Page 33 of The Duke of Fire (The Dukes of Desire #1)

“ W here is she?” Sebastian muttered to the empty study, his voice sharp with frustration.

He paced back and forth, his boots thudding softly against the rug. The room had become a prison, a witness to every tangled thought he had not dared name aloud. If walls could speak, they would whisper of nights like this.

But it was not anger toward Amelia that consumed him. It was fear.

What if she had finally decided not to come back? Did my letter scare her?

A colder, more irrational anxiety had begun to take root, tightening its grip with every tick of the clock. Amelia was not the sort to keep someone waiting. She was too kind. Too dutiful. It was the very thing Finch and Octavia exploited—her sense of responsibility.

Her family. They must have kept her in again.

The thought of those two holding Amelia back, making her do chores she did not have to do, woke a cold fury within him. Why were people like these allowed to live and lord over others?

There was a knock at the door. Sebastian, his body already tense, spun toward the door. He opened it quickly and saw his butler standing there, looking grave.

“Miss Amelia Warton is here for you, Your Grace.”

Relief punched the breath from his lungs. “Send her in. Leave the door ajar.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Sebastian did not dare retreat to his usual place behind the desk. He remained standing. When the door creaked open and her silhouette appeared, something inside him eased—then twisted.

The relief and joy were short-lived, though.

When she entered the room, he could see that her face was pale and wan, instead of vibrant and alert.

Her gown, though a beautiful lilac muslin, was wrinkled.

Her face… what happened to her? Her eyes were wide, tears still clinging to those long lashes.

She looked haunted. Not desperate, but completely gone.

“Amelia,” he breathed, his voice cracking at the last syllable. He crossed the room in two strides, reaching out instinctively to touch her, to offer her comfort. His hands found her shoulders—but she flinched.

He froze.

Not from rejection. But from understanding.

“What happened?” he asked gently.

She shook her head, her lips trembling as she covered her arms. “It is nothing, Your Grace. I… I am sorry I was so late. I am fine.”

“Fine?” His voice rose, incredulous. “Let me see. Please.”

She hesitated. Then, with her chin quivering, she gave a small nod. He lowered his eyes to her arm and carefully drew back the sleeve.

His blood turned to ice.

He gaped at the bruise blooming purple and red there. Not quite satisfied yet, he investigated the rest of her arm and saw the dark circles around her wrist.There could be no doubt what the dark and fresh bruises were. Rage shook him like it never had before.

“Warton,” he growled, barely recognizing his own voice. “It was him, wasn’t it?”

Amelia did not answer with words. She simply looked down and pulled the sleeve back over her arm, as if hiding it could undo it.

“Please do not go to him,” she whispered. “Do not make it worse.”

Sebastian’s hands clenched. Rage pulsed in his chest. He imagined storming Warton House, dragging Finch out into the street, and making him feel helpless for once in his life.

He laid hands on her. He bruised her. He touched what is mine.

“How much worse does it have to get?” he rasped. “No one has the right to do this to you.”

She reached for him, resting a hand on his chest. He knew it for what it was. She was trying to appease him.

“Please forget about him, Your Grace. I just want to stay with you tonight,” she said softly, her voice thick with unshed tears. “Please, do not ask me questions. Just… let me be here with you.”

He softened. He wished he were able to protect her better. He should have just kept her here. But both of them were prisoners of the ton . He could not afford to drag Amelia’s name into scandal, with her reputation already in tatters, just because Finch could not accept his stepmother.

“You are safe here with me,” he whispered. With his thumb, he wiped away her tears. “I swear to you, Amelia. No one will hurt you again. They will have to go through me first.”

She looked up at him with wide, tear-filled eyes. “Then kiss me.” Her lips trembled. He knew that she was trying to distract herself, but she had come to the right place. He would be willing to take away all her fears, even for a moment.

Yet, he hesitated.

He was taking more of her each time. Every touch, every kiss chipped away at something precious. And still, he could not stop. He would not stop—not when she looked at him like that, as though he were the only thing tethering her to solid ground.

