Page 64 of Stolen By the Rakish Duke

“I’m not accustomed to being vulnerable,” he admitted.

“I know.” Beatrice caught his hand and pressed a kiss to his palm. “Neither am I, truly. But perhaps that’s something we can learn together.”

“Perhaps.” He dipped his head, his lips finding the sensitive spot behind her ear. “Though right now, I’m more interested in learning every inch of you.”

His hands settled on her shoulders, massaging them gently before sliding down. Beatrice’s breath hitched as he cupped her breasts, his slick fingers circling her nipples with maddening slowness.

The warm water, in combination with his touch, made her head fall back against his shoulder.

“Leo—”

“Shh.” His mouth found the sensitive spot behind her ear. “Just feel.”

His hands mapped her body with deliberate thoroughness, down her arms, across her ribs, over the soft curve of her belly. Each touch was both soothing and incendiary, stoking a fire that built with every pass of his palms.

“My turn,” Beatrice said breathlessly, reaching for the soap bar.

Leo’s hands stilled. “Are you certain?”

In answer, she shifted in the tub, turning to face him. Water sloshed over the rim as she straddled him. From this angle, she could see every flicker of emotion in his eyes. Desire, yes, but something deeper.

Something that looked almost like wonder.

She worked the soap between her palms, then placed them flat against his chest. His heart thundered beneath her touch as she explored the planes of his body, the hard muscles, the faint scars, the subtle tremor that ran through him at her caress.

“You’re shaking,” she murmured, and he groaned.

“Because you’re touching me.” His voice was rough, strained. “Christ, Beatrice. Your hands?—”

She let her hands drift lower, tracing the ridges of his abdomen, following the trail of dark hair that disappeared beneath the water. When her fingers brushed his hard length, he hissed, his hands clenching around the edges of the tub.

“Beatrice—”

“I want to touch you,” she said softly, her fingers wrapping around him. “Want to learn what makes you lose control.”

A groan tore from his throat as she stroked him, tentative at first, then with growing confidence. His hips jerked beneath the water, seeking more pressure, more friction.

“God,” he gasped. “That’s—you’re?—”

His words dissolved into incoherent sounds as she found a rhythm that made his eyes roll to the back of his head. Beatrice watched his face, fascinated by the play of pleasure across hisfeatures: the way his jaw clenched, the flush spreading across his chest, the desperate restraint in every line of his body.

“Enough.” He caught her wrist, stilling her movements. “If you keep that up, this will be over far too quickly.”

“Would that be so terrible?”

“Yes.” He pulled her against him, capturing her mouth in a searing kiss. “Because I want to see you fall apart for me first.”

Heat flooded through her at his words.

Leo’s hands slid down her back, cupping her bottom and lifting her slightly. The head of his manhood pressed against her entrance beneath the water, and Beatrice gasped at the sensation.

“Not here,” he said roughly, even as his hips rocked. “Not for your first time.”

“Then hurry,” she breathed into his mouth.

He stepped carefully out of the tub, water dripping from his hair and shoulders, and extended a hand toward her. Beatrice took it, letting him pick her up into his arms. She wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck for support.

Leo held her securely against him. One hand snatched a towel, and he wrapped it around her with practiced efficiency, the warmth of the fabric a small comfort against the cool air of the chamber.