Page 85 of Second Duke's the Charm

He was toying with her, playing. Leaning over her from behind, he made a bubbly lather on her left breast with the soap while gently massaging her right with the pearls, polishing in lazy circles that made her whole body tingle.

Tess tilted her head back against his shoulder and he moved lower, dropping his hand below the waterline. She could barely think. The world had contracted to this room, this man, this moment.

Her stomach muscles tensed as the pearls rolled lower still, to the curly hair at the juncture of her thighs.

She was panting now, her body aflame.

“Do you like this, Tess?” His rough voice at her ear only added to her excitement.

She swallowed; her mouth was dry. “Yes.”

“Shall I continue?”

“Yes.”

The sight of his forearm stretching down her body made her weak. The contrast between his tanned skin and her paler flesh seemed outrageously erotic. She tried to imprint the image on her brain for future recall.

He reached down, completely disregarding his shirtsleeves, and she let out a shocked moan as he pressed the pearls directly between her legs.

“Justin!” She grasped the edge of the tub for support. “Oh!”

“Nice?” He moved his hand, and the multiple rows of pearls rolled against her most sensitive skin, back and forth, an amazing combination of hard ridges and slippery smoothness.

She shuddered. Every sensation centered between her legs, an aching, throbbing heat that felt almost like a sickness.

He didn’t stop. He massaged in circles, rolling and polishing them against her until she was squirming against his hand, her feet pressed to the end of the tub. She was wanton, unashamed of her desire. A sensual creature of his creation.

He knew exactly what she wanted, the devil. But hetaunted her with the pearls, and as her frustration grew, she almost hated him.

He’d created this ache; he could bloody well finish it.

She reached back, her arm dripping water, and grabbed his hair. She arched her back, offering herself, wordlessly trying to force him to release her from the torment.

He let out a harsh exhale, as if the sight of her was unbearably arousing. He pressed the pearls to her opening, not quite pushing inside, then drew them upward, bump by bump, a wicked, maddening friction that almost made her scream.

“Please!”

He took pity on her. He reached forward and slid his finger inside her, and she arched up into his hand, lifting her hips to find the perfect angle.

“Is this what you want, Duchess?”

“Please!” she panted. “Yes!”

Her reward was a second finger. A sweet stretch and slide, in and out, slow stabs that made her writhe as the tension ratcheted higher.

It still wasn’t enough. She wantedhiminside her. To be filled so completely there was no knowing where she ended and he began.

She pushed him off and stood abruptly, water streaming down her body. He rose, too, and she threw her arms around him, heedless of his clothing or the absurdly expensive rug. She mashed her lips to his, and he gave a low groan of surprise and delight.

In one smooth move he picked her up, out of the bath, urging her legs around his hips so she clung to him, his hands cupping her bare bottom, a blur of wet limbs and soaked clothing.

He practically threw her onto the bed. She landed with a bounce, a shock of cold sheets as they absorbed thewater from her skin. He pulled his shirt up over his head with gratifying haste, tore at the buttons of his falls, and kicked them off. And then he was on her, his whole body pressing her down, skin against skin, warming her, his hair-roughened legs sliding between hers with delicious friction.

He captured her jaw and kissed her, almost roughly, devouring her like a starving man, and she reveled in his need, in his lack of restraint.

His passion matched her own.

His hand slid back between her legs, but only to guide his cock to her entrance. She was so ready for him there was no resistance. He entered her in a single thrust, like a knife through warm butter. Sweet, slick perfection.