Their lips met, soft at first. Gentle. Worshipful. Her fingers fisted his coat, pulling him closer, as if afraid he would vanish. He deepened the kiss, needing to show her everything he could not say—how much it tore him apart to see her hurt, how much he wanted her safe, wanted her his .

There was no space between them. No air to breathe.

She gasped as she tried to get some air, even as her body undulated against his.

So close to him, he could feel her heart pounding hard, and he could not tell if it was from desire, lingering fear, or both.

But his body responded, anyway. With her, it was a constant struggle for his body not to react. His cock hardened. He groaned.

When they broke apart, both were breathless.

“Let me take care of you,” he murmured against her mouth. “Just for tonight. Let me help you forget.”

It was not the best of offers, at least not as good as the one that was on the tip of his tongue but was too stubborn to say.

Marry me. Stay by my side forever.

Yet, she nodded at him. Wide-eyed, trusting, and beautiful, she would be everyone’s forbidden dream.

But tonight? She was his alone.

He led her to the chaise lounge. She giggled nervously when he threw down the cushions on the rug to make room for her.

“Sit down,” he said, his voice hoarse.

He knew exactly what he wanted to do to her—this delicious little feast. His cock was rock hard. He told himself it was because he had not bedded any woman in weeks. But this was not about release. Not truly. This was about her .

“H-here?” she asked, sitting in the middle of the chaise, still looking far too prim and proper for what he planned.

“Yes,” he growled, his voice roughened by restraint, as he dropped to his knees before her.

She trembled when he lifted the hem of her wrinkled gown.

He had not even asked her what had happened to it.

Slowly, deliberately, he lifted the gown, baring her inch by inch.

He was goading himself as much as her. When the soft cotton slipped up past her knees, he groaned at the sight of her stockings—those delicate, silken things clinging to her thighs like sin.

He traced the path up to the garter with the backs of his fingers, savoring the way her breath hitched.

Then, with steady hands, he unfastened it and slid it down, along with her shoes, letting them fall to the floor with a soft thud.

“W-what are you trying to do?” she asked shakily.

“Shh, Amelia,” he hushed her as he kissed her inner thigh while spreading her legs apart. “Let me show you just how much you mean to me.”

She bit her lip, trying to quiet herself and her fears. Then, he dove under, kissing his way up. He did it slowly so that he could savor how she trembled with every kiss.

Finally, he reached that wet, hot, needy spot between her thighs. He paused, only to breathe her in. Even the scent of her arousal made him harder. She was his. His alone. The possessive, selfish part of him had somehow been awakened. He darted his tongue and parted her folds with it.

She gasped.

“Let yourself feel. Let go,” he murmured right before he teased her again with the tip of his tongue.

She was falling apart, pulling him by the strands of his hair as he tasted her over and over. His tongue lashed at the little nub of her desire. Slowly. Teasingly. Then, he would change his rhythm. Faster, but gentle. Her taste was addictive. It was like he could not stop.

Amelia’s moans became louder as she edged toward her release. Her body had become stiff. Tight. Her hips rocked against his mouth urgently.

Then, he stopped.And when he looked up at her, when their eyes met—it was not just desire that burned there. It was something dangerously close to devotion.

“Sebastian, please!”

“I love it when you say my name,” he said wickedly, as he licked her nub once more. Then, he suckled it until she was panting once more.

He held her hips firmly with one hand, but his other snaked under.

She was so wet that he was able to slip one finger into her without effort.

She gasped at the intrusion. He continued to suck while he slipped in another finger to stretch her.

Fill her. Her body arched as he let his fingers thrust into her until she was clenching around them.

In and out. In and out.

Then, her hips lifted off the chaise lounge, her body shaking as release tore through her. Sebastian watched her come undone with a reverence that startled even him. She was not hiding her pleasure—and that was exactly how he wanted it. Her body was so receptive. So sensitive. So undeniably his.

She slumped back, breathless, her hair a wild halo across her flushed cheeks. He took in the sight—her parted lips, the delicate tremble in her limbs—and felt a fresh surge of awe. Something primal and possessive simmered beneath his skin.

