Page 11 of Duke of Seduction (The Four Dukes #4)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

T hough Helena had initially trembled as she removed her gown, the look of pure approval in Morgan’s eyes had chased away her insecurities. He had stood silently at his easel for several moments, letting his eyes roam across her body, wanting to take in every inch of her.

He then began his commands, ordering Helena to pose one way, then another, while his artistic eye attempted to find the perfect position. He finally settled upon seating her on the fur rug by the fireplace, her back to the flames, one of her legs laid straight while the other remained bent at the knee with her foot on the soft fur. He had then gently coaxed her to move in increments until he had her positioned exactly as he wanted.

Each one of Morgan’s commanding touches felt like a bead of water sizzling on her skin, and when he had first pulled away she nearly fell out of her pose in her desire to follow his hands. Morgan had smirked and taunted her about patience, then posed her again.

After a brief review of her pose, Morgan had brazenly laid his hand upon her ribcage, his fingertips just barely brushing the delicate underside of her left breast as he worked. He kept his hand in place until he had felt her trembling subside. When he pulled away she felt as if he had pulled her flesh along with him; the lack of his heat felt harsh and unfair but she stayed put.

Silence gathered like a thunderstorm between them as Morgan began to sketch the outline of her body. The sound of charcoal stroking the paper and the flames crackling in the hearth were the only noises that graced the room. As Morgan drew her, Helena studied him.

A bit of his usual humor had appeared when she had first arrived, but the joker in him was soon tucked away. Upon entering the library, the lord of seduction had risen up to take the joker’s place. His handsome face, which was usually creased with mirth, had become drawn in deep concentration as he immersed himself fully in his sketching.

As she posed for him she considered his duality and marveled at it. She had known Morgan nearly all of her life yet had never once thought that he was more than the joker he made himself out to be. Now she wondered what other secrets he kept. Were they all wickedly delicious, or did something painful and twisted fester inside of him?

All three of the other dukes had shown their darker sides in a more obvious fashion, but Morgan had never let anyone bear witness to his pain. Was it because he truly felt none, or because he was so good at hiding it?

“That is enough sketching for tonight,” Morgan announced. His deep tone slid like silk over her ears, and Helena felt a rush of excitement and surprise as she moved onto her knees and he walked towards her.

“Was that long enough?” she asked, rising slightly as he stopped before her.

Her eyes were level with the waist of his trousers, and she could not stop them from widening as she saw the clear outline of his manhood straining against the fabric. Though she was not sure why, she felt her mouth begin to water as she took in the sight and a deep curiosity rose within her.

What would he taste like?

Helena gasped softly as she felt the sudden caress of his fingertips at her jaw, and she felt herself jolted out of her reverie as Morgan forced her to look up. Fire danced behind his dark green eyes, making him look almost inhuman in his masculine beauty.

“Long enough for tonight,” he replied, his voice strained as he caressed his thumb across her lower lip.

He remained silent a moment as he slowly cocked his head; a predatory energy emitting from him as his stare grew more intense.

“Though we may have to completely start over. I did not imagine this pose before, but now…now this is what I was looking for. A portrait of you on your knees, looking up at me with those cursedly beautiful eyes. Jesus, Helena. You have no idea how bloody perfect you look like this.”

Arousal and self-love coursed through Helena’s veins as she heard the unfettered desire in his words. This was no jest. This was his truth, and she felt it permeating her as the dye from his letter had saturated her bathwater.

Morgan suddenly gasped sharply and pulled his fingers away from her lips. He balled his hand into a tight fist and shook with exertion before he released his hold. He rubbed his fingertips together several times before extending his hand to her.

“Arise, little Persephone, before I give in to my most vile thoughts and rush you too far, too quickly,” he ordered, his jaw tight.

His pupils suddenly dilated until all of the lush forest green had been eaten away, and he flexed his fingers with urgency. Helena felt a jolt of electricity traveling through her as her body numbly and obediently reached for his offered hand, and she kept her eyes transfixed on his as he helped raise her to her feet.

“It is time for your next lesson, as promised.” Morgan said gruffly, walking away from her in a stiff gait.

From the table, he retrieved what appeared to be a cloth painter’s satchel used to keep brushes still and safe in tiny pockets while traveling, which could be rolled out and quickly readied for use. He brought it over to her, untied it, and Helena stepped back in shock when she realized what was inside.

“What are those?” She asked, staring worriedly at the glinting, sharp-looking golden tools that lined the satchel.

“Every artist needs his tools. If I am going to teach you the art of pleasure we must have the proper utensils to assure your absolute comprehension,” Morgan replied passively, as if the explanation was obvious and rather mundane.

He palmed the satchel with one hand, and with the other he drew out a long, thin golden rod and what appeared to be a spur attached to a thin, gold stick. He then snapped the satchel closed and tossed it onto the nearest side table.

“Come,” he commanded.

When Helena wavered, his brow drew up slightly.

“You truly think I would do something to harm you?”

The question was asked calmly and honestly, and she knew she was expected to answer similarly in return.

“No,” she whispered, and knew it was the truth. She did not fear Morgan.

