, barely letting them part. “I wish to see you naked with your hands on the back of the chaise in the hallway. I promised you every forbidden place, no?”

She understood their rushed time tonight, and she did not mind, not when it made desperation and pleasure clash in a dizzying way.

She moved quickly, her stomach jumping with those familiar nerves that came with their newfound intimacy. The first worry of losing her maidenhood had been broken, and Penelope now found herself utterly ravenous.

Her fingers curled around the gold frame of the chaise, the dark gray velvet dimpling where she braced her knees. Turning to watch as the Duke approached, her eyes took him in.

As always, he wore black, and if it was not for the rushed nature of their visit, she knew she would see those glorious muscles once more. But now that she knew the shape of his body intimately, she could see it beneath his clothing.

That, and his length as he pulled it out.

“Have you touched yourself since our first night together?” The question came as he stood behind her.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as he slowly slid himself between her legs. A juddering exhale left her.

“Yes,” she admitted. “And nothing has come close to satisfying me.”

“I have managed some restraint.” He smirked at her. “But make no mistake. I do intend to fully indulge us tonight enough to make up for these past days.”

Before she could answer that they ought to satisfy themselves for every day after and not just before tonight, for this could not happen again, he entered her, and she forgot why she needed to protest him taking her like this.

He thrust into her, every moment of their awaited release in the days they had spent apart in his mind, and her breath was knocked right out of her.

Moments later, he grabbed her hands, pressing his full weight to her back—and Heavens, Penelope welcomed it.

She moaned, her head hanging forward, her skirts pulled up to her hips. Edmund took her roughly, rocking into her with hard, snappish movements that matched the man she was beginning to know.

“This—” she gasped. “We cannot do this again.”

“I know,” he grunted. “I have thought it too.”

“The—the danger… it is dangero—Edmund! Oh?—”

Her resistance ended in a loud groan as she arched her back, her body finding his in a rhythm that had them both desperately grinding against one another to chase that feeling that had her spinning the other night.

It wasn’t a creeping, slow thing like last time. It was the sweeping storm of her climax in the library—quick, fast, desperate, the tension between them snapping in a coupling that neither had the patience to draw out. Not now, not when time was already running out.

The chaise knocked against the wall with the force of Edmund’s thrusts, and his groans were echoed by her moans. His fingers tightened around hers, his hand dwarfing her own.

She turned her head, her teeth catching his forearm, and when she gave a small bite, Edmund’s body stuttered against hers. His chest pressed to her back, and she only wished she could tear off every layer to feel the hard ridges of his muscles.

“This is the last time,” he told her, his voice cracking with desire.

“Never again,” she promised.

“We shall simply part ways after tonight and remain formal with one another.” He did not sound like he meant it, and so Penelope nodded.

“Utterly formal, not a hint of… this to be found.”

“Not at all.”

He continued thrusting into her, his growls reverberating in his chest and through her back. He pressed his forehead to the back of her neck as his hips pistoned into her, the pace hard and fast.

Quickly, that feeling rose inside her again—and this time, she didn’t fear it. This time, she flung herself into it and went so far as to rock her hips back against him to hasten that delicious explosion of pleasure.

Edmund’s length carved its own path into her, and she was grateful to be gripping the back of the chaise, for she certainly needed some support.

Moments later, he sucked harshly on her shoulder, where it would be covered, and his teeth nipped her skin, and perhaps the stinging pain was what sent her spiraling into that explosion.

“Edmund!” she cried as her body shook with her release.

From his erratic thrusts, she knew his release was close. Indeed, he pulled out of her, and she turned in time to see his strokes. Without thinking or second-guessing herself, she reached out and replaced his hand.

He jerked into her hold, his eyes meeting hers.

“Show me how?” she murmured, hoping her hand didn’t shake too hard around him.

Penelope wanted to see him come as undone as she did when he touched her.

“Usually, I would tell you to be slow at first.”

Heavens, his breathless voice made her think that the chaise would not be the only place they coupled that night.

“But I am very close to my peak, Penelope. This is what you do to me.” He gave her a lustful grin, looking at her from beneath heavy eyelids. “Simply clasp it and stroke up and down quickly. Do not squeeze—at least not unless I tell you. But that is for another lesson.”

“Another lesson?” She giggled. “Even though this shall be our last meeting?”

“Absolutely.”

His laugh was cut off with a low groan as she began to move her hand, and Penelope found that even though she felt clumsy, the reward of his pleasure was more than enough to embolden her.

Perhaps it would be their last meeting, and perhaps it wouldn’t, and it was only their joking way of speaking of it that made her not overthink such teasing. But soon Edmund’s length was hot and pulsing in her palm, and he braced himself over her, reaching his arms above her head to plant his hands on the chaise as he spilled in her hand, leaving her transfixed.

As her gaze slowly moved from the spill back to his gaze, Penelope hoped it would not be the last time.

When his breathing slowed, she pulled him onto the chaise with her and kissed him. She was aware of him fumbling with her skirts and his breeches, fixing them. As if they minded. As if they would not couple again.

His eyes met hers. “You must get out of my head at once.” His mouth quirked. “No matter how often I see you, speak with you, or even touch you, you are always there in my thoughts. I cannot focus on anything.”

She smiled at him, stroking his inner thigh. “What is it you are focusing on?”

