Page 14 of Corrupting his Duchess (A Duke’s Undoing #1)
“You walk into rooms like you own them. You challenge every word I say. You look at me like you see something I haven’t shown anyone in years. That is not something I can ignore, Anna.”
It was the way he said her name. Like it cost him.
She let out a soft, helpless laugh. “You are impossible.”
“And you are here.”
That did it.
That maddening patience. That quiet, steady gaze that made her feel unspooled. He wasn’t asking for her kiss, he hadn’t asked for anything, and that was the most dangerous part. Because it meant she had walked into this of her own will.
Her heart thundered as she stepped toward him. Close enough to see the golden flecks in his eyes.
“I shouldn’t,” she whispered.
“No,” he said, “but you want to.”
Her throat tightened. Her fingers curled.
She didn’t mean to. Not truly. But her head tilted up, and the question burned too hot in her chest. What if?
She kissed him.
A brief press of lips. One heartbeat. Two.
She pulled away instantly, as if burned, her breath caught, chest rising and falling like she’d just run a race. A flush crept up her neck, mortified and stunned.
Idiot. Idiot. What have you done?
Her hand hovered near her mouth, fingertips trembling. She hadn’t meant to do that. Hadn’t meant to lean in. Hadn’t meant to want it so badly.
Henry’s eyes darkened, not with confusion or restraint, but something else entirely. Hunger. He looked at her like she was the spark that might set him aflame.
And then, God help her, he smiled.
Not the faint, amused smirk she was used to, but something slow and knowing, edged in danger and delight. A grin that made her knees weaken.
“That,” he said, his voice low and rough, “was not enough.”
She took an instinctive step back, but he followed, matching her, his gaze never leaving hers.
“Henry—” she began, but the name barely left her lips.
He stepped close enough that the air shifted. Close enough that she could feel the warmth of him, the tension radiating off his frame like heat from a fire.
“You don’t kiss a man like that,” he murmured, his tone a dark caress, “and expect him to forget it.”
She opened her mouth to say something clever, anything at all, but the words scattered. Her body thrummed with awareness, with the sharp ache of wanting and not knowing what to do with it.
“I didn’t mean— ” she tried again.
But even to her own ears, it was a lie.
He watched her for a moment longer, gaze flicking to her lips, then back to her eyes. And when he spoke, it was softer, more dangerous still.
“You meant every second of it.”
He reached out and caught her by the waist, firm and unhesitating, and pulled her flush against him.
His lips caught hers again, this time fuller, deeper.
His kiss was fire, certainty, hunger sharpened to a point.
One hand curved around her waist, the other slid into her hair, pulling her in until there was no space left between them.
Henry kissed her like a man done waiting.
Anna gasped against him, but he swallowed the sound, deepening the kiss until her knees weakened and her fingers found his shoulders, anchoring herself as the room tilted.
Henry’s mouth moved over hers with purpose now, hungry and unhurried, like he intended to memorize her.
Anna barely registered when her fingers slid from his shoulders to the back of his neck, her palm curving against warm skin. She tilted her head to meet him, chasing the taste of him like she’d been waiting her whole life to know what it felt like to want this badly.
He groaned low in his throat, and the sound did something wild to her, it sent heat curling low in her belly, loosening things that had always been tightly held.
Her dressing gown slipped from one shoulder and his hand grazed the curve of her upper back before stilling, as if even he recognized the moment threatening to tip.
She gasped when he kissed the corner of her mouth, then the edge of her jaw, like he couldn’t stop himself. Her body pressed flush to his, and the feel of him, tall, strong, maddening, made her dizzy with something that wasn’t fear.
Anna leaned more into him, rising up again on her toes, one hand sliding over his shoulder, the other catching in the lapel of his robe. He was warm and solid and infuriatingly sure of himself, even when his mouth was a little rough, even when his breath hitched like he hadn’t expected this either.
One of his hands slid up her spine, the heat of his palm searing through her thin dressing gown. Her body arched toward him of its own accord. Every part of her felt too awake, skin too tight, nerves too exposed. She hadn’t meant for this to happen. She’d come to put up a wall.
He pulled back, just slightly, breathing hard.
“Anna,” he said her name like a warning.
She touched her fingers to her lips, dazed. Her heart pounded like a drumbeat. “I know.”
His gaze searched hers, wild and unguarded. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“I know,” she whispered.
He let out a short, incredulous breath, brushing a knuckle across her cheek. “God help me, I don’t want you to leave.”
She swayed toward him, forehead brushing his. “Then kiss me again.”
And he did.