Page 12 of Duke with a Lie (Wicked Dukes Society #4)

H e wasn’t going to kiss her.

He wasn’t jealous of Lord bloody Elmont.

But he was going to come out of his damned skin if Rhiannon didn’t do as he asked of her and get the hell out of this room. He could admit that much, if only to himself.

And what was Rhiannon doing? The minx was blocking the door with her lush, tempting form, taunting him by suggesting she’d wanted to see another man’s cock, when the only cock he wanted her to see or touch or know was his.

That cannot happen , he reminded himself viciously.

You can’t have her.

She’s forbidden.

Whit’s sister.

A fucking virgin.

Yes, she was all those things. But she was also the most potent aphrodisiac he’d ever beheld, flushed and glossy-eyed, all but panting with desire.

He might have consigned himself to the fiery pits of hell in that moment just for the chance to lift her skirts and test the slit of her drawers to see if she was wet.

He bit back a groan and struggled to give her his sternest expression. “Be a good chit and go.”

“I don’t want to be good, and I’m not a chit,” she denied stubbornly.

But then she did something else, something that broke him apart like a rock being dashed to bits by a pickaxe. She cupped his face in both her hands, staring up at him with such raw, unfettered desire that he couldn’t resist.

He had an excuse for the last time their lips had met.

She had been the aggressor then, taking him by surprise.

On this occasion, however, he had no such defense.

Because he was the one lowering his head toward hers, angling his mouth to claim and plunder.

He was the one who pressed her to the door and ravished her lips the way he wanted to with the rest of his body.

And damn her, she tasted every bit as sweet as she had then.

Perhaps more so. She opened without hesitation, and he gave her his tongue.

Her hands moved from his face to his shoulders, her nails digging into him through the layers he wore as if she wanted to hold him there forever or perhaps make her mark.

Some dark and debased part of him hoped she would.

He was on fire for her, and it had precious little to do with the show the couple had enacted for them in the adjacent room.

He had scarcely spared them a glance. The only one he’d been watching was Rhiannon.

Her swift inhalations, her parted lips, the way her body shifted and moved, as if she were trying to assuage the ever-growing ache deep within.

An ache he knew could only be quelled one way.

Realization hit him with a clarity that was so sharp and precise, it may as well have been fashioned from a guillotine.

He had to touch her. Just once. Had to know if she had been as stirred by watching Lord and Lady Elmont as he thought she’d been.

It was wrong, he knew, but he couldn’t stop or help himself.

If he never took the opportunity to touch her, he’d regret it to his dying day.

This would be his only chance. Aubrey grasped a handful of her skirts, slowly lifting silk and petticoats.

Inch by inch. As he did, he deepened the kiss, her tongue slick against his, her breathy moan of encouragement enough to make his cock leak.

It was ridiculous, how much Rhiannon affected him.

He was a grown man, an experienced, jaded rake who had known his first lover as a callow youth of eighteen when he had been desperate to lose himself in someone, to escape from the horrors of his own reality.

Since then, he’d bedded countless women.

There was no earthly reason he should want Lady Rhiannon Northwick more than he’d ever desired another.

Perhaps madness had finally claimed him.

He had been dancing about the devil for years now.

Her lips chased his as she ground her breasts into his chest. Up went her hems, just a scant inch higher. He was closer to what he wanted, but…

Fuck, fuck, fuck. He couldn’t touch her cunny. This was his friend’s sister.

Unfortunately, regardless of how many reprimands he issued himself, none had an impact on his all-consuming need for the woman who was kissing him as if her life depended upon it. Good. He would make her forget about the couple who were no doubt shagging like mad at this very moment.

Aubrey left her lips, stringing kisses across her jaw and down her throat.

He found the place where her pulse pounded frantically and set his mouth over it, sucking at the smooth, soft skin.

She tasted sweet here too, like Rhiannon and the faintest hint of her perfume.

He sucked harder, some perverse part of him hoping to leave a mark there so that when she looked in the mirror, she would remember this moment.

So that she would know who had put his mouth on her there.

“Richford,” she murmured.

He dragged more of her skirts upward, running his tongue along her soft skin to her ear, where he gently bit the fleshy lobe with his teeth. “I warned you, damn it.”

