Page 16 of The Duke Who Dared Me (Wayward Dukes’ Alliance #31)

Verity drew back, gazing up at him under her lashes. She liked the way he always swallowed when she did that, as if the very sight of her was overwhelming. It felt powerful.

“Lady Clara didn’t seem pleased by your agricultural insights.”

“She means nothing to me.” His voice was sharp now. Raw. “Only you.”

“What a pretty thing to say.” She stepped away to sit on the edge of her bed.

She drummed her fingers against her lips, fighting back the urge to kiss him again.

If only she understood what was truly happening between them.

He’d spent the evening ignoring her, then publicly chose her side in front of his peers and her worst judges.

They had moved on from hating one another, and it wasn’t a flirtation any longer.

Alistair reached into his coat pocket and pulled out something wrapped in a linen handkerchief.

“I needed to escort my mother across Town this evening after dinner, and then I was caught up in business at my club, but I couldn’t stop thinking about you.

That’s not a pretty thing to say, Verity.

I know damn well we are making a mess of everything.

I can’t think straight. I…” He stopped, then glanced up at her.

“I need to give this to you, and there hasn’t ever really seemed to be a good time. ”

He unwrapped the linen and held it out.

Years. It had been years since she had seen that porcelain figure. The last time she had seen it was on the floor, shattered, at Warwick Cottage.

It had been clumsily glued together, and there was a large crack on the side where a piece was still missing, as well as the flower that the porcelain girl once held.

But it was nearly whole.

“I tried to fix it,” he said. “I don’t know if it’s good enough. But I wanted to try.”

“Alistair.”

He dropped to his knees and grabbed her hand. “I have the rest at my estate in Kent. I’ll make sure?—”

She cut him off with a kiss.

Later, she’d be furious. Later, she’d pick apart what it meant that not only had he repaired the figures, but kept them safe for years. Later, she might have been able to string together a sentence, but for now, she sank into his kiss, opening herself to him.

“Verity,” he rasped.

She met his gaze, and the last of her defenses crumbled. “No half measures, Alistair.”

His mouth found hers again, deeper this time, possessive.

Heat gathered low in her belly as he guided her back onto the bed.

The familiar ache of resisting him was gone, replaced by an overwhelming want that felt like finally choosing herself.

The mahogany bed creaked softly as her knees hit the mattress.

She pushed his coat from his shoulders, letting it fall to the worn Persian rug with a soft thud. Bright silver light from the moon slanted through the tall windows, casting shadows across his face as he reached for her.

“Here,” she whispered, catching his wrist and guiding his fingers to the laces at her side. “I’ve been wanting out of this dress since dinner.” His eyes darkened. “Help me.”

“Christ, so have I,” he said roughly, but his fingers were gentle as they worked the ties. “Been imagining this all evening.” One warm palm curved over her shoulder as her bodice loosened. She arched into his touch, a movement that would have embarrassed her once. Not now.

Years of forcing herself to be unshakeable, and tonight, she wanted the mess of it. She wanted his hands and his mouth and the way he looked at her like she was just as precious as she was dangerous.

Her fingers found his cravat, working the knot until it gave way. She tugged the crisp linen free, her hands already moving to the open collar of his shirt. Heat and hard muscle beneath her fingertips, his pulse hammering against her palms.

Alistair dipped his mouth to the column of her throat and trailed a line of kisses up to the corner of her jaw.

She couldn't quite bite back the sound that escaped her when he raked his teeth over the delicate skin.

“ Shh ,” he murmured against her skin. “Your brother is just down the hall.” His mouth trailed lower, tasting the edge where linen met the soft skin. “Tell me if I go too far.”

“I'm asking you to,” she whispered back, the words plain and honest. “I’m tired of almosts, Alistair.”

The look he gave her then—hungry, yes, but also astonished—made her chest ache. He kissed the center of her sternum, then lower, slow and worshipful, and every place his lips touched felt like a promise kept.

She shifted her weight to help as he moved down her body, wriggling free of her skirts. He tugged them off, his knuckles grazing along her thigh as her chemise rode high.

“Look at me,” she said.

He did, his bright blue eyes appearing darker in the moonlight. Lapis Lazuli . She could fill a notebook with words describing his eyes now after all these years. Like the morning glories in the garden or the delicate pattern on her favorite chipped teacup at Warwick Cottage.

She held his gaze as she guided his hand higher, to exactly where she craved his touch. He pushed a finger through her folds, drawing a slow circle across that bud at the apex of her thighs.

Heat bloomed, immediate and consuming, and she bit back a whimper, falling back a moment against the mattress.

“Good?” he asked.

“Please, don’t stop.” Her mouth curved even as her body trembled, and she pushed up to her elbows to watch him touch her. It was one last desperate attempt to root herself in the moment, not to forget Alistair like this, right now.

His forehead dropped to hers, the two of them breathing the same thin air, rocking her hips as his fingers moved over her, as if taking her apart inch by inch.

Tension began tightening, spreading, her limbs warm as his fingers finally slipped inside of her, and she whispered his name as pleasure crested like a wave and crashed over her.

“ Shh , love.”

She gave in to it without shame, clutching his shoulders. For a long moment, quiet stretched between them before she caught her breath and found her smile. She slid her hand to the buttons at his waistband of his buckskin. “Still planning to leave through the window?”

“Not a chance,” he said with a wicked grin.

* * *

Alistair had not meant to lose himself so quickly. One moment, he was on his knees, pressing that foolishly mended figurine into her hand, prepared to beg her to understand what it meant, and the next they were kissing.

Then he helped her from her dress, he bent between her knees, and now her fingers were in the waistband of his buckskins, dragging him closer.

He had never been one to lose his head, but there was no part of this evening that was going as expected. Not at dinner when he defended her, not when he was so desperate to see her that he climbed into her window, and not now as she reclined back onto the bed.

