Page 8 of The Duke’s Defiant Angel (Dukes Gone Dirty #1)

8

T he library was lovely and warm, cozy with its dark wood and overstuffed leather seats.

This was precisely the sort of room Evangeline would have sought out in any country home. The ideal spot to curl up and read while the rain pounded on the panes.

It would have been comfortable indeed—if her companion didn’t make her so very uncomfortable.

“How shall we pass the time?” His gaze on her lips said he had ideas.

“Er, reading?” she offered. “I could read aloud if you’d like.”

She sounded like a ninny, but it couldn’t be helped. After a horrible night of tossing and turning, she’d woken far less emotional and with her mother’s voice ringing in her ears. It was time to grow up. Face her life. Make the best of this situation. And here she was, offering to read aloud like he was a child and she, his nurse

“How about cards?” he said.

She arched her brows. “Cards?”

“Mmm. We can place wagers, make a sport of it.”

Her lips parted in surprise. He’d been different today than she’d expected. He hadn’t exactly apologized—neither for his highhanded means of getting her to marry him nor for the way he’d driven her to distraction and left her aching and confused last night. But he had been…kind. For him, at least.

He seemed just as determined to find some common ground as she was, and for that, she wanted to meet him halfway. “I, er…I’m afraid I don’t know many card games. And I’ve never wagered on anything before. My mother did not approve of gambling.”

His smile faltered a bit, his gaze grew too oddly serious. “No, I should think not.”

She frowned. What did that mean?

But then that crooked smile was back, and the creases near his eyes deepened with a genuine smile. “Let me teach you. After all, you’re not in your mother’s care anymore, are you? You are the mistress of this house. I told you…” He leaned forward. “There are perks to being a duchess.”

A surge of something warm, terrifying, and also a little exciting had her holding her breath. He was right. Her parents were not here to disapprove. She was a duchess. And this was her home.

She took a deep, fortifying breath. “Very well. Let us play.”

He reached for a deck of cards. “Do you know how to play vingt-un?”

She nodded. “I know the rules. They seem simple enough. But I’ve never played.”

“Then we’ll play a few hands to teach you, shall we?” His gaze met hers, and she felt it like a physical force. “And then we shall start to wager.”

Her heart seemed to trip over itself in her chest. A warning sounded somewhere in the far reaches of her mind. And yet, she said, “All right.”

A few hands later, they agreed she understood well enough to play in earnest.

“If I win,” he said, leaning in so close she held her breath. “I will steal a kiss from my wife.”

Her lips parted, and her heart tried to lodge itself in her throat. “A-and if I win?”

His smile was slow and made her belly do a flip. “What do you want?”

“I want…” Her brain raced. “I want answers.”

He chuckled. “Very well. If you win, you can ask any question you wish, and I shall be obliged to answer you.”

She nodded, swallowing hard. She ought to be pleased. Perhaps in this way, she could get to know this man who was such an odd mystery to her. So arrogant one moment, so tender the next. She wasn’t entirely sure what to make of him.

She ought to be grateful that she might find out. But she was too nervous to be glad.

He won the first hand, and his grin was nothing short of predatory. He patted his thigh. “Sit on my lap, Angel. I promise I won’t bite.”

She couldn’t draw enough air into her lungs as she did as he asked, perching on the edge of his legs until he laughingly snagged her by the waist and dragged her toward him, so she was cradled in his arms like a child.

Except, she didn’t feel like a child. She was painfully aware of her breasts pressing against his chest. Acutely aware of the hard length beneath her bottom, pressing into her thighs.

She let out a puff of air as his stubbled jaw grazed her temple, his breath fanning over her ear. Just like that, the throbbing was back. The ache between her legs had kept her awake all night, and when she’d finally reached down to tentatively explore the sensitive area to see if she could do something to ease her pain, she’d discovered to her horror that she was wet.

And now… Oh, drat. She was wet again. And hot. And in pain.

Her breath caught in horror. What was happening to her?

His fingers came beneath her chin and lifted her face to his. “My kiss, Angel.” His voice was low, the words a command.

She ought to rebel against that tone, but instead, it made her ache so badly she wiggled to find relief.

He groaned, his lips so close she could feel his heat. “Sit still, love, or I’m going to be demanding far more than kisses.”

A pathetic whimper escaped just as his lips closed over hers. This kiss wasn’t like last night. It wasn’t nearly as tender and gentle. He devoured her mouth with a hungry urgency that should have scared her.

Instead, it made her press into him, her nipples aching to be touched like he’d done the night before, her body surging toward his like it was bereft for the feel of his heat and his touch.

This was insanity. She didn’t even like the man; why was she letting him use his tongue like this?

