Page 41 of Daring with a Duke (The Jennings Family #2)

41

Felicity

F elicity stepped away from Ash, but he immediately reached for her hand, his fingers entwining with hers. She loved that he couldn’t seem to let go of her. With her free hand, she waved toward the blankets, basket, and wine.

“So, what, may I ask, is all this for?”

His lips tilted up, his sheepish expression clear even in the dimming dusk light. “I may have gotten a touch ahead of myself. I had planned for us to enjoy the sunset, wine-in-hand—”

He glanced over the Devonford lands, now nothing but varying shades of gray with peeps of orange. His lips turned down.

“I have missed my chance for that. But to follow was to be a candlelight repast—which includes lemon pies, I might add—beneath the stars…all the while apologizing profusely for being the biggest of fools.”

A smile threatened, and she gnawed on her lip. He was adorably disappointed. As though a sunset proposal of marriage was somehow lackluster compared to a glass of wine. A gentle snort escaped her, and his gaze shot to hers, fondness and tenderness evident on his softening features.

How you do these little breathy snorts when you’re amused.

Her heart smiled.

She tugged him gently toward the blankets, kicked off her slippers, and lowered herself to the plush arrangement. “What thwarted your plans?” she asked and wiggled her bottom. She hummed happily. The blankets must be inches thick; she could barely feel the stone floor beneath her.

Ash settled next to her, extending his stocking clad feet out in front of him. He pulled her to his side, tugged the blanket on her shoulders around them both, and pressed a kiss to her head before reaching for the glasses and wine.

He glanced back at her and said simply, “I saw you.”

Wine, the same color as the blackening sky, filled glasses that glinted in the flickering flames of the candlelight.

“You saw me?” Her brows came together, and she cocked her head.

He handed her a glass and swirled his own wine. “Sometimes I think every time I see you, I fall in love with you all over again.” He studied her as though he were attempting to solve a puzzle. “The moment you step into my presence—be it four years ago or just now—it’s like I can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything other than stare at you, soak in the sight of you. And then my lungs remember to work, my heart starts beating again, and the need to get to you, to have you in my arms, overwhelms me to the point of pain. You would think with time…the intensity would fade.”

His eyes searched hers.

“But it’s like every time is the first time,” he whispered.

She blinked rapidly, an intoxicating fizzing sensation spreading through her chest like a bubbly champagne. Oh, oh. She thought she could understand what he meant. Because her lungs and heart seemed to be having trouble working at the moment—too overwhelmed by the warmth his words evoked.

“So, when I saw you tonight, my mind when blank, all my plans, everything I had prepared to say to you…” He shrugged. “Disappeared. And I could do nothing but tell you how I love you and pray you would agree to be mine as much as I’m already yours.”

She shook her head, smiling softly. Pray she would be his? As if she could be anything but. “Well, I can assure you that I suffered not a hint of disappointment at the turn your plans took. If anything, I think things turned out far better.”

“Yes?” he murmured before taking a sip of his wine.

“You think too much, Ash. You get stuck in that ducal brain of yours, trapped by the tenets in which you live your life, trapped by the terrors that still haunt you. I’m happy that you finally dared to let go, acted on pure feeling.” She turned herself so that she faced him and tucked her calves beneath her. “No barriers with us.”

“No barriers.”

She grinned and clinked her glass with his. They drank to the promise. The promise of a love and a life with nothing holding them back.

He leaned forward and kissed her, his free hand coming up to cradle the back of her head. She caught herself on his chest, her fingers digging into his lawn shirt. The soft press of his lips turned demanding, and she pushed into him, licking at the seam of his lips.

The sharp clang of glass meeting glass broke them apart.

Wine dripped down her hand. “Bugger,” she murmured.

Ash’s teeth flashed, and he hastily set their glasses aside. He took out a handkerchief and gently dabbed the wine off the back of her hand.

“Where were you all day today?” she asked.

