Page 32 of His Duchess of Scandal (Brides of Scandal #1)

Chapter Twenty-Three

“ I must have you,” Charles murmured against her skin, his mouth already finding a spot on her neck, newly exposed by his roving hands.

He had pushed aside her sleeve without care, as if the lack of skin on display pained him.

Hermia’s back hit his chamber door with a thud , and she reveled in the force of it—the roughness that was slipping through, now that her husband had finally given in to his desire.

How many nights had she lain awake, thinking herself undesirable?

How many moments had she agonized over his rejection on their wedding night, cringing and hurting?

Now, she realized that her husband had been held back by that steely grip on duty and honor.

“I have wanted you ever since that night,” Charles whispered, lifting his head so he could look her in the eye.

His fingers grazed her chin, tilting her face up. He kissed her once, not the bruising, passionate way he had done earlier, but a tantalizing brush of lips and tongue.

“I have craved to have your body beneath mine, craved to have your thighs wrapped around me, craved to hear your beautiful moans.”

“Charles,” she whimpered, her fingers tangling in his dark hair.

Her heart was pounding so hard she thought she might pass out. Heavens, even just the way he stared at her made her avert her gaze, made her spiral.

His mouth quirked in a smirk. “Do not be shy now, Hermia. I have you exactly where we both want you to be, no?”

Another whine caught in her throat, desire trying to break through her defenses, as she nodded.

“Then do not look away,” he purred. “I want you , and having your eyes on me as I pleasure you is one of the many gifts you have already given me.”

His fingers toyed with her sleeves further, running over her shoulders in a way that had her shivering against the door, needy breaths escaping her.

“You are beautiful,” he continued, as if he knew she couldn’t quite believe this was truly happening. That she was desired .

After spending a year holed up in the countryside, resigned to spinsterhood, and add to that the distance Charles had put between them… it must be hard to shed old beliefs, even if now she knew better.

“You are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on. Your body, Hermia… it haunts me in my dreams. I dream of the curves I wish to hold again. I dream of your taste, for it lingered on my tongue for days after the party.”

He stepped back, moving to take off his tailcoat, but Hermia was faster.

“Let me,” she breathed. “I-I wish to undress you.”

I wish to admire you. I wish to take my time with you.

Last time, they had been acutely aware of other people at Bentley’s party, not far enough from their room for it to feel fully private. But now… now they had the entire night, spread out like a dark, promising blanket to tumble on.

“Then you may.”

The way his mouth danced on the edge of a smirk as he gave her permission, as if he recalled how she had enjoyed being allowed to do something for him, enjoyed being under his control, made her dizzy.

Her hands shook when she reached for the lapels of his tailcoat, breathing hard, for she was finally allowed to touch him. Every muscle waited for her fingers, and she explored, feeling his confidence in the way he simply stood and let her. He had shown not one ounce of shyness or hesitation.

He was sure of her, and perhaps it was that certainty in the lines of his body and relaxed muscles that made her finally realize it.

Once his tailcoat was a heap on the floor, she undid the buttons on his black, velvet waistcoat. His eyes met hers, even darker than usual with intent. Her stomach clenched as she struggled with the last button, too entranced by his beauty.

She finally undid it with a nervous laugh, and he helped her take the garment off before letting her slowly loosen the knot of his cravat. She took her time with it, letting the silk brush her skin, biting back a soft moan at how it felt. All the while, he didn’t look away from her.

“You are doing well,” he murmured when she fumbled slightly. “Keep going.”

She did, and soon his cravat joined the other garments. She pulled his shirt open and pushed it down his shoulders, baring his upper body to her hungry gaze.

Already, Charles was half erect in his breeches, the black material not doing a great deal to hide his arousal. She was glad. She enjoyed seeing the effect she had on him.

“You are a man of such composure,” she said softly, as if taunting him. Her hands skimmed down the buttons of his breeches, purposefully brushing against his erection. A hiss was her reward. “And yet you cannot hide how badly you want me.”

“Do you wish to hear me say it?” His voice turned dark, almost lethal. “Do you wish to hear me say how badly I want you? Is that what you need?”

“Yes,” Hermia whispered.

Not because she felt vulnerable, not anymore, but because she wanted the power of knowing that she had been a spinster, yet she had ruffled the feathers of a highly respected duke.

What she wasn’t expecting was his low growl as he pushed her backwards so she plopped down on the bed. Her legs parted, and he was already ridding her of her gown as if he would die if he waited a moment longer. As if he couldn’t endure one moment more of not looking at her body.

He made quick work of the laces, her corset, and chemise, before leaving her naked and splayed on the sheets before him.

“Heavens,” he rasped. “You are correct. I cannot hide how badly I want you, nor do I want to any longer. I have displayed you on every canvas as much as I am displaying you now. Your body is the masterpiece my art can never quite do justice to. So, no, Hermia…” He unfastened his breeches and pushed them down.

“I will no longer hide how much I want you. I have done that for far too long, but not anymore.”

Hermia’s eyes roved over his body as his did over hers. His shoulders almost blocked out the light behind him, broad and thick. His stomach was unfairly toned, making her mouth water, and his biceps were almost as thick as his thighs.

And right between his thighs hung his length, little more than half-erect now.

All she could think about was how it had felt inside her the last time, and how she had hungered for it while trying to quell her lust.

“My Ares,” she whispered, wetting her lips.

Charles followed the movement. He reached out to cup her face, smiling, soft amid their raging passion.

“My Aphrodite,” he murmured, stroking a thumb over her cheek. “Beautiful, lovely, and with that wicked tongue that I had my first taste of at the party… how could I not be besotted with you from the first moment, Hermia?”

She swallowed, overwhelmed by his affection. It was so overwhelming that she tugged him to her, letting his mouth press to hers. Immediately, her lips parted to let him in, and he groaned.

The kiss swallowed her whole— Charles swallowed her whole. Her release still lingered in her limbs, making her pliant, but she fell into him. She tumbled , aching for every day she had thought about him after that night.

“How could I not?” he repeated quietly, breaking the kiss.

The look in his eyes was so intense that it had her feeling off-kilter. His mouth moved to her chin, then down the line of her neck to her collarbone. He pressed featherlight kisses to her skin, nipping now and then.

Hermia hoped he would leave a mark. The last time he did, and although the marks were faint, they had been a reminder that lasted her a handful of days.

Her fingers slid back into his hair as he moved to her breasts, cupping one in his hand and kissing the other, then switching.

Heavens, he made her head spin. Her breath came in heavy bursts, her back arching to feel more of him.

“Keep your legs open,” he murmured.

Despite the low tone of his voice, the command was clear, and Hermia shivered at how naturally it came to him.

She moaned softly, nodding.

“Can you do that for me, Duchess? Keep them open, no matter what?”