Because he’s your husband .

That had her sinking into his arms further. Why fight it? She was his now. This was his right.

That thought made the rest of her qualms up and die without further fight. She opened her lips further, a moan escaping when he slanted his over hers, his tongue claiming her mouth and demanding that she join in.

His tongue stroked hers, teasing and seductive. But his hands never moved from her waist.

Just when she thought she might die from the pleasure of it all, he pulled back and set her on the seat beside him. “Now then,” he said as he reached for the cards. “Next round.”

He won the next. And then the next.

And each kiss left her trembling like a leaf. It was only kisses, if the word “only” could be applied. Because what he was doing—it was so much more than kissing. He was claiming. He was teaching.

But his hands remained firmly at her waist, and no matter how much she wriggled and pressed against him, he never did do more than kiss her.

Then, at last, she won a round.

He grinned at her when she let out a happy squeal at having finally won.

Leaning back, he eyed her. “What’s your question then?”

She had too many, and they were all battling for first place. But just then, her gaze fell, and her eyes widened at the sight in his pants. She’d felt it beneath her, but seeing it now, jutting up and making his breeches so strained…

Did it ache?

Did it hurt him the way she was hurting? And she did hurt. She had last night, too. And yet, she didn’t think that was what her mother had meant or?—

His groan cut off her thoughts.

“You’re killing me, Angel,” he said in a low, gruff voice.

She drew in a sharp breath. Her question. She blurted it out before she could overthink it. “Why do your kisses make me...hurt?”

He blinked, and for a second, she saw sheer fear in his eyes as they fell to her mouth. “Was I too harsh, Angel?” He rubbed his jaw. “Damn. I should have shaved.”

“No, no,” she said quickly. Oh drat. Now her cheeks were so warm she knew without a doubt she must have been beet red. “I didn’t mean that.”

“Then what—” He stopped short and then grinned. It was a wicked, boyish grin that made her heart beat frantically. But his smug smile disappeared just as quickly as it had appeared as he cleared his throat. “Ah. I believe I know what you mean.”

He leaned forward, his hand gently touching her thigh, sliding up until she thought she might scream if he didn’t touch her there.

But he didn’t touch her there. He came close. Agonizingly close. So close that her hips rocked of their own accord as if urging him along, but he didn’t go any further.

“Did you hurt last night, Angel? When I left you?” His voice was so gentle.

She nodded.

“I hurt, too,” he said.

She turned to face him. “Really?”

“Mmm.” He leaned in until his nose touched her temple, his breath covered her ear. “I know how to ease that pain.”

She swallowed.

I’ll make you beg for it.

Humiliation crept over her, and she dipped her head. Would she beg?

No. No, of course, she wouldn’t. Never.

He pulled back as if he could read her thoughts. “But I told you I wouldn’t pressure you, Angel, so how about I show you a way that you can ease your pain all by yourself?”

She turned to face him, heedless of her embarrassment. “Is that possible?”

His smile was surprisingly tender, and then he scooped her up like she weighed nothing and settled her back onto his lap, this time with her back to his chest.

“Do you trust me to teach you?” he asked.

Her pulse beat loudly in her ears. The moment felt weighted. Do you trust me? She wet her lips, her breasts straining against her gown. Did she trust him?

“You’re my husband,” she said softly.

It wasn’t really an answer, and his gruff, humorless laugh said he knew as much.

“That’s right, Angel.” His low voice was so close to her ear, it made her shiver. “I’m your husband. The only man who will ever touch you here.” His hand came up to cup her breast.

She gasped and arched, but his hand dropped just as quickly to clutch the fabric of her skirts.

“And I am most certainly the only man on God’s green earth who will ever have the pleasure of touching you here.”

She held her breath as his hands roughly snatched up her skirts. Embarrassment and curiosity and that aching, needy pain were sudden and overwhelming. She squeezed her eyes shut, dropping her head back against his shoulder as he brought her skirts all the way up and then made short work of divesting her of her undergarments.

The feel of air on that wet heat between her thighs had her breath growing labored.

“Open your eyes, Angel.” It was a gruff, harsh command again, and she didn’t dare to disobey.

Her eyes opened, and she looked down, humiliated and oddly aroused even more by the sight of her own bare thighs. Soft curls covered her mons, but she’d never really looked at herself down there, and the fact that he was seeing this, too…

“I’m too embarrassed,” she whispered.

“You are the most beautiful sight I’ve ever beheld.” It was the awe and reverence in his voice as he looked down at her from over her shoulder that had her swallowing down her embarrassment.

She was his, after all. This was his right.

He kissed her temple and then her ear. “I won’t hurt you, love. I won’t even touch you.”

