THE GOOD, THE BAD, AND THE DUKE by Janna MacGregor (On sale 11/27)
Time stood suspended as he catalogued her every move. Inch by inch, she massaged his skin with her hands like an artist learning every muscle, sinew, and bone. Her gentle movements should have relaxed him but had the opposite effect. It caused a hunger like no other.
She leaned closer and imprisoned him with her familiar fragrance of lavender. He couldn’t escape if his life depended on it.
Thank God for small miracles. His blood heated with desire, and his erection lay straight on his stomach, pulsing with need. If he took himself in hand, a mere two strokes would have him coming like an adolescent.
The now familiar virgin witchery she possessed unfurled in her eyes, and he was powerless. She moved her hands over his knees and continued her path of exquisite torment until she reached his thighs. He made the mistake of glancing down. The sight of her hands so close to his cock made him groan with need for her touch. Every nerve of his body was primed to unleash the rabid animal within that wanted her beneath him. His hands twitched to grab her.
He closed his eyes, desperate to gain control. But out of nowhere, the warmth of her hand surrounded his cock and then her sweet mouth took possession. His eyes flew open. When he tried to speak, the words lodged in his throat as the most perfect and intense sensations took over.
She was a virgin all right. She lacked expertise, but she explored him while she touched and teased. She tongued his length where a huge purple vein twined in an aimless fashion. At such superb torment, he pushed his hips forward.
Instead of moving away from him, she took more of him in her mouth. With her tongue, she traced the crown then slid it over the slit at the top.
Then she did the unthinkable—she moaned. The vibration from her throat against his organ caused every powerful sensation to congregate in his spine.
Without saying a word, he scooped a protesting Daphne into his arms, then had her straddle his legs. The position pressed her mound against his cock. Though it was still an exquisite torture, it was one he could control.
“What are you doing?” The throaty deepness from her velvety voice caused him to grow harder, if that was possible. Everything this woman did affected him.
“I’m going to kiss you.” Semen leaked from his tip, crying for her to finish what she’d started.
“Didn’t you like it? I thought I was doing it just like the prostitute.”
“You are an enchantress. Yes, I liked it. No, I more than liked it.” He placed his fingers against the silky skin of her lips, causing his own skin to twitch like a horse before a race. Those very lips had been wrapped around his cock not moments ago. “See what you’ve done to me. You’ve stolen my sanity.”
He closed his eyes and placed his forehead against hers. If he concentrated on his breathing, he wouldn’t come—at least not yet.
She pushed her center against him. Without waiting for him to initiate the kiss, she put her lips against his. Her open-mouth kiss was an invitation, one that Paul readily accepted as he took possession of her mouth. Teaching her, coaxing her into a rhythm they both enjoyed. Her little murmurs and groans encouraged him more.
With one hand, he held her close as he used his other hand to push her gown up her legs. He cupped her bottom and pulled her tighter against him. She whimpered her approval. In one move, he flipped them both so that she lay underneath him.
Her gaze captured his. “Are we going to make love?”
He lightly fingered a loose lock of her black silk hair, then brushed the back of his hand gently across one pink cheek. “Sweetheart, is that what you want?”
She blinked slowly. “I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about it.”
“Perhaps we should find another way…to enjoy one another.”
“I’d like that,” she answered.
Slowly, he took her mouth in another kiss as he pushed his cock against her center—skin to skin. The wetness of her arousal caused his heart to pound. Nipping her bottom lip, he continued to move against her. Her breathing increased and she lifted her hips to meet his over and over. She was close to coming. The flush of her cheeks made her gloriously beautiful.
“Paul.” She pulled him close as her body tightened against him. The dulcet sound of his name on her lips was more magnificent than the finest Viennese string quartet. He shifted to his side and brought his hand to her hip. A woman’s hip had to be the most perfect creation in the history of the world. Daphne’s was a masterpiece. The traced the soft skin with the flawless angles, then shifted his hand lower. His fingers strayed to the soft curls that protected her clitoris.
“Let me touch you.” He trailed his lips against temple.
She nodded, then placed her hand over his, directing his touch.
God, she was beautiful and gloriously wet. It excited him that she knew what she wanted. Tonight, he’d help her find the sweetest release she’d ever imagine.
With his fingers, he separated her folds, then found her perfect pearl drenched from her arousal. It was pure splendor in her arms. He caressed her clitoris in gentle circles. In response, she mewled and pushed her center harder into his hand. He continued, and her cries become more urgent, more demanding. Her breathing accelerated, and she undulated her hips. When he felt the first stiffening of her body, he stroked two fingers inside her. Her eyes closed. The pulsing of her orgasm squeezed his fingers. Once again, she’d let herself go in his arms.
Gently, he removed his fingers and caressed her hip once more. The sight drove him to move over her once again as he pushed against her center with his cock, mimicking the act of making love. Each stroke against her soft, wet center sent pleasure careening through him. He was desperate for release. After fighting his arousal for what seemed like hours, he let it consume him. He roared her name as his climax crashed through him. It possessed him in a way he’d never experienced—the duration lasting longer than he ever remembered. His seed glistened in the candlelight where it marked her abdomen. For some foolish reason, he was proud that she bore the remnants of his release.
He pulled her tight against him as he buried his head in her soft neck, murmuring her name over and over. His heartbeat slowed from its earlier relentless pounding as his body came under his control. He could feel the strong beat of her heart against his. If he died in this position, it would be the equivalent of heaven, he was certain of it.
He placed gentle kisses along her collarbone, then her neck, each one gentler than the last. It was his way of slowing down the tempest they had created in each other’s arms. Across her perfect cheek, he pressed his gentlest kiss.
“Sweetheart, I need to get you cleaned up and take you home.” He nudged her ear with nose. He could touch her all night. If he was honest, he wanted to take her to bed, make love to her all night, and then sleep all day beside her.
He stilled at the thought. It had never crossed his mind to take a woman to his bed. His room, his bed, was his sanctuary, a place where no one could invade his space. But with his Moonbeam, he wanted to whisk her off her feet, walk up the stairs to his chambers, and lock the door.
With her hands on both sides of his head, she gently combed through his hair, the repetitive touch soothing. Yet, he could feel his arousal growing again and his desire for her waking from its short rest. He was convinced he’d never tire of her. Never before had he acted like such a schoolboy. He reached for one of her hands, then placed a kiss against her palm. One endearing kiss to help her understand this was special to him also.
Her look of enthrallment mirrored how he felt. She was entranced as much as he was.
“I don’t think I care to be cleaned up.” The deep huskiness of a well-pleasured woman colored her voice. Her half-lidded eyes delighted him. She was drunk with passion, and he wanted nothing more than to yield to that desire that swirled between them.
He’d always thought her beautiful, but with the gorgeous flush in her cheeks from the remnants of her release along with her strength and regard for him, she could bring him to his knees.
“Why is that?” he murmured.
“Because I’ll keep my gown as a valuable trophy.” She leaned up and touched her nose to his. “Just like you with your pantaloons that night at the Reynolds.”
He buried his head in her soft hair to hide his laughter. The effort futile as his body vibrated with mirth. “You are an incorrigible and wicked woman who’s ruining me,” he huffed with the right amount of ducal arrogance. “Let it be known, I prefer you that way.”