Their eyes met.

She smiled shyly, her gaze flickering with something soft and uncertain. He reached out, cupping her face with a tenderness that belied the storm inside him. She leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering shut—only to open again when he began to rise.

That was when her gaze dropped—and widened.

He chuckled, low and knowing. Of course, she had noticed. There was no disguising the thick, painful press of his cock beneath the fabric of his breeches.

“What about you?” she asked, her voice quiet but steady, her gaze holding his.

He exhaled slowly. “You do not have to,” he said gently. “Tonight was about you. You have been hurt. I only wanted to give you something good. Something to make you feel taken care of.”

He ran a hand through his hair, grimacing slightly. “And now I probably reminded you of everything you were trying to forget.”

She chuckled at that.

“No, but I truly want to,” she insisted. “Please? Let me. Teach me.”

His hesitation faded away when she asked him to teach her. He nodded. Amelia and Sebastian shifted positions. This time, she kneeled before him. Her hands rested on his trembling knees. When was the last time he had ever trembled before a woman?

Not in years. Not ever like this.

Her fingers found the fastening of his breeches, fumbling for a moment.

He covered her hands with his, guiding her through the motions, patient and steady.

When he freed himself, she hesitated. She stared at his cock for a moment.

Her eyes betrayed her nervousness as well as her growing curiosity.

He reached for her cheek again, rubbing the soft skin with his rough thumb.

With a husky voice, he reassured her. “You do not have to do it, Amelia. Nobody is forcing you to. But if you want to, take your time.”

She leaned forward, a willing student. Her pink tongue darted out to taste the head.

He groaned, letting his head fall back as she took more of him.

She took him deeper and deeper. She was uncertain at first, hesitant in rhythm—but determined.

His hand found her hair, not to guide but to steady himself, as the sweetness of her touch undid him.

“That’s it. Keep going, darling. Take what I give you.”

She moaned, the vibrations sending a jolt straight through him. When she could not go deeper, she wrapped her hand around his base, stroking in tandem. It was not perfect. She was learning. But she was his student , and he was going to praise every shaky, hungry attempt.

“Look at me,” he ordered hoarsely. “You have no idea what you are doing to me.”

Sebastian cupped her jaw with one firm hand, his thumb grazing the corner of her mouth. His eyes locked with hers, and he made sure she was looking directly at him when he spoke.

“What a good girl,” he groaned.

Amelia was a good student. He had always known that, but he did not know the full extent of it until he was at the receiving end. She sucked him as if he were the tastiest sweet from the best London confectionery shop. Her moans made him grip the edge of the chaise.

Control. He loved possessing it. But with her, he was glad to relinquish some.

“Amelia,” he warned. “I… if you do not stop right now…”

The disobedient lady did not stop. He felt his pleasure building and building.

He thought that she would have left him on the edge, but she was relentless.

All thoughts ceased, and his vision blurred when he shattered, spilling into her mouth with a loud groan.

He had never had this intense a release before.

For a moment, he basked in it. But he had to open his eyes. He had to thank the little angel kneeling between his legs. She looked up at him with swollen, glistening lips. He pulled her up and onto his lap.

“Stay,” he whispered against her hair. “Stay with me tonight.”

Amelia gave the faintest nod, her eyes already drifting closed. The weight of the night had settled into her limbs. She was worn down to the bone, not just by what had happened, but by everything she had carried long before she ever knocked on his door.

Sebastian lifted her gently, effortlessly, as if she were made of silk and smoke. Cradling her close, he carried her to his bed, the hush of the manor wrapping around them like a conspirator. Only one maid caught sight of them—wide-eyed and silent—but she said nothing.

He laid Amelia down with care, brushing a loose curl from her cheek. Her lashes fluttered, but she did not wake. Sebastian stood over her for a moment, watching her chest rise and fall, listening to the soft, trusting rhythm of her breath.

It was not his custom. He did not sleep beside women. They came, they pleased, they left—or were helped into the carriage before morning.

But this —this was different.

This will ruin me. And I will gladly let it happen.