Helena caught the hint of relief in his eyes at her answer and he beckoned her once more to come to him. This time she obeyed, and when she reached him he grasped her shoulder and turned her around. She shivered with pleasure as he traced his fingertips along the hairline behind her ear and let out a sigh when his lips fluttered there.

“Did you enjoy your first kiss the other night, Helena?” he whispered against her ear, his hands slowly twisting into her hair.

“Yes,” she breathed, her lashes flickering shut as he tugged her hair gently.

Morgan then placed a warm kiss below her ear, as if rewarding her for her answer, and replied, “good.”

“ So many sensations can flood through the lips,” he said, tracing his fingertips down her arm. “But there is so much more pleasure to be had in other parts of the body, some of which you would never consider.”

He again tugged the fistful of her hair, slightly harder this time, and Helena whimpered as she felt the back of her head brought down to his pectoral. Morgan’s head lowered, his lips skimming the flesh along her throat before sinking his teeth gently into the softness of her earlobe.

“Would you like me show you?” he rasped as Helena let out another small cry.

“Yes,” she breathed, feeling her blood begin to heat and thrum in her ears.

“Say yes, please, sir .” Morgan growled, nipping her ear once more.

Helena whimpered as she felt the length of his manhood pressing further into her backside and a yearning for him surged through her.

“Yes, please, sir, show me.”

As Morgan whispered words of praise into her ear, Helena though the voice that left her lips was not her own. The voice belonged to a woman who had done this many times; a woman who already knew what was about to happen to her body and she hungered for it.

“That is my good girl,” Morgan whispered, turning her head so that he could kiss her lips roughly.

He then took a small step back, commanding Helena to once move forward. With one hand still wrapped in her hair, Morgan produced the long, thin, pencil-sized golden rod and held it before her eyes.

“You may tremble. You may writhe. But you may not move your feet from where they are planted. You may not jerk or pull away suddenly. I am the keeper of your flesh and your pleasure for this evening, and I instruct you to obey me. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Helena whimpered, her eyes on the needle.

Beneath her excitement, she felt a tremor of worry pass through her. Even so, she closed her eyes and gave herself over to Morgan. She gasped, surprised at how soft yet biting the thin rod felt as he traced the tip of it down the back of her neck.

“Good,” Morgan murmured, his one fist still wound tightly in her hair as he watched her tremble.

He then shifted the wand into his hand like he would a pen and ran the sharpened point down the perfect line of her spine. Helena gasped at the strange pleasure; confused and aroused by the sensation roiling through her body. She sank further into Morgan’s hold as he pressed the tip of the rod first into the left dimple on her lower back, then into the right, and her knees nearly collapsed when he dragged the tip down her left buttock and thigh.

“Stay on your feet, little one,” Morgan scolded gently, chuckling in her ear. “Just a little longer, I promise.”

Helena was only able to whimper as she fisted her hands and pressed her feet more firmly into the floor, determined to stay upright. For the next several moments she trembled ceaselessly as Morgan dragged the rod teasingly along her hips, waist and breasts. She released his name from her lips with a strangled cry and flinched as the cold, golden tip was brushed across her nipple. It did not hurt, but the sensation set off a series of explosions along her skin, leaving a trail of flames in its wake.

She whimpered, then gasped as Morgan turned around and latched onto her injured nipple with his mouth. Helena’s eyes rolled upwards with ecstasy as his hot tongue lapped sensually over the small wound and she felt the pain recede instantly.

When he released her she turned herself towards him, hoping he would tend to her other breast, but he instead twisted her back around, once more controlling her with his grip in her hair, and brought the tip of the rod up the arch of her back. With a few twists of his fingers, he gathered her dark golden strands into a bun, and deftly stabbed the rod through the knot.

It was only a hair pin, not a torture device.

Morgan had simply teased her with it before putting it to its proper use. When he released her and brought her around to face him once more, it stayed in place, pinned so that the long waves were off the back of her neck.

“How badly did it hurt?” he asked, going to his knees.

He came eye level with her breasts and inspected her nipple closely.

“Not at all,” she breathed, struggling to focus as his fingers teasingly inspected her flesh.

“But the anticipation?” he asked, while circling his thumb around the hard bud.

Helena smiled in rapt amazement and shook her head.

“The anticipation was powerful,” she confessed, and Morgan laughed softly.

Helena shook her head quickly. She wanted more.

“Continue with our lesson,” she pleaded, then after catching his stern brow, quickly added, “please, sir.”

Arousal flared in Morgan’s green eyes, and he gave her a nod of approval as he rose from his knees. He then pulled the spur from his pocket and ordered her to stand facing away from him once more.

“We shall have one more lesson in this practice before we move onto a more… impactful one,” Morgan muttered against her ear.

Like the needle, he ran the sharpened five-point spur down the back of her neck, and a smile grew on Helena’s lips. It was very sharp and generated just a pinch of pain, but it also tickled. Or, perhaps, nipped? She was not sure, but she knew she liked it. This time Helena’s body moved with the utensil, lightly pressing herself into it wherever it roamed, and she let out a small, light laugh that turned into a moan as he rolled the spur down the path between her hip and pelvis.

