Page 29 of The Big Bad Duke (The Shadows #9)

G ideon’s eyes opened slowly, a warm breeze ruffling his hair, the sound of birds filtering into his consciousness.

He felt warm. He felt comfortable. And he felt… happy?

Something felt odd. Different, in a way that made him pause before even attempting to move.

There was no heaviness in his chest, no familiar weight of dread pressing down on his ribcage like a stone. No cold sweat clung to his skin, no damp clothes stuck uncomfortably to his body. No pounding in his head, no phantom screams echoing in his ears demanding attention.

Instead, he felt… light.

Rested.

For the first time in longer than he could remember, he actually felt glad to be awake.

He turned his head slightly and found Leila slumbering peacefully in his arms, her dark hair spread across his chest like silk.

The sight of her there, safe and warm against him, made something unfamiliar bloom in his chest—something that felt dangerously close to contentment.

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as the memories of last night rushed back in vivid detail: the way she’d responded to his touch, the soft sounds she’d made, the trust she’d shown him in her vulnerability…

His heart swelled with an emotion he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in fifteen years.

He drew her closer instinctively, delighting in how perfectly she fit against him. Immediately, his body responded to her nearness—heat coursing through his veins, desire stirring just as it had the night before.

But he didn’t want to wake her.

Not yet.

She looked so peaceful in sleep, sweet and innocent. Relaxed.

She must have been having pleasant dreams, a sharp contrast to his usual—

Wait .

That was what was so different, so wonderfully strange about this awakening.

He hadn’t had a nightmare.

He had woken from a completely peaceful sleep. He couldn’t even remember if there had been a dream at all.

Perhaps he was blessed with empty darkness and simple rest.

It was odd and completely unexpected.

He was certain there had been nights before when the nightmare hadn’t come, but he didn’t remember those nights. Perhaps he chose not to.

Yet every morning, heaviness usually accompanied his awakening, making him tired before he’d even risen from bed.

Now, for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he felt truly rested.

He wondered if it was because he’d spent the better part of last night satiating both his physical and emotional needs—something he hadn’t done in more than a decade.

Or perhaps he had eased his guilt a little. Because this time, when he faced the fire, he had managed to save the woman he loved.

Loved?

The thought came unbidden, unexpected.

He lay perfectly still, staring up at the canopy of leaves above them, uncertain if the word was even accurate.

Did he love Leila?

He turned his head again to study her sleeping form.

Her lashes fluttered lightly in her sleep, casting shadows on her rosy cheeks.

She was so warm and soft, and he wanted nothing more than to curl up against her and drift back into slumber.

He certainly desired her. God , how he desired her.

He’d wanted her from the moment they met, and that desire only deepened with every second they spent together. The way she moved, the way she challenged him, the way she fit so perfectly against him… it all drew him in.

She was simply irresistible.

But it was more than that, wasn’t it?

He admired her unbreakable spirit. After everything she’d endured, she kept fighting. She had no interest in surrender.

They had both been through so much. They understood each other without words. When he looked into her eyes, he saw a reflection of his own pain; his own determination to survive despite everything the world had thrown at them.

And yes, she’d tried to kill him. But that wasn’t out of hate, or envy, or any other malice. She was trying to survive.

More importantly, she hadn’t been able to kill him. When the moment came, when she had the chance, she couldn’t follow through.

More than once.

That had to mean something.

And if last night proved anything, it was that she trusted him. He could see it in the way she slept so peacefully beside him—completely vulnerable, completely open.

She was vulnerable with him in ways he suspected she’d never been with anyone else.

And she had given herself to him.

Openly.

Willingly.

Without holding back.

The memory of her hands on his skin, her soft cries of pleasure, the way she had whispered his name made his chest tighten with something that felt dangerously close to tenderness.

She didn’t need his tenderness, though.

She was strong. She was resourceful. Quick-witted and brave.

She could take care of herself.

She wasn’t a delicate flower that needed watering, coddling, or gentle treatment.

She was someone who would feel at home in his rough, grey world. Someone who would brighten it with her fire and determination. Someone who could share the burden of the darkness he carried.

She was perfect.

Perfect for him.

