Page 26 of His Scottish Duchess (The Dukes of Sin #5)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

“ A h, we have arrived. Finally.”

Sampson groaned in gratitude as he stepped out of the carriage and stretched his hands above his head, wincing as joints in his legs and hips popped.

With a sigh, he turned back to the carriage, smiling as he held his hand out to the other passenger within.

“Careful now, darling Duchess. I would not want you to trip and fall into my arms, therefore stirring your deep affection for me—much like those dramatic plays,” he teased with a grin.

Catherine giggled, slipping her hand into his and using his tight grip as leverage to step out of the carriage.

“I have not seen such plays—or indeed any before. But I have a feeling that you needn’t worry. I have never had a flair for the dramatics either.”

“I must change that soon. You are missing out on several artistic wonders and atrocities,” Sampson replied, leading her to the entrance of the inn.

“That sounds like a lovely idea. However, I must protest the manner in which I was invited to this outing. It does not sound as romantic as I suspect you intended.” Catherine pouted, turning her face away in mock displeasure.

Sampson fought the urge to smile, tugging her closer.

“Wait until we return home. I will be sure to romance you thoroughly,” he declared seriously.

Catherine giggled, avoiding his gaze as a deep blush rose to her cheeks. Sampson decided not to push her too much, ensuring that she was tucked securely against his side as he went to request a room.

The procedures that followed were fairly swift, and soon they were given a cozy room to rest for the night. It was certainly not bad, as far as inns went in small towns, and the soft glow of the flickering candlelight made everything appear much warmer.

Catherine sank onto the edge of the small bed with a grateful sigh, stretching her arms out in front of her with a slight groan. Sampson suspected that her muscles ached from the long hours spent cooped up in the carriage, but she had not uttered a single complaint.

It had been hard for him to tear his eyes off her since their departure from Scotland. Now that they had finally gotten a chance to lay their heads and be still for a moment, he became a flurry of quiet concern.

He quickly instructed a servant to fetch some warm water and plumped the pillows with meticulous care afterward as Catherine climbed into bed, her hair loose and cascading down her back.

For a moment, he lost his train of thought as he watched her crawl on the sheets in her flimsy nightgown, the lacy white strap slipping down her shoulder. There was so much… pale skin on display.

He wanted to hold her and ravish her, wanted to mark her with his fingertips and his teeth. He wanted her to scream his name, to give everything within her to him.

But… perhaps not tonight. It would be best to let her rest.

Resigning himself to that fate, Sampson waited until she was settled, then pressed a steaming cup of herbal tea into her hands.

“Here, love,” he murmured, his voice a low caress. “Drink this slowly. It will help you relax.”

He could only hope that they were able to rest well enough tonight to resume their journey the next day.

Catherine’s heart fluttered at the term of endearment, a warmth spreading through her that had little to do with the tea.

She had noticed his intentional, consistent care for her well-being, which had begun before they left Scotland. The gentle way he held her, the way his blue eyes seemed to linger on her with such tenderness, caused hope to bloom in her heart.

His behavior now was a stark contrast to the cold aloofness she had first encountered, and this affectionate Sampson made her believe that perhaps her dreams of love and a family with him were not so far-fetched.

Catherine wanted to say something to him, to confess her love for him, which was rapidly flooding her lungs and constantly making it difficult for her to breathe. She needed to let him know how she felt so that they could start their lives together properly.

“Sampson…” she began, only to hesitate as she took in the sight before her eyes.

Sampson was standing a few feet away and had begun to unroll one of the spare blankets they had been given on the floor near the fireplace, preparing his usual makeshift bed.

Disappointment filled Catherine as watched him, a hint of longing stirring within her.

“Not this again,” she sighed to herself. “Surely that cannot be comfortable. Especially not in this weather.”

The floor looked cold and unforgiving, and the thought of him sleeping down there, so close yet so far, was unbearable.

“Sampson,” she called softly, her voice a little hesitant.

He paused in his movements, turning to look at her, a questioning look on his face. “Yes, Catherine?”