Her lips parted beneath his, and he drew in the smallest sound of her sigh as though it were oxygen, as though she were life itself.

He deepened the kiss, angling his mouth, his hand framing her jaw.

Verity welcomed him. Every line of her body seemed to surrender, and Alistair’s chest tightened with something beyond desire, though desire was there, swift and brutal, rushing through him until he was dizzy with it.

He would never be free of her. He realized he might have made his peace with that long ago, but his heart was only catching up to his mind all these years later.

Verity deserved a choice. And he would give her at least that, though his body rioted at the thought of restraint. He forced himself to pull back, searching her face. Her cheeks were flushed, her dark eyes wide and shining in the candlelight.

“Tell me you want this, love.”

“I want you.”

The last of his reason burned away.

He gathered her against him, and the mattress dipped beneath his knees as he settled her against the quilted counterpane.

He hovered above her, afraid if he blinked, she would disappear.

The years between them—the quarrels, the reckless wagers, the hatred worn like armor—slipped away.

What remained was the girl who had haunted his youth and the woman who would haunt the rest of his life if he did not have her now.

“Verity,” he said, low and rough. “You wreck me.”

Her smile was small but certain, her fingers tracing his jaw. “Good,” she whispered. “You deserve it.”

He laughed, hoarse and unsteady, before swallowing her reply in another kiss. She shifted beneath him, welcoming, restless, and he groaned into her mouth, nearly undone by the simple grace of her wanting him back.

He tore his lips from hers to murmur against her throat. “You’ll tell me if I hurt you. You’ll tell me if you want me to stop.”

“I won’t,” she said fiercely, but he caught her hand, pressed it hard against his racing heart.

“You will,” he insisted. “Because this is yours as much as mine. Do you understand?”

Her answering nod was enough.

“Look at you,” he breathed, slowly pulling the chemise over her head. His hand swept reverently down between her breasts, pausing to cup the generous curve of her hip. “Perfect. I swear, I’ll never want for anything else so long as I may have you like this.”

He bent, drawing one perfectly pink nipple into his mouth, and she gasped aloud, her fingers flying to his hair. He teased it with tongue and teeth until her back arched hard from the mattress, and then he soothed the sensitive tip with a gentle, flat swirl of his tongue.

“You,” she insisted, pushing against his shoulders. “Please, let me feel you, Ali.”

Very well. He rolled off the bed and removed his buckskins and smalls, climbing back onto the mattress.

She reached for him, her fingers brushing over his hip as his cock ached to be buried inside of her.

“May I?” she whispered.

Maybe his soul left his body. Or maybe he would wake to find this all some cruel dream, but he nodded, drawing in a breath as her fingers wrapped around his hard length.

“It’s…” She licked her lips, then gazed up at him from beneath long lashes.

It took everything within him not to spend at the very sight of her.

“It won’t fit.” At his protest, she wrapped her fingers tighter and gripped him as if to see.

Then she pumped her hand up and down his length, drawing out a loud groan.

“ Shh ,” she giggled. “They’ll hear you. That feels good?”

“Amazing,” he gritted out. “Later, love.” He closed his eyes, steadying his breath. His heart was drumming in his ears. “I promise I’ll show you how I like it later, but now…”

He gently removed her hand and guided her backward with a kiss. She fell back against the mattress, her long brown hair cascading over the counterpane in the moonlight. He pressed his forehead against her belly, dragging in a sharp breath as his control frayed.

“Easy, love. I’ll make it good for you. I’ll make it better than good.”

Her gaze met his. “I trust you.”

The words undid him utterly. He guided himself to her entrance, the heat of her body nearly driving him to madness.

He brushed his lips over hers once more, speaking the promise against her mouth.

“It will hurt, but only for a moment. And then, God, Verity, then it will be pleasure. Do you believe me?”

She nodded, her fingers clutching his shoulders. “Yes.”

With painstaking care, he pressed into her, inch by inch. She tensed, and he stilled, murmuring soothing words, stroking her hair, her cheek, her hip. “Breathe, love. That’s it. Let me in.”

She gasped, her nails biting into his skin, but then he felt her body yield, the tight resistance giving way. He kissed away the sound of her discomfort, kissed until it broke into the first shudder of pleasure.

“There,” he whispered, moving fractionally deeper. “That’s it. You’re taking me so well. My brave girl.”

Her eyes fluttered shut, her body clenching around him. The sensation nearly undid him, but he forced himself to go slow, to coax her through it, his voice a steady litany of reassurance and hunger.

She bit his shoulder, gripping his back and tilting her hips until at least he was fully seated inside her.

Alistair captured her lips again, beginning to move in shallow, careful strokes.

He whispered against her ear, against her temple, against her lips as he moved within her.

“That’s it. Yes, love. Let yourself feel it. I have you.”

Her thighs tightened around him, her hips meeting his, and he knew the moment her body began to catch the rhythm.

“This… Ali .”

“I know, love.” He gritted his teeth, holding back until she shattered beneath him. Her limbs trembled beneath him as he quickened his pace, and then his world narrowed to the sound of her whimper, her nails raking against his back, the tilt of her hips, and he was gone.

Pleasure raced up his spine, and he pulled away, taking himself in hand to spill against her stomach.

Verity braced her hands on her cheeks, a silly grin there as she struggled to catch her breath. He bent down and kissed her forehead. “Stay still, I’ll fetch a cloth.”

He returned from the wash basin with a cloth, and gently cleaned her up, smiling as she shook with quiet giggles.

“That’s what we’ve missed?” she asked finally. “The whole time?”

He crawled into bed beside her, pulled her close, and ran his hand through her dark curls. “It has always been you. And God help me, it always will be.”