He brought her hand to his lips and dragged his mouth over the top of her hand. Her breath caught. Then he slipped one of her fingers in his mouth with an appreciative hum, and her lungs stopped working altogether. He licked the wine straight from her, his tongue swirling dangerously. And while that tongue did dangerous things to her finger, dangerous things started happening between her thighs.

Her finger popped free from his mouth, and his lips curved in a wicked smile. “I went to the local bishop to secure a license.”

He slipped the next finger in his mouth.

“O-oh?”

“In the event you said yes, I wanted to be able to marry you as soon as possible.”

He moved on to her next fingers, his tongue trailing across the bottom. She squeezed her thighs together, her hitched breaths loud in the quiet night. This was most definitely wicked magic he was performing on her. Because she could swear she felt every swirl of his tongue between her legs. And she loved it.

“Th-that was awfully presumptuous of you, Duke.”

Her last finger popped free, and a sinful grin flashed at her in the glittering candlelight. “I was prepared to be exceedingly persuasive.”

Her body trembled at his low, rich words. Who knew a voice could melt over you like honey? She groaned at the thought of giving him more things to lick off her. Oh dear. Time to speed things up. She was starting to believe she would never be able to take things slowly with this man. Everything she felt for him was far too strong for slow.

She frantically tugged at his shirt and pulled it free of his trousers. She needed to feel him, the heat of him, the hardness of him, the heart of him. Her hands flattened against his abdomen and coasted up over dips and valleys and hard muscle to rest on his chest. He hissed out a breath that ended on a contented groan.

“I think I might need to know your persuasion tactics,” she murmured and leaned in to capture his mouth in a fervent kiss. She shoved up his shirt, and he took over, pulling it over his head. The minute his shirt was free, he was kissing her again, tossing it away. Forgotten and unimportant. All that mattered was the slide of tongue against tongue.

“I’d do anything my duchess desires.”

Her eyes slid shut, and heat slid through her. God, she loved the sound of that. His duchess . For so long, that word had tasted sour in her mouth, and now…it was sweet, it was heady, it was devastating. Devastating because it destroyed her in the best way. His . Because finally—bloody finally—this man admitted he wanted her, needed her, loved her. His.

Ash’s hands flew over the buttons of her bodice, and it sagged off her chest. “Begging on my knees wasn’t out of the question,” he said against her lips as he helped her free her arms and shove her dress and petticoats down her hips and off. He groaned. “Lord, I love that you go without corsets.”

His lip found her nipple through her chemise, and when he sucked her into his mouth, bliss pulled at her core. Her hands flew to his head. “I-I don’t actually make a habit of it. But the dresses I packed were…purposeful in that they were so tight I could barely fit a chemise beneath them.”

He grinned against her and nuzzled the side of her breast. “My seductress.”

Ash pulled her over him, so she straddled his lap, her chemise bunched around her hips and thighs. She ground against him, and they traded breathy moans, lips nipping, kissing, hungry and frantic.

His hands slipped up her thighs, over her hips, up her back before falling away much too soon. But then he was pulling at her hem. Cold air slapped her skin, and she hurried to lift her arms to help him rid her of her chemise.

Her hands dropped to his neck, and she pressed into him, her breasts crushed to his chest. The heat of their bodies collided, and she sucked in a breath at the raw pleasure of skin on skin. Her hips ground frantically in his lap. Not skin on skin everywhere. Bloody trousers.

She climbed off him and gave the band of his trousers a tug. “Off.” She trailed her hand down, skimming her nails over his shaft. She squeezed her thighs again. Her patience was wearing very thin. “Now,” she growled.

He chuckled, but it was strained. He quickly divested himself of his trousers and stockings. And then he was coming back to her, slowly shuffling toward her on his knees. Night had fallen completely now, and he was an array of flickering shadows. Moonlight caressing his skin from above and candle flame teasing his skin from below. He was nothing but muscle, the shadows darkening where his strength dipped and curved, the light playing over his flexing thighs as he moved toward her.

