Page 24 of The Duke’s Untouched Bride (Regency Second Chances #3)

“Good.” He nipped her collarbone and satisfaction flooded through him when she shivered. “I’m tired of thinking. Tired of being careful. Tired of pretending I don’t want you every moment of every day.”

Her hands tangled in his hair and she tugged hard enough to make him groan. “Then stop pretending.”

It was all the permission he needed.

His mouth found hers again in a hungry and demanding way. She met him kiss for kiss. Her passion matched his in ways that made his blood burn.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew they should stop. They were in Morrison’s library, for God’s sake. Anyone could walk in. The ball was in full swing just rooms away and their absence was likely noticed already.

But he couldn’t bring himself to care. Not with Iris warm and willing in his arms, not with the soft sounds she made against his mouth, the ones that made his pulse thrum and his self-control unravel. Not when she looked at him like he was something rare and worth wanting.

“We should go back,” she murmured against his lips, though her hands didn’t release him.

“We should,” he agreed, and kissed her again before he could think better of it.

His mouth lingered longer this time. He drew her bottom lip between his gently, then trailed kisses along her jaw to the hollow beneath her ear. She gasped, barely audible, and he felt it in his chest like a spark catching tinder.

“You taste like champagne,” he whispered roughly.

A breathless laugh escaped her, but it caught in her throat when he lowered his lips to her neck and he brushed the sensitive skin with maddening care. She tilted her head to give him more access as her fingers tightened on his shoulders.

He followed the curve of her neck to her collarbone, then lower still, kissing the edge where silk gave way to skin. Just the barest hint of cleavage peeked above her bodice, and he traced the swell with his lips hungrily.

Her breath hitched, and one of her hands slid into his hair. “Owen…”

“I know,” he said, not pulling back. “But I’ve wanted to do it since the first time you looked at me like this.”

“People will talk,” she whispered, but she wasn’t stopping him.

“Let them,” Owen said. His voice was thick with want.

His hands slid down her waist deliberately and possessively.

He gathered her silk skirts with aching slowness.

The fabric rustled as it rose. Then, his fingers slipped beneath, navigating the layers until he found her calf.

He stroked upward and over her stocking. The silk felt cool beneath his palm.

She stiffened for a breathless moment when he reached the bare skin above her garter.

“There,” he murmured into her ear. “So soft. So warm.”

Her thigh quivered beneath his touch.

“Owen…” Her voice was trembling, caught between fear and aching need.

“If you want me to stop,” he said, his lips brushing her earlobe, “say so.”

But she didn’t. Instead, she leaned into him. His other hand slid to the small of her back, anchoring her to him as his mouth moved to her collarbone, savoring each inch of her skin.

“I think about you like this at night,” he whispered. “Yet every night my hand is wrapped around nothing, aching for what’s mine.”

Her breath shuddered, ruffling his hair.

The room disappeared. The library, the ball, the danger of discovery—it all fell away.

His hand slid higher, and when he reached the curls between her thighs, she gasped. One hand gripped his coat.

“So wet for me,” he groaned. “Do you know what that does to a man, Iris?”

His thumb found the swollen pearl at her center, and she whimpered. Her knees trembled as he circled it slowly and expertly.

“Tell me what you need,” he said, his mouth at her throat, “and I’ll give it to you.”

“That,” she breathed. “Keep doing… that.”

He kissed her then, deeply, almost reverently, as his fingers found her entrance and slipped inside. She moaned into his mouth and her hips began to move in time with him.

“That’s it,” he murmured against her lips. “Take me. Just like that. Let me feel how close you are.”

She clutched at his shoulders, clinging to him as his rhythm built, his fingers stroking her with sinful precision, drawing her higher and higher until her entire body tensed.

He watched her face so he could see the way her lips parted and the flush that bloomed across her chest and neck.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he rasped. “So undone for me.”

And when she shattered, gasping his name, her body convulsing with pleasure, he held her through it, murmuring praise against her cheek.

“Good girl,” he whispered. “That’s it. Let go for me.”

Only when the tremors eased did he slowly withdraw his hand. He kissed her temple as she trembled in his arms.

“Owen—”

Whatever she’d been about to say was lost as voices sounded in the corridor.

They broke apart, breathing hard. Iris’s lips were swollen, and her hair was mussed where his hands had tangled in it. She looked thoroughly kissed, and Owen felt primitive satisfaction at the sight.

“Your hair,” he said, reaching up to smooth an errant curl.

She caught his hand. “Leave it. Let them see.”

An awed smirk formed on his lips.

“You wanted me to claim you, didn’t you?”

She said nothing, but her eyes held a challenge and something else, something that made his chest tighten.

The voices passed by without stopping.

Owen stepped back and helped her down from the desk with hands that weren’t quite steady.

“We should return before we’re missed,” he said.

“Yes.” But she didn’t move. Instead, she studied him with those knowing eyes. “Owen… what happens now?”

It was the question he’d been avoiding for weeks. What did happen now? They couldn’t go back to polite distance, not after this. But moving forward meant risking everything he’d built his walls to protect.

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

“Well.” She smoothed her skirts with slightly trembling hands. “At least you’re honest about it.”

She moved toward the door, but he caught her arm. “Iris. What Jasper said about Evie. You know it’s not true, don’t you? She’s not mine.”

“I know.” She gently cupped his face. “I’m sorry I doubted you. It’s just sometimes, when I don’t understand what you’re thinking or feeling, it’s easier to assume the worst than hope for the best.”

“Don’t.” He leaned his face into her palm. “Don’t assume the worst of me. I may be a fool and a coward, but I’m not a liar. Not about this.”

“Then tell me the truth. All of it. Help me understand.”

“Tomorrow,” he promised. “After we get home, after Evie’s asleep. I’ll tell you everything. All of it.”

“Do you promise?”

“I promise.” He pressed a kiss on her palm. “No more secrets.”

“No more secrets,” she agreed.

They returned to the ballroom separately, Iris first, then Owen a few minutes later. If anyone noticed their absence or disheveled appearances, they were too polite to comment on it. But Owen caught the knowing looks and whispers.

For once, the gossip would be true. The Duke of Carridan was desperately, helplessly attracted to his wife, and he didn’t want to fight against those feelings anymore.