“It… it looks very cold down there,” she said, her gaze fixed on the thin blanket he was arranging. “The fire is dying down. Surely you would be more comfortable… here.”

Nervously, she patted the space beside her on the bed, her cheeks flushing slightly.

Her husband was quiet for a moment, then a slow smirk spread across his face, a familiar flash of his more teasing side filling her with a strange sense of relief.

He straightened, his eyes twinkling. “Are you inviting me to share your bed, Duchess?”

Catherine’s breath hitched as heat rose to her face. For a moment, she wanted to give in to her shyness, feeling a little out of her depth in the face of his unwavering boldness. But she remembered what she truly wanted and held his gaze, a newfound determination hardening her resolve.

“Yes, Sampson. I am.”

Almost as soon as the words left her lips, Sampson strode towards her. He moved with a fluid grace, shedding his boots and jacket before settling onto the edge of the bed, maintaining a careful distance.

But even that small space between them felt charged, the awareness of his nearness making it difficult for her to find a comfortable position as they both snuggled beneath the blanket. She shifted restlessly, the stiffness in her limbs somewhat heightened by the nervousness that hummed beneath her skin.

“You don’t look very comfortable, love,” Sampson murmured, his voice laced with amusement.

Catherine finally stilled with a sigh of frustration, slowly turning to face him, the flickering candlelight illuminating his handsome features in a way that made her heart race.

Unable to stifle the desire that had been steadily building within her for days, she blurted out, “Then perhaps you could help me become more comfortable.”

“Oh?” he hummed, moving closer but still keeping some space between them.

Frustrated, Catherine asked, “Why haven’t you… touched me, Sampson? Not properly, not since we left Scotland.”

“I did not know you had been thinking about it—not enough for it to bother you like this.”

She tried not to flinch and recoil, reminding herself that she had already come too far and there was nothing for her to lose.

“Why would I not? You’re my husband. We are married, and I have grown… accustomed to such practices.”

“Accustomed to such practices,” Sam echoed, deadpan.

She understood why he was annoyed by those words, so she sought to fix it quickly.

“I’ve grown to want you, Sampson. All… all the time.”

A shadow crossed his face, then his blue eyes softened as they locked onto hers. “You need to tell me what you want, Catherine. When you have such thoughts or urges. Tell me what you want me to do, no matter what it is. Otherwise… otherwise, I might think you don’t want me to.”

His voice was rough, a hint of the desire he had been holding in check finally breaking through his restraint.

Catherine hesitated for only a heartbeat, the memory of his touch, the exquisite pleasure he had shown her, overshadowing any lingering shyness.

“I want you to touch me, Sampson,” she admitted softly, her words a soft plea yet a direct expression of the longing that had been consuming her.

A slow, predatory smile spread across Sampson’s face, a familiar gleam returning to his eyes.

”It seems I have completely corrupted you, Duchess.” He reached out, his fingers gently tracing the line of her jaw, his touch sending a jolt of anticipation through her. “I confess, I expected you to last a little longer before you gave in.”

Catherine playfully swatted his arm, a small, breathless laugh escaping her lips. “You are insufferable.”

Sampson’s hand shot out, capturing her wrist, his grip firm but gentle. He tugged her closer, his lips crashing down on hers in a passionate kiss that stole her breath away.

The tenderness of their earlier moments was quickly replaced by a raw, urgent desire, a hunger that had been simmering beneath the surface for too long.

He deepened the kiss, his tongue tangling with hers, his other hand finding the curve of her waist, pulling her closer until their bodies were pressed together. Catherine’s senses reeled, the weariness of the journey forgotten in the sudden intensity of his touch.

He broke the kiss, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

“Never again,” he groaned against her jaw. “Never again will I suppress the urge to have you for the sake of a wager I have made with myself.”

He kissed her again, deep and slow, his tongue mapping out her mouth, following every trace of the tea she drank earlier.

Reluctantly, he pulled away again, grunting in annoyance. “Not when you taste so good.”

