Page 23 of Duke with a Lie (Wicked Dukes Society #4)

She was aching in places that were ordinary and commonplace. Her body was greedy and desperate, wanting his touch on every part of her.

“Your bedchamber is a bloody mess,” he observed without any bite to his words.

“My lady’s maid would have stood me in great stead, but I didn’t dare risk bringing her with me.”

His mouth fluttered over her nape, and she nearly jumped from the electric shock of it. “How did you come to be here? You never said.”

He wanted to have a conversation whilst he was undressing her? Rhiannon shivered and leaned into him, cursing the annoyance of her bustle getting in the way.

“I didn’t tell anyone where I was going. I just left.”

He nuzzled behind her ear, and Rhiannon’s legs almost gave out.

“Christ. What if a cry has been raised over your disappearance?”

“My mother won’t notice,” she managed breathlessly. “She scarcely knows I’m alive.”

Except in regard to the earl’s courtship. But Rhiannon had already promised not to speak Carnis’s name again, and she didn’t want to think about the future awaiting her now. She wanted to live in this moment, in the impossible hope she had been clinging to for years, finally made real.

As real as the duke’s lips on her nape, his fingers finding the hooks on her skirt and setting them free. His hands clamped suddenly on her waist, and he spun her to face him.

“Promise me you won’t do something so reckless again.”

She opened her mouth to argue, to ask why it should matter, to remind him that this was her last chance before her boring life began as someone else’s wife. But he laid a finger over her lips.

“No arguing. Promise.” His voice was stern, his expression intent.

“I promise,” she said, then gave in to the urge to kiss his finger.

“Good.”

His fingertip slid along her lips, over her chin.

He skimmed it down her throat, making her tilt her head back.

Slowly, slowly, he trailed his touch across the center of her chest, between the swells of her breasts beneath her chemise and corset.

Then he hooked his finger in her corset and tugged her into him, his lips claiming hers again, and promises, the future, and all else fell away.

There was nothing but him and her, their mouths melding.

Nothing but the night and the two of them.

He cupped her cheek with one hand and made love to her mouth, feeding her voracious, deliciously carnal kisses.

Her dream lover, hers at last. Perhaps she was asleep, but if so, she would sooner revel in this forbidden fancy than wake.

As if to prove he was real, she coasted her hands over his chest, finding the buttons that kept her from him too.

His coat and waistcoat fell to the floor.

More buttons. She sucked on his tongue as her fingers flew over additional fastenings.

Rhiannon lost patience and clawed at his shirt, her nails raking over his chest.

He grunted, and she tore her lips from his, aghast that she had scratched him like a wildcat.

“Forgive me.”

His gaze was as dark as forest moss. “Hush.” He caught her hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a feverish kiss to her knuckles. “Never apologize with me.”

Aubrey’s shirt hung open, revealing a tempting swath of chest and the lean, muscled slabs of his belly, all dotted with a sprinkling of golden hair.

Three pink lines rose above his flat nipple, and she leaned into him impulsively, pressing her lips to his heated skin just above his heart.

She absorbed the rhythmic beats with her mouth, inhaling deeply of the scent of him, masculine and beloved.

His shirt fluttered to the Axminster. Her petticoats went next. Their lips met again as he walked her toward the bed. She nearly tripped in the particularly voluminous skirts of a discarded day gown and clung to him. He caught her to him, keeping her from falling.

She was drunk on him. Or perhaps on the champagne she had consumed during the ball.

Mayhap both? The lights swirled around them, and everything became a blur of color and sensation.

He one-handedly plucked open the laces of her corset while kissing her breathless and pulled open the hooks on her busk with the other.

Her chemise and drawers were next, and then he backed her onto the bed while she was clad in nothing other than her stockings and garters.

Strong hands on her waist lifted her until her bare bottom settled in the soft nest of the bedclothes. She reached for the counterpane, thinking to shield herself, but he caught her hand in his.

“Let me look at you,” he rasped. “Please.”

It was the reverence in his voice that shattered her embarrassment. She thrust back her shoulders and raised her chin as his heated stare devoured her.

“As you like,” she invited him, her own gaze traveling lovingly over every detail of his bare upper body.