She blinked, dismayed a bit by this new fact. “Y-you won’t?”

“I told you, tonight, you are learning how to ease your own ache.”

She whimpered, not sure herself if she was protesting or urging him to get on with it. A fire had formed in her belly, and it was flickering down into her womb.

“I told you, Angel. When I take you as a man takes a woman, it will be because you beg me for it.” He nipped the lobe of her ear, making her gasp. “Are you ready to beg me to take you, Angel?”

She paused, panting for air. And then she gave a sharp shake of her head, a surge of anger taking hold at his arrogance and his games.

He wanted all of her. She understood that now. He wanted to break her. Tame her. Make her his biddable bride.

She clung to thoughts of Albert. That was who she loved. A man who was kind and gentle, who cared for her in a way that made her feel understood. He’d never pressured her to speak. He’d never so much as stolen a kiss.

He’d certainly never insisted she beg.

This dratted man. She shouldn’t be enjoying his touch. It was a betrayal to Albert, wasn’t it?

But then again, they’d both known that marriage would mean she’d be intimate with another.

His loud exhale beside her ear made her start.

“Fair enough,” he said. “You’re still not ready.”

Her body slumped back. She hadn’t even realized she’d been tensed to flee, but now she sagged into him, knowing that he’d dropped the question. For now, at least, she did not have to sort out her feelings about Albert and this new intimacy with her husband.

“You’re a romantic, Angel,” the duke said as his hands started to stroke her thighs, slowly, leisurely, like they had all the time in the world.

“Is that so bad?” Her voice was too breathless.

This was torture. The area between her thighs throbbed as his fingers strummed over her thighs, down the outside and then up over the top, dipping down to the seam where she pressed her knees together.

If she hadn’t felt his manhood stabbing into her lower back, she might have thought he was utterly unaffected.

“It’s not a bad trait, I suppose,” he said like they were having a philosophical chat over a leisurely meal. “Romance is fine when it comes to novels and operas. But in real life, you ought to know that there’s no connection between the heart and the body, nor the mind, for that matter.”

Her chest prickled with unease at his aloof tone and the cold words. All so very unemotional, though he touched her with such tender intimacy.

“What does that mean?” She could barely speak as he gently slid his fingers between her legs and nudged her knees apart.

“It means you can enjoy the pleasures of the flesh without betraying the one in your heart.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. That didn’t seem right. It sounded like justifications and excuses. But then, he had her legs parted, and in one move, he slid his knees up between hers and used them to wedge her thighs apart.

“Oh!” She didn’t fight him, but her lungs labored for air. She was spread wide, her feminine folds parted, revealing her soft, wet opening.

Her lips parted with shock at the indecent sight, a mix of horror, humiliation, and hot liquid heat sending her mind reeling and her heart racing.

“Beautiful,” he groaned, his head falling against the crook of her neck as his fingers clutched her inner thighs. His teeth gently nipped at the spot where her neck met her shoulder, and she shivered at the unexpected thrill it sent through her. Her nipples puckered.

Beautiful. The word cut through her horror. There was no mockery in his tone, only sincerity. Perhaps even reverence.

“Am I beautiful?” she whispered, embarrassment tightening her throat.

“You have no idea, Angel.” He groaned into her hair. “You cannot imagine what the sight of your wet, tight quim does to me.” His hips jerked up roughly as he spoke, that hard shaft rubbing against her bottom.

She was panting for air now. His words were so crass. What they were doing was wrong. It had to be.

But then again, he was her husband. This was his right. Surely he knew what he was doing.

She wiggled her hips tentatively against him and was flooded with satisfaction when he moaned, his hands coming up to cup her breasts in a move that spoke of desperation.

Gone were the cool words and practical tone as he kneaded her flesh through her tight bodice. “Christ, Angel, you feel like heaven.”

A huff of shock escaped at the urgency in his tone as well as the sacrilege words.

But his lewd thoughts and the sight of her bare sex were no longer evoking horror, nor even disgust. Not the way they ought. She wasn’t sure what it was she was feeling, but it was overwhelming. Intoxicating.

“W-what are you doing?” she stammered, her whole body tensing as his hands began to move again. She tried to clench her thighs shut, but his legs kept them apart.

She was at his mercy. A fact that ought to scare her. Instead, she found herself sinking back into his embrace.

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of, Angel,” he said, his voice so very gruff and heartachingly earnest. “This is your body, and it is perfection.”

“Is it?” Her voice was too high and weak. She barely recognized it.

“It’s perfection,” he said again, his tone brooking no arguments. “And it’s mine.”

The harshness in his voice made her shudder, and her hips jerked.