His gaze dropped to her neck, and he began to trail kisses down the elegant curve, the warmth of his mouth sending shivers of delight through her.

Catherine could feel the itch that had lingered beneath her skin for days easing, but still, it was not enough. It was nowhere near enough.

She needed more. Needed more kisses, needed his touch to obliterate every thought in her head.

He nuzzled her ear, his voice a low growl. “You seem rather eager tonight, Catherine. I quite like seeing you like this.”

His fingers tugged down the straps of her nightgown until her perk breasts spilled out. He pressed a kiss to her chin, then the line of her jaw, before moving lower, finding the delicate curve of her collarbone, then lower still, his breath hot against her skin.

Catherine’s fingers tightened in his hair, her body arching slightly into him, still so desperately hungry for more.

“So eager, so desperate. So breathtakingly beautiful as you yearn for me.”

He shifted, kneeling before her on the bed, his gaze intent as he began to lift the hem of her gown. Her breath caught in her throat, a mixture of anticipation and nervous excitement fluttering within her.

He pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh, the unexpected gentleness sending a wave of heat through her. He moved higher, his lips and tongue tracing a slow, deliberate path, igniting a fire within her that threatened to consume her.

Catherine gasped, her hands tightening in his hair, her head falling back against the pillows as he pressed his tongue into her damp folds.

At once, she was overwhelmed, and she found herself lost in the moment. Everything else that might have had substance once upon a time faded until all she knew was the feel of his mouth on her and the frantic beat of her heart.

His tongue moved expertly inside her, pressing in deep with languid strokes that had her toes curling and her lips parting as moans and gasps escaped.

Sampson was a terrible tease, which was a realization she came to at a certain point when he pulled back enough so it was just the tip of his tongue circling her nub. Before she could complain, he was committing to his duty with force once more, making her writhe beneath him.

Just as she was teetering on the edge of oblivion, she gently placed her hands on his shoulders, halting his ministrations with a gentle push.

Sampson looked up at her, his eyes dark with desire, a question in their depths.

“Darling,” he murmured as he licked his lips, tightening his grip on her hips slightly. “Is everything all right? Do you?—”

“I want you, Sampson,” she begged, her voice thick with longing. “I need you… inside me.”

A triumphant smile touched his lips, a primal hunger blazing in his eyes. He stood, quickly shedding the rest of his clothes, his gaze never leaving hers. Catherine watched him, her desire mirroring the urgency in his movements.

He knelt between her legs, his hands framing her face, his thumbs stroking her cheeks.

“Let me hear you, love,” he murmured, his voice rough with passion. “Don’t hold back. Let everyone know who you belong to.”

As she nodded, he aligned himself with her entrance, reaching forward to hold one of her hands. And then he kissed her as he entered her slowly, gradually filling her.

The pain was immense for a moment, and Catherine cried out, holding onto his hand for dear life. The sensation was intense and overwhelming, but it teetered on the brink of pleasure.

Sampson waited until her breathing evened out before he slowly pulled out and thrust back into her. He groaned as she whined, burying his face in her neck.

“So perfect… You feel so perfect. My God.”

He continued to move his hips, each stroke pushing her further down into the pit of ecstasy. Every thrust had her clawing at the sheets, tightening her grip on him as his erection caressed her walls. Soon, she began to chase after him, their hips moving together, the rhythm slow and deliberate at first, then building in intensity.

It wasn’t long before Catherine found herself unable to stifle the sounds that escaped her lips. Sampson kept whispering words of praise in her ear, and they echoed in her mind, losing any coherency they might have possessed once upon a time. She cried out his name, arching into him, lost in the exquisite pleasure of their union.

When they finally reached their peak, their bodies shuddering in unison, she clung to him, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her heart pounding against her ribs. The world spun around her, a rush of sensations and emotions of love, safety, and gratitude.

Caught up in the waves that still had her heart racing, she looked up at him, her eyes overflowing with love.

“Fill me with your seed, my love,” she whispered, her voice thick with adoration. “Let me bear you an heir.”