Page 23 of Duke of Wickedness

Her blush made her blue eyes seem even brighter.

It tempted him into pushing her just a little bit further. He furtively glanced around. Just about everyone had already progressed into the parlor; there was nobody here to see him ashe leaned in close enough that he could see gooseflesh rippling down her neck when his breath touched her.

“Tell me, Ariadne,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “What is it that you think about when you touch yourself?”

She reared back, looking at him with eyes as wide as saucers. “When I what?”

Oh, she was so innocent. And yet she had such a natural inclination for the pleasurable things in life—he’d seen it when he’d kissed her, and he could see it now. She didn’t even know what he was talking about, not exactly, but she wanted to know.

He wanted her to have that.

And, yes, he wanted to help her have that—he wasn’t a bloody saint. He wouldn’t exactly be suffering nobly if she let him guide her through her foray into self-discovery.

But hewascapable of restraint.

More to the point, he needed to show some restraint before he gave the entire bloody dinner party a show that said all too clearly howintriguinghe found Lady Ariadne Lightholder.

He couldn’t resist one last parting volley, however.

“Tell you what,” he said, reaching up to touch one fingertip under her chin, just long enough to tilt her eyes up to his. “Try it. Tonight. Explore what feels right to you. Think about how it is just the tiniest taste of the pleasure I can show you.”

He let his hand drop, then stepped away.

“And then,” he said, “thenyou can let me know what you want to do about my offer.”

CHAPTER 6

What is it that you think about when you touch yourself?

The duke’s words echoed in Ariadne’s ears as she lay in her bed, staring up at her ceiling.

Explore what feels right to you.

The words had been very clearly suggestive. Hearing them from the duke’s lips had sent a thrill through her.

But now, alone?

What in goodness’ name was she supposed todo?

She looked at her own arm, then touched it with her opposing hand. That obviously wasn’t what he had meant, but…

It wasn’tnotnice, the feeling of a grazing touch against her skin.

She touched her arm again, focusing on the trailing sensation of her fingertips, letting herself really feel the sensations that were left behind.

Yes… Right. She could use this. She thought of the things she’d read in Helen’s stash of novels, which hadn’t quite been instructions, but had been suggestive enough to give her a sense of direction.

She let her fingers keep going, tracing them up over her elbows, her upper arms, her collarbones. She switched hands, letting the other one explore, enjoying the shivery feelings.

Emboldened, she pulled her arms beneath the blankets. It didn’t feel quite as nice with the thin layer of her chemise between her fingers and her skin, but there was something pleasant about feeling the whisper-thin fabric brush against her. She chased the thrill that went through her when she brushed her hand over the curve of her breast, enjoyed the way her skin erupted in gooseflesh when she trailed her fingernails across her abdomen.

She followed these impulses, pushing forward when something felt good, changing direction when it didn’t feel as nice.

All of this brought her, after much wandering and experimenting, to the tender skin on the inside of her thighs, then higher to a place where—oh.

She chased and chased the feeling, something inside her winding tighter, a warmth in her belly that grew and grew until itburst.

After, Ariadne found herself staring at the ceiling again.