Page 18 of Enchanting the Duke

He slid his hands down, gathering her skirts and lifting them just high enough to find her stockinged thigh.She gasped, the sound muffled against his shoulder, and he grinned in triumph.

Her leg was bare above her stocking, the simple garter holding the silk in place.He stroked her thigh, relishing the contrast of rough calluses against perfect skin.She trembled, her entire body alive with anticipation.

“You have no idea what you’re asking for,” he warned, but she only smiled, reckless and beautiful.

“I want to know.Show me everything.”

He wanted to, desperately.But he forced himself to slow, to savor the moment.He leaned in, kissing her cheek, her jaw, the hollow at the base of her throat.His hands explored, mapping her body, committing every sensation to memory.

“Next time,” he said, “I want to undress you.Every layer, every button, every ribbon.”

She shivered, and he felt the heat rise between them.“And then?”

“I want to lay you on a bed,” he continued, “and taste every inch of you.I want to make you come apart for me, over and over, until you forget your own name.”

She made a small, hungry sound in the back of her throat.“That sounds like a challenge.”

“It is,” he said, kissing her again, this time with the full force of his need.

She met him with equal ferocity, her hands roaming his back, her body arching to meet his.He slid his hand up her thigh, finding the the heat of her quim.She gasped, hips bucking involuntarily.

He smoothed his fingers over her lips, gentle at first, then firmer as she urged him on.She was wet and ready, the proof of her desire intoxicating.He circled her clit with his thumb, watching her face for every flutter, every gasp.

“Oh,” she said, voice thin and urgent.

He pressed his lips to her ear.“Is this what you want?”

“Yes,” she breathed.“God, yes.”

He stroked her, slow and careful, learning what she liked by the way her breath stuttered, the way her nails raked his shoulders.She clung to him, desperate, as if afraid he might stop.

He didn’t.

She came with a gasp, biting down on his shoulder to muffle the sound.He held her, supporting her weight as she shook in his arms.He kissed her face, her hair, every inch he could reach.

When she finally opened her eyes, she looked utterly undone.

He helped her right her skirts, smoothing the fabric with a gentleness that surprised even him.

“That was…” she began, but words failed her.

“Only the beginning,” he promised, kissing her forehead.

They stood for a moment in perfect silence, hearts racing, bodies pressed close.Nomansland felt a fierce, wild joy—a sense of having seized something vital and precious.

Then, without warning, the door swung open.

He spun, shielding Chrissy behind him.A man stared, wide-eyed, at the tableau, the duke, disheveled and clearly in flagrante, Chrissy, cheeks flushed and hair half-tumbled from its pins.

The man grunted.

A woman’s voice behind him asked, “What is it?Go on in.”

“The room’s occupied,” he told her.Mumbling a hasty apology, he retreated, closing the door again.

Nomansland stared at Chrissy, then she burst out laughing.

“We’re ruined,” Chrissy said, her expression nothing like one would expect from a scandalized miss.