Page 5 of Tantalizing the Duke (Wayward Dukes Alliance #22)
CHAPTER FIVE
D ainsfield paced the length of the study in his town house like a caged animal, his heels pressing into the thick carpet with each measured step. The ledgers from a potential future speculation lay open on his desk, columns of numbers awaiting his attention, while a stack of correspondence sat nearby, demanding responses he had neither the time nor inclination to provide. His mind, usually as ordered as the books Abingdon’s wife, Dinah, still administered at the club, refused to focus on business matters tonight. Instead, it circled endlessly around a woman with sparkling eyes and a laugh that haunted his dreams.
A fire crackled in the hearth, casting elongated shadows across the book-lined walls. Crystal decanters gleamed on the sideboard, the amber liquid within catching the firelight. It was a room built for contemplation and business, not for the turmoil currently twisting through his gut.
“This is foolishness,” he muttered to the empty room, his deep voice swallowed by the high ceiling. “Absolute madness.”
How had this happened? He’d yet to tup Milly and all he could think about was her upcoming marriage… both of them. The one she feared and the one he hoped to arrange. And somehow his own name kept creeping into the list of suitable husbands.
He wasn’t a suitable husband. For any woman. He wasn’t charming and personable, and was perfectly happy going to bed alone at night. Of course, with a woman like Milly awaiting him, he’d likely be even happier in bed each night.
But there were no women like Milly. One might find equally beautiful brown hair, and similarly bright eyes, and all women had the requisite breasts and cunny to satisfy a man, but no one had her spark for life. The way she enjoyed every moment was a pleasure to behold. Whenever he noticed her at a cyprian party, he couldn’t stop watching her. Often one saw a woman pretending to enjoy the attentions of a man, but there was no pretense in Milly. She loved life, and loved sharing her body.
If she were his woman, they’d never leave the bed.
That was his biggest objection to marriage at the moment. He had no time for a wife. Which translated to him not desiring a wife enough to make the time. He was getting better about not adding to his duties. The speculations he agreed to were ones that required his money, not his time. And he entrusted more work to his secretary and the stewards who ran his properties. Also, he was learning to trust more that the work would be done to his standard.
The clock on the mantel chimed the hour, each resonant toll a reminder that Miss Nichols would arrive at any moment. Dainsfield moved to the mirror above the fireplace, straightening his already impeccable cravat. His reflection showed a man in his prime—tall, broad-shouldered, with features that many called handsome, though rarely to his face. Few dared such familiar observations of the man known throughout London for his reserved demeanor and fierce scowl.
One night with Milly. He’d longed for this often in the past five years. One night to get her out of his system, then he could focus on finding her a husband.
Even as he made this vow, a knock at the door announced her arrival, and Dainsfield felt his resolve waver like a candle flame in a draft.
* * *
Milly’s entire body heated and her heart fluttered when she saw Dainsfield standing in his drawing room waiting for her. There was an uncharacteristic energy in the man, a tension that played at being eagerness, as if the final hour of the hunt were upon him and he’d cornered his prey at last. They shared that eagerness, she knew, and the momentary trappings of his status could not have mattered less to her than they did now. So Milly moved with smiling purpose to his side and reached out to run a fingertip along the fine fabric of his coat.
He met her advance with a silence so brooding it almost seemed calculated, but she refused to let his stoicism unnerve her. Instead, she drew a line along his chest with her hand, pressing close enough to catch the faint, enticing scent of him. “Tell me,” she asked with a playful pout, “will you kiss me, or is that against the rules?”
A shadow of a smile touched his lips, vanishing before it took full shape. “Rules are for games. I leave them at Sutcliffe’s.”
“I know of a kissing game…”
His gaze was focused on her lips. “Kissing implies affection.”
“Everyone knows the Duke of Dainsfield holds no one in his affections.” Milly laughed lightly. She let her lips curve upward, and dragged her tongue across the bottom one. She suddenly needed his kiss. “Affection isn’t necessary to enjoy a kiss. Satisfaction is what I prefer.”
His muscles tensed beneath her hand. “And so you’re satisfied with what this is between us? An exploration of our mutual… interests? You know I have no intention of growing attached.”
“How often does a girl have a duke to herself for the night? I’m certain you’ll satisfy me.” She relished the awkward moment her directness left him, saw how the gears of his mind ticked behind his calm facade.
His reply was clipped, as if spoken against his better judgment. “One night. Just tonight. The plan hasn’t changed to find a man to marry you.”
“Good,” she replied, triumphant. She had him now, she knew it. She rose on her toes and sealed her mouth to his, a bold promise that she intended to make good on. Her tongue teased against his lips, and when she pressed him with her own intensity, the self-assured man’s walls crumbled and left nothing but fire in their wake.