He waited for the familiar stab of guilt—the voice in his head that would condemn him for betraying Sarah’s memory.

He thought he’d feel guilty that, for the first time in fifteen years, he was developing feelings for someone else; that he was somehow betraying Sarah. But the guilt didn’t come.

Instead, there was only a strange sense of peace.

Sarah would have wanted him to find happiness again.

Oddly, this— moving on —was exactly what she would have wished for him, not the path of vengeance he had chosen.

What he felt for Leila, what they had together, was different from what he’d shared with Sarah.

With Leila, he felt almost joyous, exhilarated.

With Sarah, he had lived in a constant state of quiet contentment.

But of course, their marriage had been different.

Calm.

Uneventful.

Built on years of gentle affection and shared routine.

He was never without happiness for long in those days; it had become a way of life, as natural as breathing.

He didn’t want to compare them.

He quickly realized he had enough space in his heart for both women.

Sarah had been perfect for him then, in that other life, when he was a different man.

Leila was perfect for him now, in the darker world he inhabited.

And he… he wasn’t suitable to lick her boots.

The thought sobered him instantly.

She was young. Too young for a man like him.

And her life up until now had been filled with violence, with hard, uncompromising men forcing her to do things no woman—no human—should ever have to endure.

She deserved a vibrant, calm, and blissful life once they escaped this nightmare.

She deserved better than a broken duke whose hands were stained with blood, whose heart had been hollowed out by loss.

Though perhaps he was the perfect man to introduce her to the art of pleasure.

At least for now, while they were trapped in this strange intimacy, hunted and unsure of tomorrow. At least while she wanted him as much as he wanted her. While she was choosing him.

She was so responsive in his arms.

Their passion burned hot and bright, and he would take full advantage while he could.

When this was over—when she was safe—she would move on to someone worthy of her light.

But for now… she was his.

He shifted closer to her sleeping form and leaned in, inhaling her scent. She still smelled like flowers and something uniquely her own.

His body responded instantly, his cock hardening and pressing insistently against her soft thigh.

The reaction was involuntary, overwhelming. He tightened his arms around her, and she moaned sweetly in her sleep—the sound shooting straight to his groin.

She was wearing his shirt. He had covered her with it during the night so she wouldn’t get cold.

The white linen was almost transparent in the early morning light, allowing him to see the outline of her body beneath it: the curve of her breast, the shadow between her thighs.

He moved the collar aside and began kissing her neck, tasting her.

Her pulse fluttered under his lips as he worked his way to her shoulder, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along her olive skin.

She stirred in her sleep, a soft sound escaping her lips. She arched her back and pressed her bottom against his cock, making him bite back a groan.

His hand snaked around her slowly, savoring the feel of her warm skin beneath the thin fabric.

He caressed her breasts through the shirt, feeling her nipples harden under his palm, then moved lower to her belly, tracing the gentle curve with his fingertips.

Lower still, until he encountered the soft nest of intimate hair between her thighs.

He delved deeper, his fingers seeking her most sensitive places and finding that she was already wet for him.

He played with her feminine folds, teasing and exploring, feeling her grow wetter under his ministrations.

“Gideon,” she breathed, her voice thick with sleep and desire.

He smiled, bringing her slick arousal to the swollen peak, drawing slow, deliberate circles around it. “Do you want me, Leila?” he asked.

“Yes,” she gasped.

He made one more deliberate circle with his thumb, then pressed the heel of his palm against her nub and plunged his fingers inside her, making her moan.

He moved his fingers in a slow, suggestive rhythm, and she responded instinctively, her hips moving in perfect unison with his touch. Her hands clutched at the cloak, at his hands, at anything she could reach as the pleasure built inside her.

Her head was thrown back against his shoulder as she writhed and twisted, her body moving as if beyond her control.

Her heat, the scent of her, the little sounds she made— God , they were enough to drive him to distraction.

When he could bear it no longer, he positioned himself at her entrance and replaced his fingers with his cock. The heat of her, the tight grip of her body… it was almost too much to bear.

He thrust inside, and she moved eagerly to meet him, pressing her bottom closer, taking more of him. A soft cry escaped her lips as he filled her completely.