“That’s it,” he whispered against her skin, watching alongside her as that patch of curls grew soaking wet. “You want it, love. Your body needs it.”

Her head rolled from side to side. “Help me,” she whimpered.

He muttered a curse before grabbing one of her hands with his and lacing his fingers over hers. “I’ve got you, Angel,” he muttered. And then he slid both their hands between her thighs, covering her mound and making her jerk upright with shock at the new sensation of his fingers down there.

Of her fingers down there.

He held them still, cupping her wetness as she gasped and panted. Her upper back was arching now as her breasts begged for attention.

She was needy. Everywhere.

“Easy, pet,” he said, his tongue flicking her ear. “This is only the start. Remember that. When you’re ready to ask like a good little girl, I’ll make this bliss seem like nothing.”

“This bliss?” She repeated the word in disbelief. This wasn’t bliss. It was torture.

His low chuckle slid over her like a caress as his fingers moved over hers, guiding her in an exploration of the hot, wet folds.

“See how silky and smooth you are,” he crooned softly, his low words of praise soothing her embarrassment. “So beautiful, Angel.”

“It hurts,” she whispered as he guided one of her fingers into her own slick channel. She cried out at the new sensation.

“It’s a good sort of pain, Angel. Embrace it.”

When she pulled her finger out, terrified by her own naughty deeds, he kissed her temple and took hold of her fingers once more, sliding them up and down, up and down, exploring her entrance, and then?—

“Raff!” She shouted his name when he brought her fingers over her hard, tight nub.

His knees pushed outward, spreading her as far as she could go. His hips rolled up, and his hardness ground into her.

He removed his hands from hers to clutch her hips. “Touch yourself,” he commanded. “Rub that spot, and don’t stop until you find that bliss.”

His voice was grating, commanding. So harsh, she knew she ought to protest. “I need your help,” she whispered instead. Embarrassment held her captive, and she froze in place without his hand over hers helping her, guiding her.

Now it was just her, and she felt...dirty. This was not how a proper young lady behaved. Not even after her wedding.

He grunted, the sound pained like he was the one being tortured and not her. “I told you I would show you how to ease your own pain.”

She whimpered, the ache so intense she choked on a sob.

“Would it make you feel better if I find my own relief as well?” he asked.

She could hear the smirk in his voice, and it made her hips arch again. “Yes.”

He gripped her hips hard. “I’m going to use you, pet. I’m going to dirty this pretty gown of yours.”

“I don’t care,” she moaned.

He used his grip on her hips to slide her to one leg, and then he freed his erection. She barely got a good look before glancing away, but it was enough to know that he was long and thick and...oh sweet heavens. “How is that supposed to fit?”

He chuckled. “That’s a problem for another day.” He turned her head and kissed her, thrusting his tongue into her mouth as he gripped her hand and brought it back to that sensitive nub.

“Make your master proud,” he said harshly against her lips. “Show me how you like to be touched.”

She didn’t need any more encouragement because her fingers had already found that magical spot and the sight of him taking himself in hand…

She gasped at the sight, so unusual and so erotic as he stroked himself over and over, his gaze fixed on her fingers between her thighs, all the while.

“That’s right, Angel,” he praised her again and again. “Stroke yourself until you come. Show me how wet you are. Show me how much you want to be bedded, my naughty girl.”

She barely understood his vulgar words, but they did something to her—they made her feel wild and uncontrollable.

They made her feel something more than that.

As her head fell back with a moan and every muscle inside her began to tense in anticipation, the word came to her.

Power.

She felt powerful.

His grunts and groans and his murmurs about her beauty grew more and more frantic. He was driven just as mad as she was, and that knowledge made her forget the last of her embarrassment.

“You’re going to make me come so hard,” he said, his normally smug smile nowhere to be found as he gritted his teeth and stroked himself hard.

“I—I—” She didn’t know how to tell him what was happening, but he seemed to know.

With his free hand, he reached around and slid a hand into her bodice, cupping one of her breasts. His fingers found her taut nipple and pinched it hard.

She cried out, and with one more frantic rub between her thighs, she screamed as her body came apart.

The throbbing tension gave way to an explosion of sensations that left her trembling in its wake.

A second later, her husband groaned into her ear as he found his own release.

For a moment, they stayed just as they were, panting. As reality set back in, she closed her trembling legs and tugged down her skirts. Her sluggish mind was trying to work, trying to sort out how she should be feeling.

Truthfully, she couldn’t feel much more than spent. Exhausted and...relieved.

“Now then,” Raff said, that crooked, smug smile back in place as he cleaned himself up and straightened his own clothes. “What do you say we play another round?”