Page 26 of The Spinster and Her Rakish Duke (The Athena Society #3)
He lay her upon the counterpane with surprising gentleness, as if she were a precious artifact requiring the most careful handling, then stepped back to remove his remaining garments.
Samantha watched, transfixed, as he revealed himself fully to her gaze, all pretense and social artifice stripped away along with his clothing.
“You’re staring, my tigress,” he said, amusement coloring his tone, though she detected a hint of vulnerability beneath the confident exterior.
“You’re worth staring at,” she replied honestly, abandoning the coy pretense that society demanded of ladies when confronted with masculine beauty.
And she saw the effect of her words on him immediately with the way his cheeks flushed with hard color.
When he joined her on the bed, she welcomed him with eager arms, her inhibitions dissolving in the heat of shared desire.
His mouth found hers again, and she surrendered to the sensations he evoked—the warm press of his body against hers, the intoxicating scent of his skin, the skilled caress of his hands as they explored her curves with a thoroughness that left her breathless and aching for more.
“Tell me what you like,” he murmured against her throat, his breath a warm caress against skin now hypersensitive to his every touch. “What brings you pleasure.”
“I—I don’t know,” she admitted, suddenly acutely aware of her inexperience, the gap between his worldliness and her sheltered upbringing yawning wide as an uncrossable chasm.
He raised his head, his expression serious, all trace of teasing vanished from his countenance. “You’ve never …?”
“No.” The word was barely audible, a confession of innocence that felt somehow shameful despite knowing that she had nothing to be ashamed of. “Adam never… we only ever kissed.”
Something fierce and possessive flashed in Ewan’s eyes, a primal satisfaction that transcended social niceties. “Then I shall be your first. Your only .”
His mouth descended once more, trailing a path of fire down her neck, across her collarbone, to the sensitive peak of her breast. Samantha gasped as his lips closed around the tender flesh, his tongue teasing the hardened bud with exquisite attention that sent spirals of pleasure radiating through her body.
“Ewan,” she breathed, arching into his touch, her body responding with an instinctive wisdom her conscious mind had yet to comprehend.
He lavished attention on each breast in turn, then continued his downward journey, pressing open-mouthed kisses to her ribs, her navel, the soft swell of her stomach. When he settled between her thighs, she tensed, her thoughts flashing back to the party and the pleasure that awaited her.
“I want to taste you again,” he growled, his breath warm against her most intimate place, his gaze holding hers with an intensity that transcended mere lust. He pressed a kiss to her hip before lowering his mouth to her most aching place. “Let me worship you properly.”
And worship her he did, the first slow stroke of his tongue pulling a gasp from her throat, her fingers tangling in his hair. Her soft cries escaped her lips as he continued to torture her with his tongue and gentle suction that soon had her writhing beneath him.
“Oh—Ewan—” She tried to muffle the sounds spilling from her, but when he sucked hard at her most sensitive spot, a cry broke free. “You’re going to?—”
“That’s the idea,” he said darkly, and didn’t stop until she shattered, calling his name like a prayer, her fingers still tangled in his dark hair, her back arched in abandon.
He rose in a swift, fluid movement, catching her mouth in a kiss that tasted of her release.
Even as she was drunk on the taste, he positioned himself at her entrance, his arousal evident against her sensitized flesh.
His eyes sought hers, asking a silent question, seeking confirmation that transcended words.
“Yes,” she whispered, reaching up to cup his face in her hands, the stubble of his jaw rough against her palms. “Make me yours, Ewan.”
He entered her with exquisite care, his considerable experience evident in the controlled restraint of his movements. He paused when she winced at the unfamiliar intrusion, a brief discomfort that was the price of crossing the threshold from maiden to woman… spinster to wife .
“Breathe, my love,” he instructed softly, his forehead pressed to hers in a gesture of surprising tenderness. “The discomfort will pass.”
She nodded, focusing on the warmth of his gaze rather than the brief pain. True to his word, the discomfort soon faded, replaced by a curious fullness that was not unpleasant, a sense of completion she had never anticipated.
“Move,” she urged, shifting her hips experimentally, testing the newfound connection between their bodies.
He caught her hips in a tight grip, his expression suffusing into a wince caught between exquisite pain and pleasure.
“Ewan.” His name was a complaint on her lips, and he growled low in his throat.
“I am trying,” he breathed, chest heaving, “not to hurt you.”
“You don’t. You—God—you feel …” Words failed her.
“Like I was made for you,” he finished roughly, beginning to move.
She met his thrusts, hips rising in instinctive rhythm, each stroke drawing a helpless sound from her throat. Their mouths found each other again and again in messy, desperate kisses that broke only for gasps of air.
“More,” she breathed against his lips.
His pace quickened, his hands roaming over her body as though committing every inch to memory. Samantha found herself matching his pace, instinct guiding her where experience could not, her body responding to his as if they had been designed specifically for this union.
“You feel divine,” he groaned, his control visibly slipping as their tempo increased, the carefully constructed facade of the aristocratic duke giving way to the primal man beneath. “So perfect. So mine.”
“Yours,” she agreed breathlessly, her nails scoring his back as a familiar tension began to build once more, a crescendo approaching that promised to surpass even the pleasure he had given her before.
When she shattered for the second time, he followed swiftly, his release accompanied by her name on his lips, whispered like a benediction, a sacred word uttered in the privacy of their shared sanctuary.
Afterward, they lay entwined, her head pillowed on his chest, their heartbeats gradually slowing to a more normal pace.
Ewan’s fingers traced idle patterns on her bare shoulder, and she felt utterly, blissfully content, as if some crucial piece of herself that had been missing had finally been restored.
“I never imagined it could be like that,” she admitted softly, the confession carrying echoes of all the lonely nights she had endured, believing such connection forever beyond her reach even as she sought the solace of many an explicit romance novel.
His chest rumbled with quiet laughter beneath her cheek, the sound more genuine than she’d ever heard it.
“That, my tigress, was merely the beginning. There are countless ways I intend to pleasure you in the years to come.”