Taken by the Duke (13 page)

He dropped his mouth back to her exposed breast and sucked, pressing the pearl of her pleasure at the same time. Her orgasm was just there, right at the edge of freedom, but he withdrew his hand and mouth just before she reached it. She gurgled an incoherent sound of frustration and he laughed.

“Take off your dress,” he ordered as he stood.

She no longer cared if someone saw her. She no longer cared about anything else but feeling what he would do next, no matter how shocking, depraved or inappropriate. She wanted to rut with him, as animal as it was, no matter the consequences.

Unsteady, she stood and faced him, shimmying out of her half-undone dress and standing before him in only her drawers, stockings and slippers.

“The rest,” he ordered. “Now.”

She didn’t argue or resist. She merely shoved laces open, shimmied until she was totally naked in the middle of his parlor, the door open and the shades allowing full sun and a view of her naked backside.

“Great God,” he said through what seemed like clenched teeth.

She sidestepped to the little sitting area before the fire. There was a settee there that might have sufficed for their encounter, but as she looked at its narrow expanse, she wondered if it might not hurt him to lie at such odd angles. The chair also seemed out of the question.

But on the floor was a thick, soft rug.

“Will you lie on your back?” she asked, motioning to the rug with much hesitation.

He stared at where she indicated and then smiled. “Very well.”

He moved slowly, but lay down in the middle of the rug, leaning on his elbows so he could watch her as she made her way to him. She knelt beside him and looked at him. He was so utterly beautiful, and she wanted to touch him, to feel him, to take him inside her. And yet she was still so naïve that she wasn’t certain how to seduce the seducer.

“How should I…touch you?” she asked, already resting her hand on his thigh. It felt very strong, despite how badly he had been injured.

“Like that,” he breathed.

She took a steadying breath and continued to massage the flesh of his thigh. Slowly she inched inward, upward until she cupped the steely length of his cock as it strained against his trousers.

“You took me in your mouth,” she whispered, not looking at him. “Would it feel right if I did the same?”

He was silent for so long she feared she had asked a foolish question. When she dared to look at him, he was staring at her, eyes wide and focused on her with dark intent.

“Your mouth on me would be remarkable,” he finally said. “I am near spending at just the thought. But I think I would like it if you rode me instead.”

“Rode you?” she asked, her sex flexing at the idea.

He nodded and opened the fly of his trousers. His cock popped free and she stared at it.

It was big, as big as it felt when it breached her. She reached out and took him in hand, marveling at how he could be so hard and yet the flesh be so soft at the same time. She stroked over the mushroom head and his hips flexed.

“Ride me,” he said, and his eyes were wide and wild.

She nodded and straddled him carefully. On her knees, she positioned her already weeping slit over his thrusting cock and then slid downward. He pierced her and she cried out at this new position. The sensation was very different.

“Slowly,” he groaned. “Take me slowly.”

She tried with all her might to do so, but her body was achy and out of control, and she slammed down in one heavy thrust and he filled her to the hilt.

“Please,” she said as her hips began to rock. “Please.”

“You control this,” he panted as he cupped her hips and helped her smooth her thrusts. “You control how you move, how fast or slowly you come. How fast or slowly
I
come.”

Her eyes widened as she stared down at him.
Her
, in control? It was shocking he would allow such a thing, but the power of it was heady. She rocked against him, rubbing until she felt the sharp thrum of pleasure in the bundle of nerves he had called her clitoris.

She cried out as pleasure built like a wildfire burning unchecked. It rose in her, overwhelming until she screamed out with no thought to who would hear, who would see, who would whisper. The burst of her orgasm was too powerful to think of anything except the swirling relief of it. She continued to rock against him as the waves of sensation faded and she saw the strain on his face, the throb of a vein in his neck.

“I—I am going to come,” he grunted before he pushed her back and withdrew his cock from her still flexing body.

His essence spurted between them, and he moaned low and loud and filled with passion.

She collapsed on her side on the rug, panting as her heart continued to flutter like butterfly wings. She had never imagined this kind of intensity between two people. Not when she looked at staid couples in Society. Even the happiest of matches.

“Are you as astounded by our physical connection as I am?” she asked.

He looked at her, and his expression was unreadable as always. Then he nodded once.

“I admit, I never expected our coupling to be so physically intense. Though I am not complaining,” he added as he stroked her breast absently.

“Even though you are so much more experienced?” she pressed, truly surprised by his answer.

He shrugged. “I have never met anyone like you, Ava.”

She hesitated at that loaded statement. “Is that a compliment?”

He rolled to his side and pressed a heated kiss to her breast. “I don’t fully know.”

She cried out as he scraped his teeth across the bud ever so gently. There were no more questions, no conversation as he pushed her on her back, opened her legs and entered her again.

Chapter Twelve

Christian paced his office, stopping now and then to straighten his cravat in the mirror above the sideboard. When he did, he looked at the clock there and shook his head.

Time had always been counted in many ways by him. Minutes and hours, of course, days and weeks, just like everyone else. But he had also kept time by his hatred. Sometimes it was how long it had been since he saw Windbury. Or how many wrongs had been committed against his family.

After the accident, time had been counted by pain, both the physical due to his injuries and the powerful grief that accompanied his sister’s death.

Now he counted time in anticipation of something far more pleasant.