Long, strong arms that flexed as he moved. How was it possible for him to be even more beautiful without his clothes? It seemed an impossibility, and yet, somehow, he was.

“I like.” He flattened his hands on either side of her on the bed, his big body bending toward her. Their lips met in a kiss. “Very much.” He kissed down her throat. “More than words…” His mouth moved along her collarbone, then dotted across her shoulder. “…can possibly convey.”

She swallowed as his lips trailed lower, finding the curve of her breast. Her nipples were already hard, aching to be touched. As if he could sense what she wanted, he took one in his mouth and sucked.

A cry left her as she arched her back, a new pulse beating to life between her legs.

He released the peak of her breast.

“Hush,” he reminded her.

Suitably chastened, she bit her lip.

“You’re so damned beautiful, Rhiannon.” He dipped his head, and his hot, knowing mouth closed over the distended peak. He sucked hard.

Her fingers threaded through his hair, and she arched into him.

The feeling between her legs intensified.

It was as overwhelming as when they had been alone in the observation room.

He moved to her other breast, flicking his tongue around her nipple in maddening circles before suckling until a muffled cry slipped from her lips.

“So responsive,” he praised. “I wonder if you could come from my mouth on your breasts alone.”

A ragged breath escaped her.

He chuckled, the sound a wicked rasp. “Perhaps we’ll test that later. For now, I’m too impatient to taste you.”

A forbidden thrill shot through her at his words. For she knew what he meant. What he intended. Aubrey wanted to use his mouth on her just as the man had done to the woman in the viewing room.

And she wanted him to.

He sank to his knees on the carpet, his hands gliding over her bare thighs. “Open for me, minx.”

Rhiannon realized she had been holding her legs together tightly, trying to quell the ache.

He kissed a path from her hip to her knee like a devoted supplicant.

If watching another couple had felt wicked, having him on his knees before her, intent upon kissing her most intimate place, felt deliciously wrong and yet oh-so right.

This was Richford, the man she had yearned for all these years. Finally, at last, seeing her.

Touching her.

Desiring her.

She relaxed at once, parting her legs, and he wasted no time in burying his face there.

He pressed a kiss to her mound, his soft hair brushing against the insides of her thighs as he caressed her hips.

When his tongue flicked over her sensitive nub, she gasped, fingers tightening on his hair.

He licked at her, teasing softly at first and then exerting greater pressure as dizzying pleasure overtook her.

She forgot modesty. Forgot to worry about the uncertainties awaiting her beyond this room.

Instead, she surrendered to him. He made a low sound of enjoyment that rumbled through her core and radiated outward, his tongue still playing over her, alternating between quick, light licks and long, slow explorations.

It was the most divine sensation she had ever known.

Little wonder he had all the ladies in London falling at his feet. If he was capable of this…

His lips closed around her, and he sucked.

A noise fled her, half gasp, half moan. The wicked, wicked man.

He paused for a moment, his gaze meeting hers as his mouth continued to deliciously torment.

And then he found a part of her that was deliriously sensitive, using his teeth to lightly nip.

Something inside her came apart. Her crisis took her quickly.

She stiffened beneath his tender onslaught as wave after wave of bliss washed over her.

He stayed with her all the while, continuing to lick and lave and suck.

His fingers parted her folds, slicking her wetness up and down as his mouth worked at her highly stimulated flesh.

There was a new sort of pressure, different from his tongue, and she realized it was his finger, poised at her entrance. Did he intend to…?

Yes, he did.

In the next breath, he sank a finger inside her, all while sucking at her clitoris.

The sudden fullness sent a sharp rush of desire through Rhiannon.

It was almost painful, the pleasure, as he moved in and out of her, the wet sounds of her own desire echoing in the hush of the night.

It was too much. She twisted beneath him, desperate for more, seeking, searching.

The crescendo within her built again to a fevered pitch.

Her body seized, and she lost control. The pleasure this time was every bit as violent as the last, wringing a moan from her.

“God,” he murmured. “You taste so sweet, and you’re so wet, so perfect.”

He withdrew and rose to his feet, his expression slackened with desire, his lips wet and glistening. What a beautiful sight he made, bare-chested and towering over her. But he was still wearing his trousers, and that hardly seemed fair. She wanted to see him, to touch him.