“Mmm,” she hummed. “I like you on your knees, Duke.”

His hands dropped on either side of her hips, eyes glinting as they locked on her. He lowered his head and pressed a kiss to her belly. His fingers dipped to where her thigh met her hip, light, teasing, tracing over her mound.

He dragged his lips down her stomach as he spoke. “Does my duchess require more persuasion?”

Yes. Quite. Assuredly. Most definitely.

But all she managed was a blasted moan.

He nudged her thighs apart and trailed his fingers between her legs and then back up again until he cupped her, held her in the heat of his hand. God, his touch was scalding. The throb between her legs was nearly unbearable. She was sure he must be able to feel it, too.

His lips coasted over the top of her thighs as he held her, his fingers doing nothing more than gently pressing, pulsing against her. His lips traveled closer to her core, his tongue lazily sliding over her skin until he reached where he held her. He traced around his fingers, the cruelest of caresses. It was too much and not enough at the same time. She arched into him.

Friction. She needed bloody friction.

His moan vibrated against her skin, and gooseflesh broke out over her body. “That’s it, darling. Rock into me.”

Ash finally started moving, massaging in small circles before he dropped his fingers low, parting her. Her breath caught at the same time he groaned, deep and rough.

His forehead dropped to the crease of her thigh. “So. Wet,” he gritted out. He took a steadying breath, the warm puff of air setting her skin to trembling. Her hips pushed into him in a silent plea for more.

“Just like that,” he praised. His tongue followed his fingers, and he licked over her, but it was a taunt, a torment, not quite what she needed. “I want you to use me, Lissy. When I bury my face between your pretty thighs, I want you to take what you need.”

And then he sank his fingers inside her.

Her eyes rolled, her back arching. Holy gloriest of all things that are glorious. Her thoughts weren’t even making sense, not even forming real words.

His mouth joined his fingers, and her hands flew to the blankets, holding on to them for dear life because his tongue . Thoughts—even the ones of the incoherent variety—fled, as did the ability to breathe.

His fingers unhurriedly slid in and out of her as his tongue licked lazily around where she ached the most for him. He was strategic with that blasted tongue of his, never quite giving her enough pressure, never quite traveling close enough to where she wanted him. He was a bloody tease, was what he was.

She growled at him, and his chuckle vibrated all the way through her core, pleasure arcing through her. She sucked in a breath. He groaned, pressing his face further into her, his satisfied “mmmm” sending more delicious vibrations against where she ached with need.

Her breaths burst from her, fitful and frantic. Frantic like the way her hips ground against his face. Like the way her heart beat with love for him. Like the way his fingers picked up speed, faster and deeper and so god-damned delicious.

Oh, but not as delicious as that tongue. His tongue flew over her, just above where he tortured her with his fingers. And she was helpless against the spiraling pleasure building in her core. Her head rocked back and forth, something swirling tighter and tighter and tighter with every thrust of his fingers, with every flick of his tongue.

She reached blindly for him, her hand fisting in his soft locks. She opened her mouth, the words “don’t stop” on the tip of her tongue. But she was incapable of words; only breathy cries that escalated with each pass of his devil’s tongue. Just as the pulsing, coiling pressure did, drawing to near agonizing levels. To the point where she thought she’d break.

And then she did.

The pressure crested, and she fractured on a low, lurid scream. Hot pleasure bowed her back, racing through her veins, her hips bucking into him. It crashed down on her. It burst from within her. It surrounded her. And he stayed with her, never letting up, drawing out the storm while her body shuddered beneath him. And as the storm calmed, as the tension eased from her, he softened and slowed and then stilled.

His gaze met hers, then he pressed soft kisses over her spent skin. Her fingers remained tangled tight in his hair, like she couldn’t leave him. His fingers remained deep in the heart of her, like he couldn’t leave her. And if the dangerous glint in his eyes was any indication, that was the truth. She knew it was her truth.

She also knew she stilled ached.

And the only thing that could ease that ache…

Was him.