Page 32 of Never Beguile a Duke (Wayward Dukes’ Alliance #30)
“However, since you’re currently a guest and not an employee, I’d like to return to the earlier topic of seduction.” He cupped her face, brushing his thumb across her lower lip. “My bed is much more comfortable than a chair.”
“Does your bed provide the same pleasure?” she asked, shifting on his lap.
“More,” he groaned, his pants tightening uncomfortably around his manhood. “Although if you keep moving like that, we may not make it to my bedchamber.”
Her mouth rounding to an ‘o’, she crawled backward off his lap and stood on the third step from the landing.
Rising, Silas held out his hand. She took it without any hesitation, and he led her into his chamber and locked the door, leaving the key in the keyhole.
“Only a precaution,” he said, lifting her hand to his lips. “You may leave at any time.”
“May I stay as long as I wish as well?”
Yes!
“At some point tomorrow, your sister will come searching for you.” He dragged the shawl from her shoulders and pooled the material on the edge of the desk.
Miss Fernsby-Webb blushed. “I only meant that I intended to hide here until Mr. Hollingsworth departed from your property.”
“That’s not an argument in favor of expelling the gentleman from my house.” Silas wiggled his eyebrows. “By that statement, I should invite him to live with me.”
Her mouth popped open at Silas’ wicked suggestion. “Y-Your Grace, I cannot remain in your bed indefinitely.”
“I suppose not.” He sighed dramatically, then grinned. “However, that’s where you’re going to start this evening.”
Leading her toward the bed, he helped her step up onto the platform and climb onto the mattress.
“Lean back and close your eyes,” he said, guiding her head onto his pillow.
“How—”
He placed a finger to her lips. “If you cheat, I’ll blindfold you.”
“You wouldn’t!” She sat up, her eyes flying open.
“I would,” he replied, untying his cravat and pulling the strip of cloth from his throat. “I will also fasten your arms to the bedposts if you interfere in my seduction.”
She swallowed, her eyes jumping to the key.
“The moment you request I stop, I will,” he said, following her gaze. “It doesn’t bode well for my offer of employment if you’re afraid of me.”
“I’m not afraid of you, Your Grace,” she retorted, jutting out her chin.
Holding out the cravat, he sank onto the bed. Dropping her eyes to his hand, Miss Fernsby-Webb chewed her lower lip, then nodded.
He tied the fabric around her head, then pushed her down on the bed.
“Do not move,” he said, brushing his lips across hers.
Then, he stepped backward and stripped down to his drawers. Each time an article of clothing rustled, Miss Fernsby-Webb’s body stiffened, and he began a commentary of exactly what item he removed, which seemed to ease her trepidation.
However, when he knelt on the bed, her breathing intensified, her chest rising and falling at a rapid pace, and he found it necessary to continue the description of his actions.
He began at her foot, sliding his fingers along her instep, over her heel, and up her calf, swirling random patterns across her skin, which warmed under his touch. His fingers brushed over her knee, catching the hem of her nightgown and pushing the flimsy material higher on her legs.
She gasped as his hand dipped between her thighs and skated toward her center. However, he bypassed her most intimate region and drew her nightgown up her body, yanking the cloth over her head and discarding the thin fabric on the floor.
Shivering, she covered herself with her arms.
“Uh-uh,” he chastised, moving her hands aside. “Do that again, and I will restrain you.”
“Your Grace?—”
“Silas.” He bent his head and placed a kiss on her collarbone.
“Silas,” she gasped as his mouth moved down, kissing the swell of her breast. “If I cannot see you and I cannot touch you, what do you expect me to do?”
“Scream,” he said, his lips closing around her nipple.
She cried out, rising an inch off the bed and squirming as he nipped the sensitive bud.
One hand slid down her body, caressing her skin and scattering goosebumps across her abdomen.
His fingers slipped between her thighs, brushing against her center and drawing a moan from her lips before gliding toward her hip.
A low growl vibrated through her body.
He chuckled, his tongue swirling across her breast, and she arched off the bed, gasping as her fingernails scraped the bedsheets. Nudging her legs apart with his knee, he settled between her thighs, his mouth continuing its assault on her breast.