It had been four days since Ava played the piano for him. Four days that had been a blur of pleasure and desire in any corner of the house he could find her and touch her. Four days that almost always ended with her gentle attempts at interrogation and his abrupt departure from her company.

And yet despite his strong belief that she was plotting against him with her questions and glances and various attempts to get into his life, he still looked forward to seeing her, touching her, tasting her more and more.

There was a light knock on his office door and she stepped into the room.

He couldn’t help but smile. “You do not have to knock when we have an appointment. If I was doing something wicked, I would
want
you to catch me.”

Despite the days of endless passion, her cheeks pinkened at that statement.

“I can only imagine what wicked things you might wish me to catch you at,” she said with a playful shake of her head.

“I doubt it,” he said, moving on her almost against his will. “Did you sleep well?”

She hesitated and his smile fell.

“What is it?” he asked.

She paced away from him. “As much as I enjoy our time together in this house, as much as I have fallen under the spell of your touch, I have been locked away inside for days and days. I find myself staring out the window at your gardens and wishing to feel some sun on my face.”

He drew back as she turned toward his windows to look outside. Indeed, there was a longing on her face, a hint of sadness that reminded him quite sharply that she was here against her will. All her moans and pleasures might be real, but they were still driven by her need to protect her brother and return home after their bargain ended.

There was a sharp pain in his chest at that thought, but he scowled and pushed it away.

“I told you many times, you are not a bird in a cage. If you wish to go outside, than do so.” His tone was too sharp, too emotional for his taste.

She faced him. “I have not exactly had time,” she said with a smile meant to soften his mood. And strangely it did just that. “I do not wish to roam around alone, being avoided by your servants as I am in the house. I thought perhaps you and I could take a turn around the gardens together.”

He stared at her, allowing her words to sink in, feeling her eyes on him but unable to read her intentions despite how even her gaze was.

“Together,” he repeated.

She shrugged a shoulder delicately. “We would not have to go far if a stroll would be uncomfortable for you. And I would be happy simply to sit in the sun for a little while.”

He could not help how his lips pinched in displeasure. Once again, she subtly brought up a subject he had made clear to her was off limits. How dare she pity him for his injuries?

“I am perfectly capable of walking,” he snapped.

Of course, that might not be true. He hadn’t exactly tested the notion beyond storming around the house and making plans to kidnap virgins like the villain out of some ridiculous novel his sister would have read.

“Very well,” she said, holding up her hands in some kind of peace offering. “Then will you allow it?”

He sucked in a breath in frustration. Here he had planned an afternoon of making love in front of a fire, and now she had backed him into a corner.

“Fine,” he said with a wave of his hand that utterly dismissed her desires on the subject. “Whatever you would like.”

“Excellent!”

She clapped her hands together, her eyes lit up in pleasure so pure that for a moment Christian could do nothing but stare into the face of it. How could she remain so…so light while growing up in her family? While being passed over for marriage again and again? While being held captive, her future completely compromised, by a man she feared as much as desired?

How could she hold on to that lightness of spirit, to that happiness that seemed to permeate her and make her such a joy to be around?

“I don’t want to know why,” he muttered.

She tilted her head. “I’m sorry?”

“Nothing,” he growled. “Fetch your wrap, and I will meet you in the foyer in five minutes.”

She stared at him for a brief moment, then nodded. “Of course. I will hurry.”

She turned and scurried from the room. When she was gone, he moved to the window and looked out at the scene she so longed to be a part of. To him the outside world looked a little…
bright
. But he was about to forge out into it regardless.

For her.

The butler, Sanders, opened the door for them a few moments later, and Ava couldn’t help a sigh of pleasure as warm summer air hit her face.

“Will you require anything further, Your Grace?” Sanders asked.

Ava glanced at the two men from the corner of her eye. She had barely seen any of Christian’s servants beyond the maid, Laura. It was unfortunate, really, since she’d always believed one could tell a great deal about a man by how he interacted with those in his employ.

And she had often wondered, in the days since her arrival, if that fact was exactly why she never saw or spoke to anyone who worked here. Christian seemed determined to keep her out of his life in every way that was meaningful.

Now, though, she had a fleeting moment of clarity as Christian stared at his butler. Sanders was asking a simple question, of course, but there was something more to his tone. He seemed…
concerned
for his master.

She glanced at the cane that was forever at Christian’s side. He did appear to be leaning more heavily upon it today. Not that his pain wasn’t always evident no matter how hard he tried to hide it. His pride would not allow her, of all people, to see weakness in him.

“I don’t think so, Sanders,” Christian finally replied to the butler’s inquiry.

“What about luncheon?” Ava pressed gently.

Both men looked at her as if she had spoken some foreign language. Christian shook his head. “What time is it, Sanders?”

“A quarter past eleven, my lord,” Sanders said without having to make reference to a watch or clock.

Ava smiled. All butlers, at least all good ones, were alike, it seemed, in their ability to know everything at all times.

“Will we not be back here in time?” Christian said with a heavy sigh.

He did not look at her, but when Sanders didn’t answer, Ava jolted. “Is your question directed toward me?”

“You are the one who brought up a midday meal, yes,” he said with a strain to his voice that spoke of his impatience.

Ava refused to be intimidated by the tone or his fierce expression.

“I would think we could easily still be out on the grounds at one,” she said with a smile for Sanders that was not returned. “Does His Grace not enjoy a picnic?”