Page 100 of How to Love a Duke in Ten Days

This time when he nudged at her mouth with his tongue, her lips parted after only the briefest hesitation.

Instead of delving into her soft heat as his inflamed body screamed at him to do, he played and coaxed. Darting soft licks against her bottom lip. Tracing her teeth. Sucking her lower lip into his mouth, exerting only the slightest of pressure until the tension leaked out of her in excruciatingly slow increments. Until he sensed his tongue was no longer an intrusion, but an enticement.

Victoriously, he drank in her sigh of surrender. Devoured her little moan of pleasure, supping on her lips with the eternal delight of a starving man at a feast.

Where she’d been passive beneath his ministrations before, she now pulled him closer. Deeper.

Her response devastated him as she allowed her weight to become his, melting against him with boneless pliancy.

Lust drenched him as her body pressed against his turgid cock, shocking him with the sensation. Her thighs molded between his, her breasts contained within the stays of her corset bunched against his chest. The little beads and gems on her bodice pricked his clothing, becoming welcome abrasions. Every tiny sensation of her against him imbued him with primitive arousal.

His heartbeat synchronized with the insistent pulse of his sex, pumping against the layers of their clothes, aching to be free. Or, rather, to be contained.

Inside her.

It took every bit of his strengthnotto crush her to him. To lift her against the wall, wrap her legs around his waist, and sink into her welcoming body.

No.No.There was time for that. Alifetime for that. Tonight was for discovery.

His.

Hers.

He’d offered to show her what pleasures could be had beyond fucking, and he meant to do that very thing.

Cupping her face, he dragged his mouth across hers in drugging sweeps. Her little coo of appreciation stirred a primitive grunt in reply. Gods, but everything she did brought him to the edge of wanting. The edge of his control.

She trembled against him, a lithe shiver he echoed in his very bones.

Aware that the night air might chill her, he reversed their position, allowing her to rest on the ledge without breaking the seal of their kiss. He wanted her bared to him. Naked and writhing.

Which was why he’d chosen the veranda.

It was imperative that he go nowhere near a bed with her, or he’d damn the consequences, and damn himself, by making love to his wife.

Here, in the out of doors her breasts and curves, and soft, svelte body, had to remain covered, her coiffure undisturbed.

But that didn’t mean they couldn’t misbehave.

After discarding his own gloves, he molded his hands to her hips and lifted her the scant inches onto the ledge.

She gasped and tensed, but relaxed deeper into the darkness. She liked it here, he remembered, in the dark.

He tried not to ponder what that meant as his hand bunched at the fabric of her skirts, lifting them until hisfingers slid along the silk stockings clinging to her shapely legs.

The fine muscles tensed and quivered as he stroked behind her knee and charted up her thigh, stopping to trace the silk ribbon at the seam.

The image of her on her back, legs in the air, with nothing but these stockings on nearly proved his undoing.

Piers devoured her, heating the kiss in the forge of her mouth until it became liquid and molten. His hand found her drawers and drew up to the apex of her thighs, nudging them apart.

Her heat beckoned from the other side of the thin cotton, and he searched for the long slit in her undergarment that would grant him access to the slick flesh beneath.

In his eagerness to get to it, the search proved fruitless and frustrating. He could find no such opening, and in his building frenzy he slid one arm beneath her pelvis, lifted her, and pulled the garment over her hips and down to her knees.

“Piers!” she gasped against his mouth.

“I like it when you say my name,” he growled. “I’ll like it even better when you moan it.”