The kiss was a lovely surprise, feeling how quickly his resistance broke and the passion beneath it flooded to meet hers. In one swift motion, he caught her up and cupped her face, framing her features as if they were too precious to be left to chance. His mouth moved against hers with a hunger that melted the distance he’d been trying to keep. She felt the pull at her hair, deft fingers releasing pins and letting her dark waves spill loose around her shoulders.
“Ah, Milly,” he said, her name low on his breath, more desire than caution. The last of his defenses fell in his urgency to have her.
Her laugh was quiet, triumphant, rich. She wound her arms behind his head and clung to him, aware that he was already losing himself in the exchange. A playful ache of wanting made her press even closer, letting herself revel in the hot press of his mouth, the possessive heat of his hands. His need gave way to her own, and she felt the raw edge of satisfaction in the way he touched her.
He nuzzled her neck, trailing kisses as he went. “Perhaps it’s your spontaneity that overwhelms me.”
Her lips, almost grazing his ear, formed the words she knew would drive him wild. “Then allow me to do the overwhelming.”
He exhaled a short, needy breath that thrilled her. When he swept his hand to the small of her back and crushed her to him, she pushed against him in turn, daring him to keep up with her own barely restrained want. “Dainsfield, you are quite slow for an athlete.”
As he tangled fingers in her hair, his mouth swept across her chest, and the layers that covered her were no match for the urgency of his movements. He pulled her dress low, baring her breasts, as Milly surrendered to the insistent play of his mouth and his touch.
He suddenly straightened. “This won’t do.” He swept her into his arms and strode out of the room toward the stairs. He took the steps as if she weighed nothing, her breasts bouncing freely, and nearly flew down the hallway.
The door to Dainsfield’s bedchamber swung open when he backed into it. Inside, a fire crackled in the hearth, its golden light supplemented by strategically placed candles that cast the room in a warm, flickering glow. The massive bed dominated the space, its dark mahogany posts rising like sentinels, the midnight blue coverings turned down by an efficient servant. He stopped before reaching it.
There was too much distance between them even as he held her, too much clothing, too much that might come between this moment and the next. Her fingers were in his hair, her legs around his hips, her mouth quick and desperate on his neck. He lowered her to stand but didn’t fully let her go, his hands busy with her gown.
She gave a soft cry as he pulled her bodice loose, a ragged whisper of his name when he caught her wrists and held her fast. Her eyes were half-closed with longing. Dainsfield lowered her gown and let it fall. Her chemise slid off her shoulder. He caught it with his teeth, then trailed his mouth lower, tasting her bare skin. She gasped and arched against him, bit her lip, found his mouth.
The sudden heat was almost more than she could take.
He freed her hands. She made quick work of his coat, her fingers eager and hungry. They fumbled, laughed, as they hindered each other more than helped. Then she made a small, triumphant sound. His waistcoat dropped to the floor, and his shirt followed.
“You are magnificent,” she gasped, pulling him closer, her body arching into his.
He wrestled free, kicking off his shoes and dropping his trousers and drawers. She realized she was holding her breath as each inch of his skin was revealed. Had she never seen him naked? She couldn’t recall. She’d always been more concerned with who was in front of her at the moment, who was inside her.
His thighs were thick with muscle, his hips narrow, and his erection was everything she could ask for. She reached for it, letting his hiss of pleasure go straight to her core. He was hard, the tip moist already, telling her how badly he wanted her.
And she needed him. All of him. She didn’t bother looking for the perfect place to love him. She lowered herself to the floor and opened her legs. “Please, Your Grace. Take me.”
His response was guttural as he stretched beside her. For a moment he only looked at her, every inch of her, from her breasts to her tummy and below where her fingers toyed with the dark curls above her thighs. She felt his gaze and felt beautiful in it.
Dainsfield cupped her nearest breast, squeezing gently, then pinching the nipple with more force. She purred and licked her lips. She’d waited so long for him to know her body, really know it and it was better than she’d dreamed possible.
His lips captured her nipple, and as he worked her breast with his tongue and mouth, his hand swept lower, finding her damp heat. A gasp escaped her and her legs parted of their own accord. She was ready for him, ready for whatever he wanted to do with her.
It felt like forever passed before his mouth replaced his fingers between her thighs. He shifted to lie between her legs, bending her knees to spread her wider. “Such a pretty cunny,” he uttered, one finger dipping into her moisture. He sucked that finger, then licked her from her arse to her throbbing nub.
“Oh, yes,” she purred at the sensation. Her hips rocked each time his tongue skimmed over her, and when it thrust inside, she cried out. “More!”