What did he do every day? What did thoughts of her pull him away from that was so pressing?

And the very thing she let slip from her mind when those eyes pinned her to the spot: what had happened during the seven years he had disappeared from London?

The walls shot up, protecting his secrets, and he turned his face away from her, clearing his throat. “Simply business.”

“Business,” she snorted. “I cannot imagine you in a roomful of men speaking about business. I know you must do so, but I cannot imagine you having the patience for the way the likes of my brother speak about it. Heavens, he does not speak of anything else.”

“My father once told me that men who fill their lives with only talk of business ventures and little else are the most boring in the room. Business is good, and it keeps an estate running and coffers filled, but it does not make an entertaining man when he has nothing else to fill his sentences with.”

“So what is it you usually speak of?” Penelope goaded further.

He was already backing away from her first question, but she wanted to probe.

“Seduction,” he told her, deflecting once more. “Specifically in my conversations with you.”

“And others?”

“You are pressing tonight.”

“Do I not press every time we meet?”

“Yes, but…” He paused, glancing at her. With a weary exhale, he sat back further. Penelope followed, giving in to the realization that perhaps tonight was not simply a night for chasing one another’s releases over and over. “I thought we simply were here for physical purposes.”

“We are,” she agreed. “That is what we both want and agree on. But can I not get to know you properly?”

“I consider you to know me well enough when I have been inside you.”

The boldness of his words shuddered through her, almost enough to distract her. For a second, she let her fingers trail further inward, let her knuckles brush a mere breath from where he was stiffening in his breeches, again at the promise of more touching. But then she pulled back—her own sort of teasing. Restricting him physically as he restricted his information.

He eyed her knowingly. “In every other sense, you know me as well as anybody else, Penelope. Does that not satisfy you?”

“That is to say that not many people know you at all.”

“Perhaps there is a reason for that.”

“Or perhaps you are stubborn and do not wish to lower your defenses.”

“Or perhaps ,” he growled, that fierce dominance creeping back into his voice as he caught her wrist and lay her hand over his groin. “I keep my secrets as you tried to when we first met. Perhaps I value my privacy, now that I am back in the center of a gossip mill where, regardless of the truth, the ton will make their own assumptions of what narrative they prefer. Perhaps I wish to protect myself from that.”

She slightly curled her fingers around his arousal, and his breath caught. “I think you use that as an excuse to not let anybody in.”

“I do not need to let anybody in. I know what I want, and letting a woman permanently into my life is not that. If you think you will sway me?—”

“I do not need a man permanently in my life either, especially not one with walls higher than any tower in England. We know what we seek here, but I am not so out of place for asking about you. They say you are dangerous.”

“Am I?”

“Terribly.”

She fought back a smile, not sure if they were teasing or fighting, not sure if he would push himself inside her again, or if he would let her continue her distracting ministrations over his clothing, but she enjoyed it. Embers sparked between them.

“In fact, I do not think I have seen half the danger you possess.” She wet her lips. “And I would like to.”

“Tell me what you imagine.”

Penelope pretended that her hand didn’t tremble with her worry over her lack of experience as she pulled his length free of his breeches and wrapped her hand around him as she had done earlier.

“I imagine you holding me as you did the first time. Holding me down, I mean.”

Her teeth caught her lower lip. That stoic defensiveness was slowly ebbing from Edmund’s face as she stroked up and down his length slowly, experimentally thumbing over the head.

“I imagine that if I move my hands from where you pin them, you will bind me. I-I like that.”

Edmund let out a stifled noise. Penelope used his reaction to stroke him harder.

“And then I think about you perhaps blocking my sight, leaving me in anticipation of where and how you will touch me. You would command me to be good and obedient, but not in the way that some women must. This… I would willingly give you that power over me. I imagine you handling me roughly because I would like it. I am not breakable, you would not break me, but I would like to see you try to.”

“Penelope,” he groaned, tipping his head back to look down at her from hooded lids. “Heavens, I would break you.”

“Try,” she dared. “Try, for if I break into pieces, it will only be into that sweet oblivion you give me.”

He was hot in her hand, his length twitching, and she suddenly had the thought to taste it. To draw him into her mouth as he had with her heat. But she could not ignore the ache between her legs, ever craving him.

Straddling him right there in the hallway, Penelope lowered herself onto him once more, crying out as the tension from moments before erupted into pleasure.

Her hips rolled, and Edmund thrust up into her, this new angle and position making her see stars.

She took him like that until those stars exploded behind her eyes, and she realized how much he liked the thought of being rough with her.

When they were finally panting and sated, and Penelope wondered how they had made it to the stairs, Edmund pulled back, glancing towards the front door.

“It will be dawn soon. I must send you back home—you must be exhausted.”

“We could…” She hesitated. “We could always fall asleep here. The chamber where?—”

“No.”

The sharp refusal struck her, and she flinched. He saw it, and his face softened.

“I do not wish to risk you not making it back home. If we do not wake up in time… I won’t be able to live with myself.”

“Then perhaps we truly must make this the last time. A second one-night arrangement.”

Edmund nodded. “I agree.”

And they both nodded again, as they had earlier that night before collapsing into one another’s arms.

Edmund leaned down to kiss her, but it did not feel like a last kiss.