“I don’t heed warnings,” she murmured, her voice breathy and thick with desire. “They’re dreadfully tedious and boring.”

This bloody woman.

What was he going to do with her?

“You’re a menace, brat,” he told her, nipping at her ear.

Or mayhap he was the menace, because he couldn’t seem to stop himself. Nor could he get enough of her. He kissed her temple, leaning into her as he lifted her skirts some more.

“Did you like what you saw?” he asked. “Were you not shocked and horrified?”

“What do you think?” she taunted.

And he surrendered to temptation. Her gown was almost to her waist. He slid his hand underneath the heavy gathering of fabric and skimmed his fingers over the split in her drawers.

She was warm, so warm, and inviting and bloody fucking hell, her drawers were damp.

He parted the fabric, intent on touching her in truth, finding her bud and teasing her until she spent on his fingers.

“I think you did like it, minx,” he managed, his own desire thundering through him like a raging summer storm.

“Of course I did. Was that not the point?”

“Christ no,” he admitted, and then Aubrey lost control of his mind and tongue both, because he touched her.

He touched her sweet, hot cunny. And bloody, bloody hell.

She was so wet and hot that he could do nothing but groan, running his finger up and down her seam, gathering her wetness. Her pearl was swollen and responsive when he gave her a sleek stroke. Ah, God. She felt so good. Better than good, better than he could have possibly imagined.

His tongue was envious of his fingers, but he knew he wouldn’t have a comfortable means of pleasuring her that way. He wanted her in a bed, naked and sitting on his face. He’d eat her cunny and stroke himself to completion. Then he would?—

No.

What was he thinking? He couldn’t do any of those things. He had to stop this madness.

Except she made a soft, feminine sound of appreciation and rocked her hips, and how could he possibly do anything but give her what she wanted? He swirled his fingertips over her clitoris.

“This is where you long to be touched most, isn’t it?” he asked, wickedness overcoming him.

“Yes,” she gasped when he increased his pressure and pace.

“You need to come so badly,” he whispered, and it was agony and ecstasy, because so did he.

“Richford,” she said, her nails digging into his shoulders with greater urgency. “Please.”

He could give her this, he decided. What was the harm?

She was overwrought, and she was yet a neophyte to desire.

Carnal greed took hold of him then, shattering his conscience and his sense of loyalty both.

Why should it not be him? Rhiannon wanted to know pleasure.

He could show her, give her what she wanted.

In return, he could make certain she wouldn’t fall into the clutches of one of the jaded rakehells in attendance.

It was almost honorable, when he thought about it.

The door rattled suddenly behind Rhiannon, followed by a loud series of knocks. “Is anyone in there?”

He froze, his hand on Rhiannon’s wet, silken quim.

Rhiannon stiffened, eyes going wide as they met his.

Thank God he’d thought enough to lock the door after them when they’d entered. The last thing he would have wanted was for an interloper to appear in a moment like this.

“The room is in use at present,” he called out, raising his voice enough so that it would carry as he removed his hand and dropped Rhiannon’s skirts as if they had been made of hot coals.

“I beg your pardon, old chap,” came the voice on the other side of the door. “I didn’t intend to intrude. Carry on.”

The fellow sounded foxed, which was just as well. He would likely wander off in search of other amusements, leaving Aubrey to attempt to tidy up the mess he had just made.

He cleared his throat, willing both his racing heart and his hard prick to calm. “Thank you,” he called to the man, gratified when he heard footsteps receding down the hall.

Rhiannon was still leaning against the door, looking rumpled and rosy-cheeked.

Damn it all to hell.

What had he just done? Worse, what had he been about to do?

He had surrendered to his base instincts, casting all thoughts of conscience and loyalty from his mind.

How easily he had been overcome. But then, was it any wonder with a temptation like Rhiannon so near to him?

For Christ’s sake, he had brought her to observe another couple fucking .

He was mad.

Madder than mad.

He had been about to make her come on his hand whilst the two of them were standing up and fully clothed. She was Whit’s sister, for Chrissakes.

“Forgive me,” he managed to say past the agonizing, pent-up lust roiling through his blood and roaring in his veins. “I do believe your education went a bit too far.”

“Is it over already?” she asked, sounding disappointed.

He ground his molars. “It must be.”

Her blue eyes were on his, searching. “Why?”