Page 35 of Duke of Eccess (Seven Dukes of Sin #4)

Octavius kissed down her neck, down her newly exposed chest, towards the rise of her breast that he could reach through the fabric and lick with the whole length of his tongue. She trembled in his embrace, and he just about fell apart from that.

“Promise me you will not walk out because of this,” he rumbled against her breast.

“I promise…” Miss Fields murmured.

Something about that felt almost cathartic, and the realization of why this mattered so much roared through his mind. It had happened before, hadn’t it? He’d loved a woman, and she’d walked out one day and never returned. He was terrified Miss Fields would do the same. Leave him, abandon him…

It seemed so long ago, when he’d been a young man unable to talk to women nor look them in the eye.

Drinking was the only way he’d found courage to do so.

Sharing the pleasures of food and drink, of wild parties and debauchery, that was how he connected with women and found male friends.

He hadn’t known how else to numb the ghosts.

But now Miss Fields was this new bliss in his life, stronger than any wine or exquisite feast.

This new feeling in his chest, this pure joy, the way life was full and he was a part of it. Was it love that he felt in Miss Fields’s presence?

Love was a feast the glutton inside him couldn’t get enough of.

Octavius rose, one arm around Miss Fields’s waist, holding her close, and with his other arm, swept everything off his desk.

“A one-time indulgence,” he growled as he placed her on his desk, her skirts and petticoats pushed up towards her waist, her thighs bare above her white stockings.

He took her in: the way her face was flushed, her chest rising and falling quickly, her wild eyes glistening with expectation and excitement that echoed his own. “My personal feast.”

Octavius dropped to his knees before her, gripped her knees, and ran both his hands up her thighs, then gently pushed them apart and lowered his face. There it was, hidden between her dark curls, the center of all her pleasure.

And his.

His own personal pièce de résistance .

He kissed her thighs above her stockings, then the inner sides of her thighs, then up above her curls and the lower part of her stomach.

“Octavius,” she moaned as she dug her fingers into his hair.

Even his name on her lips was a pleasure of its own, the sound of her voice mewling for him in such an intimate manner. Not even his lovers called him that.

He kept kissing her, making his way down to her curls. He inhaled the decadent scent of her very core and his cock jerked and tightened in his breeches to the point of pain. He spread her intimate lips and fell upon her sex.

Oh, God.

The taste of Miss Temperance Fields made him forget everything around him. Oh, yes, she was a feast, and he’d never tasted anything as good. He’d told her it would be just this once, but how could he ever get enough of this—of her?

He played with her, his tongue lapping, feasting on her, his own ambrosia.

With every single lover before her, even as he’d pleasured them, it was all for Octavius’s own gain. He’d wanted them to swiftly come to their climax so that he could achieve his own.

But with this woman—her pleasure was the only thing that existed, and he didn’t want anything in return. Here she was, shaking, moaning, trembling, calling his name as he brought her closer and closer to her peak, and then she fell apart.

Miss Fields squirmed against his mouth, thrusting herself down onto his eagerly licking tongue, and Octavius knew at once that she’d reached the pinnacle of her pleasure. He greedily swallowed up all her juices— so delicious —exploring the feminine taste of her.

But he wanted more. He was pure gluttony and he wanted all of her.

There was no “enough” when it came to her.

Octavius inserted one finger inside, even after she was done, moving it in a slow, circular motion.

He gave her a rest from his lips, but his hand returned to her breast, and he knew he could bring her to another climax.

Oh, Christ, she was so tight inside, that intimate entrance of hers that he cherished.

It could not be clearer that she was a virgin, but Octavius could still give her enough ecstasy to know what it would be like to have, as she’d said, a big ivory penis inside her.

Temperance—for how could he keep thinking of her as merely Miss Fields in this moment?

—gasped in pleasant surprise, and he stroked inside her before continuing teasing her clitoris.

In a few short minutes, she was falling apart against him again, and he was milking those sweet, beautiful moans of hers.

All this from Temperance Fields, the very name he’d thought was a fun challenge for him to overcome, and now here he was, showing her the pleasure of the body, sharing his insatiable appetite.

Octavius was merciless in his pleasuring, and when he prolonged her bliss for one more little peak, she screamed his name, her softness tensing around his finger. Only after the third time did he allow her to rest as she collapsed back onto his desk, his cock as rigid as stone.

His breath catching in his throat, Octavius pulled her upright and cradled her.

She felt tiny, as fragile as frosted sugar figures on an exquisite French pastry.

Her scent was on his fingers, on his lips, and he never wanted to wash it away.

He kissed her forehead as she leaned peacefully into his chest.

Nothing in his entire life had felt as good as having her in his arms, her body on his lap, her tongue entwined with his.

He’d thought he’d lived in indulgence, spoiled with tastes, scents, and sensations.

“Temperance,” “restraint,” they were not in his vocabulary.

He’d allowed himself anything and everything with no limits, no consequences, no need to stop.

Until her.

He was the Duke of Eccess, who had never denied himself anything. How in the world was he supposed to deny himself the one thing he couldn’t have…the one thing he truly wanted?

His governess.