“Your hips are incredibly sensitive,” Morgan murmured into her ear, retracing the path he had just taken with the spur.

A wave of bliss grew in her groin and sped through her nerve endings as Morgan retraced the spur’s path. Helena’s knees threatened to give out when he paused at the fold of her buttocks and pressed slightly harder.

A deep groan of pleasure left Morgan’s chest as he slipped the spur into his pocket, picked Helena up, and carried her to a nearby settee.

“Lay back against me, between my legs,” Morgan commanded hoarsely, already repositioning her to do so. “That is a good girl. Now, spread your legs. Hook each ankle onto the outside of my calves. Yes, just like that.”

“Morgan,” Helena breathed, feeling a flush flood from her cheeks to her chest.

Although she had been naked nearly the entire time, with her legs now splayed apart she felt more exposed than ever. Helena glanced up at him and saw that he was looking down at her with pure hunger; his breaths deep and rapid. Helena began to move her legs together as her insecurity grew. In an instant Morgan’s hands gripped her inner thighs to stop her.

“Do not dare,” he warned, nipping her ear.

His hands then loosened their grip on her thighs, kneading them slightly before they slipped up to her sex. His fingers skimmed across her petals, making her gasp and arch. Morgan let out another primal growl from deep within his chest.

“You do not hide yourself from me, remember?” he whispered, brushing his fingertips over her swollen pearl.

“Yes, sir,” Helena whimpered, arching into his touch.

“Now, spread your legs wider.”

Helena’s body obeyed immediately, her mind not registering the command as it became overwhelmed with pleasure. From his pocket, Morgan pulled out the spur once more, and with one hand around her throat he began the lesson again.

He started with her breasts, letting the little sharp edges of the star prick and pull the sensitive flesh of each areola and nipple, and then the delicate underside of each breast.

When he reached her hip again, Morgan dug the tool slightly deeper, and a low, heady moan escaped Helena’s lips as she writhed uncontrollably in his lap. She loved the biting sting of the little tool.

“Now, for this next part, you Must . Stay. Still,” Morgan warned, his tone deadly in her ear.

Helena willed her body to stop trembling as Morgan guided the spur to the apex of her legs. She moaned his name as the small spokes traveled around the delicate flesh surrounding her moist opening, then pressed her head tightly against Morgan’s chest as he turned the utensil so that the base of her bud slipped perfectly between the two sharpened prongs.

He removed the pressure of the device just as it became too much, and as Helena released a breath, she felt his fingers quickly replace it.

“My, my, you are simply soaking, Helena,” Morgan taunted, his fingers expertly teasing her dripping petals.

She gasped as his left pointer finger slid between her slick, tight walls, and she felt a ripple of pleasure ebb through her as he began to gently thrust and rock and his hand. Her lashes fluttered shut at the pleasure, and she whimpered in protest when he pulled his hand away far too soon for her liking.

Helena felt her body melt into his as he began to tease her nipple and her steamy entrance simultaneously.

“Do not close your eyes,” he commanded hoarsely. “Look at how wet you are for me.”

Helena felt her eyes fly open and her cheeks burst with heat as she saw the evidence of her pleasure dripping down his pointer finger and sparkling on his other fingertips.

“I want you to watch what happens to your body as it comes undone,” Morgan whispered into her ear as he brought his hand back down to her mons. Softly, he brushed his dripping fingertips to her clitoris, and her back arched immediately into the touch.”

Helena’s breaths grew heavy as Morgan continued to work her tiny bundle of nerves, and she forced her eyes open. She watched in wonder as her breath moved through her body; how certain parts of her trembled and refused to give in to her demand to be still.

“Have you ever touched yourself here, little Persephone?” Morgan asked, sliding his finger back inside of her as he worked her bud faster.

“Ah! Mmm!” Helena whimpered, shaking her head as she felt the wave growing within her reach its apex.

Morgan chuckled as he masterfully worked the tool.

“You have forgotten your words,” he taunted. “Have you never tried?”

Helena flushed at the deeply invasive question, but she knew she had to answer.

“I-I have tried,” she confessed, her nails digging into the fabric of his trousers that was bunched at his hip. “B-but I c-cann-not seem to find the right t-touch.”

Morgan flicked his wrist, causing a sharp but dizzying pleasure to shoot through her groin, and Helena cried out as she strained to keep herself still.

“Follow my touch,” Morgan ordered, moving his hand rhythmically back and forth, up and down. “Next time you try, you will think of this; you will think of me, and when you release, you will call my name. Understand?”

Pleasure burst through Helena’s body as her building orgasm suddenly broke through its invisible dam. A loud, pleading cry left her lips as she felt tears fill her eyes and a flood of juices erupt between her legs. Morgan tossed the spur away, his fingers immediately going to the small bud he had just tortured and rubbing it hard and fast.

Helena felt her body lift up and then buck wildly against Morgan’s hand as the new pressure restarted her orgasm, and she felt another rush of pleasure engulf her.

“You will say my name next time,” Morgan commanded, covering her mouth as he nipped at her ear. Yes?”

“Yes,” she cried, the word muffled under his hand.