Page 46 of His Duchess of Scandal (Brides of Scandal #1)

Being the Duchess of Branmere to the most handsome Duke of Branmere.

And later that night, she had more news to deliver.

That night, Hermia slipped through the door connecting their chambers. They shared the same room now, but it had become a little game of who broke first to seek the other out.

That night, it was Hermia.

Entering Charles’s chambers in only her robe and nothing underneath, she found him lounging in bed, one arm tucked behind his head. His chest was bare, the sheets lowered to his hips just enough to tease her, but not enough to show anything.

“I thought you would never join me,” he drawled, his voice low and rough with the dark promises he always made in their bedroom. “I feel as though I have been waiting an eternity for you.”

“That is a beautiful line,” Hermia teased, moving towards him.

He was already shifting, his hands reaching for her.

“It is no line, my Hermia. My Aphrodite. Do you recall what I told you that night at the party?”

“You told me many things.”

“We discussed licking wine from one another’s mouths the next time we met, and I believe I have a debt to pay.”

Charles pointedly looked towards the bedside table, where a candle illuminated a bottle of wine and a length of silk.

“Do you recall the blindfolds, Hermia?” he whispered.

“I do,” she whispered back.

“Then close your eyes and reach for me. Speak if it is too much, and we will stop.”

Hermia felt his fingers slide through hers, and she was pulled closer to the bed. She felt strong thighs bracketing her legs as the silk was draped over her eyes. Darkness engulfed her, yet she welcomed it, feeling safe, knowing the hands on her were Charles’s.

“I am right here,” he further assured her. “I am going nowhere.” His hands tightened around hers, before he carefully, slowly , peeled her robe off her. He made an appreciative noise in the back of his throat. “I am definitely going nowhere.”

They laughed softly as he buried his face in her chest, his mouth immediately capturing one erect nipple, and then moving towards the other one. Gasps escaped Hermia’s lips as she arched into his warm mouth.

“I could lose myself in this perfect chest of yours all day,” Charles groaned. “Heavens, if I am buried, let it either be between your breasts or your thighs.”

“Charles,” she whined, gripping his hair, the length that curled around his collar.

“Yes, my love?”

“You tease.”

“Because you get wetter when I do so.” He laughed darkly.

He pulled away from her, and she heard the clink of the wine bottle before the lid was tugged off. She heard the telltale sound of it being drunk, and then she was maneuvered onto the bed.

Her back pressed into the pillows, and Charles hooked two fingers beneath her chin to tilt her head up. Gently, he tapped her lips.

She parted them, and his mouth descended on hers, pouring wine into her mouth, the two of them sharing the taste. Charles let out a hungry growl as he gripped her chin, chasing a droplet with more teeth than tongue, and pushed her back into the pillows.

Without her sight, everything else was heightened. The press of his naked body, the richness of the wine, the way he touched her.

Heavens.

“Do you wish to remain without sight when I enter you?”

“No,” she gasped as she felt his length brush between her folds. More wine slid into her mouth, and she licked Charles’s lips. “No, I-I want to see you.”

Within seconds, the silk was lifted from her eyes, and she looked at her husband through hooded eyes. He looked as vacant as she felt, as if the two of them cast such a spell on one another.

Charles reached out his hand once more, and the moment Hermia linked her fingers with his, he entered her in one full thrust.

Cries tore from her throat, but they were far enough from the rest of the household that she knew she would not disturb anybody. With Charles sheathed inside her, she let her hips move, rocking up into him.

Her breath came short—entirely too short—for she grew dizzy but clung to her husband even harder. With a snarl, he pinned her arms over her head, grounding her. Her heart pounded as she gazed up at him, looming over her.

The candlelight cast his face in shadows that whispered wicked promises.

His mouth was a curved smirk, yet when he kissed her, it was a moment of slow steadiness in the passion of their intimacy. Charles’s hips snapped against hers, his length slamming into her over and over.

“Heavens, Hermia,” he groaned. “I may take you like this a thousand times, but it never fails to make me lose my sanity. I fear you will make me an addict. No, I fear I already am.”

“Then we shall—we shall both be,” Hermia cried out. “For I cannot go a day without you. Without this .”

Her walls clenched around his length, and she felt him tense above her.

Together, they quickened their pace, rocking more intensely. Charles took her roughly, a way that she found she liked, and she let herself fall into it. Her lips parted, hanging open to allow her sounds of pleasure to fill the room.

“That is it,” he encouraged. “My beautiful wife. Heavens, you sound stunning. Come for me, Hermia. Let me have this sweet taste of you.”

He thrusted into her several more times before she climaxed, muffling a shout with her hand as she clamped down on him. He followed her over the edge moments later, a growl pressed to her neck as they tried to catch their breath.

Charles fell next to her, his chest rising and falling as he toyed with a lock of her hair, a slow, lazy smile curving his lips.

“Charles,” Hermia whispered, thinking back to her main reason for seeking him out. For their intimacy, of course. But then there was her other news. “Charles, I am with child. It had it confirmed only this week.”

Silence fell over the room, and Hermia waited with bated breath for disappointment or resentment to befall her husband’s face. Yet, when he shook off the waves of pleasure, all that remained was joy.

“We are having our own child?”

“Well, I do consider Phoebe my own, but yes .” Hermia giggled. “Yes, we are having another.”

Charles’s smile eased every worry she had quietly harbored, knowing she should not have done so, not really. But she couldn’t help it.

Leaning in to kiss her, he cupped her face tenderly. “And we shall give our children the best life possible. We are already proving to be better parents so far, are we not?”

“You have come so far,” Hermia acknowledged, nodding. “Phoebe is lucky.”

“They both are.” Charles brushed a hand over her stomach, and a small noise caught in the back of his throat. “All of our children—however many we have—will be lucky to have such an intelligent, beautiful mother looking out for them.”

“And a father who will burn the world down to ashes to give them everything,” Hermia whispered, smiling at him.

Another kiss was pressed to her mouth, slow and considerate, and she moaned quietly into it, finding that her pleasure had not quite subsided, not when she moved astride her husband, her body already finding its way onto his.

The End?