His moan was primal, his voice vibrating against her skin, adding to her pleasure. He continued to thrust into her, building a rhythm her hips matched. Her need built, fed by the touches his finger pressed on her nub.
“I need you inside,” she begged.
He took so long to respond, she wondered if he’d heard, but then he rose to his knees. His cock danced in front of him and she reached for it. He watched her stroke him, letting her play, before he bent and pressed himself against her opening.
When he thrust inside, she squealed her delight. “Oh, yes. Oh, God, you’re so big.” Milly bit her lip when she heard herself say that. It sounded like something a courtesan said to build her lover’s ego. She didn’t want this to be about egos and a man’s delicate pride. Dainsfield knew who he was and didn’t need her pretty words to help him finish.
She caught his eye and held it. “Fuck me.”
She felt his cock jump before he increased his stroke. He was touching all the right places to make her enjoy it more, as if his cock wasn’t enough.
When she clutched him tighter, when she moaned and arched and let him know precisely how he filled her, he seemed to lose himself. Their frantic rhythm drew her closer, made a low, urgent promise with each thrust. She sighed, whispered his name, begged. “Please, Dainsfield, now, now.”
Suddenly she shattered, barely noticing when he found his own release. She was still breathless when he carried her to the bed, still warm and lovely and wicked. He set her down and lay beside her.
* * *
Lying on his bed, Dainsfield began the next coupling with slowness, with savoring. He worshipped her, brought himself under control, at least until Milly’s gentle sighs set him free again.
There was no taming his desire. He tried. A noble effort, ruined by the taste of her mouth, the smell of her perfume, the heat of her skin, and how desperately he needed them all.
She tugged at his hair, his heart. Her soft, perfect laugh was as unguarded as the rest of her.
This woman. How had he stayed away so long?
She stretched beneath him, touched his face, tasted his mouth. Dainsfield had never known anyone so forthright, so sure of herself, so sure of him.
He wanted the night to last forever. And if it couldn’t, he meant to take full advantage of every second, every part, every willing inch.
When he pressed against her, long and slow and close, Milly dug her nails into his shoulders and moaned.
His lips traveled her neck, her collarbone, lower. She moved with him, let herself go, and together they became more than he believed possible.
This was madness. He was mad to want her, mad to have her, mad for believing he’d ever stop.
He dipped lower, and the frantic beat of her pulse drove him on. He teased, tasted, gave her everything but mercy.
“Again,” she breathed. “Please, please.”
They were more languid this time, more lost in themselves and in one another. And when she began to move beneath him, there was no hiding how sweetly he was undone.
In the dying light from the fire, against the bedpost, against all reason, they turned each other’s longings into something rich and urgent and fierce.
Even as they gasped, even as they tumbled over the edge together, Dainsfield knew he hadn’t enough of her.
Even as Milly cried out, then gave a satisfied, desperate, familiar laugh, she seemed to know as much.
After, in the calm of half-lit candles and a warm, dark fire, she nestled against his chest. His arms around her were so right, so close, so close to dangerous.
“I told you it would be worth it,” she said.
“It isn’t over yet,” he replied, then turned and pulled her to lie with her bottom at the edge of the bed, where he could kneel and worship her.
She melted into him, like wine, like fire, like the exquisite end of him.
His mouth roamed, then his hands, until she was wild beneath him. Until her breath came fast and furious. Until she was close, so close.
When her whimpers reached a certain pitch, he lifted her hips, buried his face in her wetness, and made her cry even higher, louder.
When he could breathe again, he lay on his back and pulled her on top. Milly pinned him with a wicked look, wicked legs, and a wicked laugh. She pulled him into a hot, shameless ride.
Her movements quickened, grew uneven, desperate. She lost herself, found herself, made herself right at home.
The pleasure—so new and so immense—left him breathless, open-mouthed, so sweetly satisfied.
And it left him ruined.
They fell together on the sheets, another long, reckless tangle of limbs and delight.
He caught his breath, then caught her mouth, wrapped her in sheets, gave her the full measure of himself. She never knew how thin his resolve was.
She fit him so perfectly. She moved in ways that told him how right, how wicked, how exquisite they were.
Milly rested against his chest, tangled in him. Her hair was long and loose, as far beyond taming as the rest of her.
The sun crept in. Dainsfield wasn’t sure if he’d slept, or if Milly had. His mind was so numb he wasn’t sure how long had passed since he was last inside her.
She stirred, sighing. “Just once more,” she murmured.
He ran a hand down her back, through her hair, held her as long as he dared. He’d insisted they only had one night together. She was still there, so technically the night hadn’t ended, had it? His cock felt the now-cool skin of her bottom and it, too, stirred.
Dainsfield sighed. “Just once more.”