Page 21 of The Spinster and Her Rakish Duke (The Athena Society #3)

“Wh-what?” Was the only intelligent thing she could think to say in that moment.

“Call me by my name, Samantha,” he said and her breath hitched again at the feel of his hot breath against her thighs. “It’s only you and I here.”

“E-Ewan,” she gasped out, her fingers gripping his shoulders for support. “What are you?—”

He looked up at her then, eyes blazing, voice rough with want. “I’m going to take care of you, my wife. I want to. I need to.”

Her knees buckled. He caught her, guiding her gently down to the settee by the fire. She sank into the cushions, her limbs trembling. The heat of the fire was nothing compared to the burn building inside her.

He parted her dressing gown with reverence, not haste, not greed. As though she were something precious. His palms skimmed over her calves, up the backs of her knees, coaxing gooseflesh to rise in his wake. He kissed the skin above her knee, then higher, and higher still.

“You are… exquisite,” he murmured against her inner thigh. “Every inch of you.”

She clutched the armrest, her breath coming in uneven, stuttering gasps. Her back arched as his hands gripped her thighs and gently coaxed them wider.

She was open to his gaze now, and the way he devoured her with his eyes made her center throb and pulsate. Her fingers twisted in the upholstery, her body trembling with anticipation. Heat coiled low in her belly, a need that bloomed in ever-widening spirals.

“You don’t even know, do you?” he said. Another kiss. Another. “How strong you are. How brilliant. How breathtaking. Samantha.” Her name was a prayer on his lips as he lowered his mouth to her core.

What followed was worship.

And oh, did he worship. He didn’t rush. He learned every inch of her with tongue and lips and tender, focused devotion. Every soft cry she gave, he answered with praise. Every trembling breath, he matched with murmured adoration.

She fell apart beneath his mouth, unraveling into something wild and unbound. Her hands sank into his hair, her hips lifting into his touch as he brought her closer and closer to the edge.

“So beautiful like this,” he rasped, pausing only to kiss the place where her thigh met her hip. “So honest. Don’t hide your pleasure from me.”

She couldn’t have if she tried. Her body was aflame. Her soul had cracked open. Her thighs trembled, her heart pounding so wildly she could hear it in her ears.

When release took her, it was blinding. She cried out his name, her back arching, her fingers gripping him tightly. She shattered, glorious and unguarded, and he held her through it all, his hands stroking her legs, his voice low and reverent against her wet, sated flesh.

He kissed her again afterward, his mouth tasting of her, slow and deep and consuming. As if he were still starving. As if he’d never have enough. The kiss was not rushed, and it was utterly scandalous how she could taste herself on his tongue.

She cupped his cheek, pulled him closer. The world had fallen away. There was only this. Only them.

Then a knock shattered it.

They both froze, breaths coming in harsh, fast pants against each other’s faces.

Ewan groaned against her skin. “That better not be?—”

“Uncle Ewan?” Percy’s voice came through the main door. “Sorry to disturb, but I most urgently need your help. You must supply me with more of those ordinary conversation topics you have mentioned several times. One can only find so many synonyms for ‘pleasant’ to describe the weather.”

Samantha blinked, still dazed.

Ewan buried his face in her lap and cursed with impressive fluency.

She laughed, a breathless, slightly unhinged thing, as she pulled her robe back around her.

He lifted his head, wild-eyed. “I’m going to strangle him.”

“You should go before he decides to come in,” she said gently, trying to calm the thundering of her heart.

He stood, reluctantly. Buttoned his shirt with fingers that trembled slightly. He looked at her like a man who’d been pulled from paradise too soon.

“Stay,” he said again, rough. Hopeful.

She looked away. She didn’t know if she could. Now, with the high of bliss wearing off, Samantha was left to face the reality of what had just happened.

Of what she’d just let him do to her. His words from before were now ringing in her head:

You’ll beg me to touch you… to taste you, to make you forget everything but the way I make you feel.

It left a bitter taste in her mouth to remember it like this, in this moment. The fact that he was probably thinking about it, too… probably… gloating .

“I… I think I should go to sleep now.” She said, even as she made no move to stand yet. Her legs still felt like wheat stalks.

He hesitated, then crossed to the door. Paused with his hand on the knob. His voice, when it came, was soft. “I’ll be back soon.”

He would, she knew that. But she didn’t think she would still be there when he did. And somehow, she had a feeling that he knew that, as well.

The door clicked shut behind him.

She remained curled on the settee, trembling, stunned by everything that had just passed between them. Her skin still tingled. Her lips were swollen from his kisses. Her soul was no longer entirely her own.

And she forced herself to rise from the settee and wobble back to her own room, securing the deadbolt on her side of the door. She had a feeling that she would lose even more now, if she didn’t do that.

And when he came back, she heard his footsteps pad over to the door, but he didn’t knock.

That night, they slept separately.