Her hands jumped to his drawers, blindly shoving the material down his hips and exposing his thickening member. Grabbing her wrists, he clucked his tongue and pinned her arms above her head.
“Interfering, Winifred,” he murmured against her skin.
“Silas,” she panted, raising her hips and grinding against him.
“I love hearing you call my name,” he replied, his lips traveling toward her throat. “However, I prefer it at a louder volume.”
He released one wrist, then reached between them, positioning himself at her entrance. Then, he recaptured her arm and drove himself—millimeter by millimeter—into her center. She moaned, quivering between him and tried to free her hands, but he held her fast to the bed.
“It’s still my turn,” he managed through the blazing inferno that raged through his body.
Slowly, he rocked backward, extracting himself from her center, then drove forward, plunging deep. His fingers entwined with hers, holding her hands to the mattress, and he continued the slow pace, retracting and thrusting as she thrashed beneath him.
“Silas,” she moaned, her hands clenching as her head tipped back.
He complied with her unspoken request, pushing her legs further apart as he sunk deeper into her warmth.
She cried out and jerked beneath him, lifting her hips to meet his next thrust.
Three days wouldn’t be enough time to rid this woman from his blood.
In all truth, three decades wouldn’t cure the craving.
Every thrust only served to increase his desire, and if he had to tie her to his bed and wring pleasure from her until she couldn’t move or speak, he would do so to prevent her from leaving.
The fire blazing across his skin intensified, his body demanding release, and he slammed into her, his speed increasing with each moan he wrung from her lips.
Her legs tightened around him, her muscles contracting as she rocked with him. Hands clenching, her fingernails dug into the back of his hands, and she yelled, vibrating uncontrollably when the orgasm ripped through her.
His name echoed through the bedchamber, and he thrust with abandon, rapidly speeding toward his own satisfaction. As he drove into her relentlessly, she gasped, crying out again, and flung her head back, her trembling body quaking beneath him.
“Please,” she begged, struggling against the grip pinning her wrists to the bed.
“Please who?” he ground out, each thrust drawing a moan from her.
“Silas!” she screamed as a second orgasm crashed down on her.
He drove himself into her again and again, prolonging her release until her voice gave out. Then his body went rigid, and he plunged forward one final time, yelling her name and collapsing on top of her.
Once his haphazard breathing subsided, he pushed up on his arms, removed the blindfold from her face, and brushed his mouth across hers.
“If you don’t have any other plans for the remainder of this evening,” he said, bumping his nose against hers, “I’d like to make a second attempt.”
“At seduction?” Her voice cracked. “You did quite well on this first endeavor.”
“I’m aware.” He grinned and tucked a stray brown hair behind her ear. “However, I can do better.”
“Better?” She raised her eyebrows. “How are you unmarried?”
He laughed, yanked up his drawers, and sat on the edge of the bed.
“The ladies I’ve previously had relations with, including Juliette’s mother, were not interested in matrimony.” He drew the coverlet over Miss Fernsby-Webb. “Not unlike yourself.”
“With an ability like that, I’m surprised none of their minds could be swayed,” she said, shivering as his fingers caressed her bare shoulder.
“Could yours?” he asked, his throat constricting as he waited for her reply.
“Miss Fernsby-Webb!” Mr. Hollingsworth’s drunken voice echoed down the corridor. “You owe me a response!”
Pounding on the first door nearest the main staircase, Mr. Hollingsworth yelled again. “I’m not leaving until I speak with you!”
Miss Fernsby-Webb whipped into a sitting position, her eyes rounding, and she grabbed Silas’ hand. “You must stop him. He’ll wake the house. If we’re discovered together, the results will be devastating.”
“Is that what you consider a marriage to me would be?” Silas asked, his voice soft. “Devastating?”
A tiny line appeared between her eyes. “It would cost you ten thousand pounds.”
“The sum doesn’t concern me.” He glanced at the door as Mr. Hollingsworth bellowed a third time, torn between revealing his affection for her and dealing with the burgeoning situation in the corridor.
Roxburghe took the choice away from him.