When Seducing A Duke (21 page)

How amazing to be able to look at him this way without any masks between them. To lay with him, knowing that soon he would slide his hardness inside her and know that it was indeed her he claimed. She could clutch the muscular curves of his buttocks and have him know it was her fingers that held him. She could take his erection into her mouth and watch him watch her, knowing that he thought of no one else—that she was fulfilling his fantasy as much as her own.

It was empowering. It was amazing. And it made her feel so naked and vulnerable it was almost unbearable.

He released her fingers and lowered his lips to hers. She could taste the faint musk of herself on his tongue—not unpleasant at all. She wasn’t the least bit shamed by it. In fact, she tangled her tongue with his, rejoicing as he groaned into her mouth. When he broke contact with her lips, he continued the kiss down her neck and chest to stop at her breasts. Body tight with need, Rose waited, humming like a string wound too tight as Grey’s lazy tongue lightly circled her nipple—teasing but not quite touching.

He did this with the other one as well, making the peak so hard it was almost painful, but he didn’t give her the relief of his mouth.

“Wretch,” she ground out, hoarse with need.

Suddenly her nipple was in his mouth, assaulted by the wet whip of tongue, the hot suction of his lips. She cried out, arching into the pleasure/pain as his teeth joined the torture. It hurt, but it felt so good! Between her legs she felt a flood of humidity with a pulse of need that made her rub herself against his side like a cat in heat.

When Grey’s mouth left her breast she moaned, but then he was moving downward and all thoughts of protest died in her throat when she realized what he was going to do.

Wanton that she was, Rose raised herself on her forearms to watch, tingling all over in anticipation.

Grey kissed the damp curls between her thighs. Rose’s hips jerked in delighted response. He chuckled, bathing her in warm breath that raised gooseflesh all over her body and sent a shiver down her spine.

Another maddening and somehow chaste kiss. She wanted more. She knew there was more. She tried to arch her hips, but he had her hips in his strong hands, holding her immobile on the coverlet.

Up on his elbows, he raised his gaze to hers, so smoky and hot and slightly shuttered with heavy lids. He had the loveliest eyelashes.

“What do you want me to do, Rose?” His voice was so deep. So sultry, it drew the heat of her to him—right to where she ached to clench him deep inside.

Rose was too far gone to care about shame or propriety. And she was just experienced enough to know that maidenly reserve—especially with this man—was just plain foolish.

She lifted a hand to trail her fingers through his thick hair with a gentle caress. “Taste me,” she commanded. “I want you to lick me like I’ve read. I want your tongue inside me.”

Was it possible for a person’s eyes to turn to molten silver? That’s what seemed to happen to Grey’s at her words. The hottest silver, with a hint of blue.

He didn’t speak. But still holding her gaze, he removed one hand from her hip and used the fingers to part the lips of her sex. The air was cool against her heated flesh, awakening yet more need, heightening her already gargantuan arousal. Rose watched, torn between his eyes and his mouth as he slipped the firm length of his tongue inside her. His stubble abraded her thighs and the sensitive flesh where her bottom met her legs and she didn’t care. It felt so good as he made love to her with his mouth—and when his tongue slid up through the delicate folds to find her “clitty” she fell back on to the bed with a desperate cry.

She was still sensitive from the orgasm she had given herself and she came again very quickly against his tongue, fingers still tangled in his hair, holding his head between her thighs as waves of heat and pleasure ripped through her.

He gave her a moment to recover, kissing his way back up her body. This time she met his lips eagerly, licking the salt of her body from his mouth.

She slid her hands between them, unfastening his trousers. Then she pushed the finely made garment over the lean lines of his hips. His flanks—slightly concave—were like silk over steel, the curve of his buttocks as firm and delicious as she remembered. Grey pushed up onto his hands, making it easy for her to undress him. When her arms reached their limit, she used her toes to seize the light wool and pulled them down his long legs. He kicked them onto the floor.

She pushed at his chest and he let her, rolling easily onto his back in the middle of the huge bed. Rose came up to straddle his thighs. Her hair hung wildly around her shoulders. Between her legs she was soaked and she could smell her own musk, and yet Grey looked at her as though she were an angel come to earth.

“Beautiful, perfect man,” she whispered, not caring that she said her thoughts aloud.

His fingers gripped her thighs. He was so strong and yet so gentle. So fierce and yet so tender. No wonder the women in his past had become so enamored with his lovemaking. He could make a lady a whore and a whore a lady—or a combination of the two and treat both accordingly. The perfect lover who knew when to make love and when to…what was the word? Ah yes,
fuck.

Leaning down, she kissed his firm lips, nipped at them with her teeth, laughing softly when his fingers bit harder into her legs. She kissed the whisker-roughened skin of his jaw, the smoother, almost fragile flesh of his neck, sucking where heat and salt mated at the base.

Down his chest she moved, tasting him with lips and tongue. She toyed with his flat nipples, ran her tongue between the bones of his ribs, down to his shallow navel. He was muscle from shoulder to ankle—perfect just like the sculpture of David, only more so for his humanity.

When Rose reached the jutting length of flesh between his legs, Grey pushed himself up so that he was leaning against the headboard.

She flashed a teasing gaze at him. “What do you want?” she asked, mimicking what he had done to her earlier.

He grinned, not knowing the meaning of shy. “I want you to suck my cock.”

It wasn’t difficult. Rose simply did what she wanted, and Grey’s moans let her know if she was doing it right. When his hand came down on the back of her head, she knew she was. She licked the long, thick length of him, slid her mouth all the way down until she felt the tip in the back of her throat. She grazed him lightly with her teeth, applied a sucking pressure with her cheeks. And when he arched his hips, she sped the up and down motion of her head until he pulled her hair, fingers biting into her skull, a hoarse cry tearing from his throat.

Wiping her mouth, Rose came up on her knees. Grey was slumped against the headboard, but his gaze was on her. Never had she seen such an expression on his face. It wasn’t anger, though it was certainly fierce and a little frightening. And it wasn’t humility, though there was some humbleness there as well. So when he suddenly reached out and wrapped his hand around the back of her neck, Rose didn’t know what to do. Then he hauled her against him so roughly she couldn’t catch herself, and landed hard against his chest. He didn’t even seem to notice, and then his mouth was ravaging hers and Rose didn’t care either.

She had enjoyed giving him pleasure, had felt an undeniable power as she did it, but it meant something to him that she had done that for him—something she was either too inexperienced or too dumb with desire to comprehend.

She sat on his lap, thighs locked around his hips as he kissed her with such hunger she was helpless to respond. All she could do was take it, and let him take his fill. She could feel him hardening again beneath her and she delighted in it. He wasn’t done with her, not yet. He wouldn’t be done with her until he’d emptied all the emotions swirling inside him, until he’d exhausted the fire within them both. Rose welcomed it. She would take whatever he wanted to give her, and give whatever he commanded of her.

She lifted her hips, reaching between them to brazenly guide the head of his shaft to the entrance to her body. The stories in
Voluptuous
didn’t do this part of it justice. There were no words to describe the nudge of delicious invasion, the exquisite stretch of being filled, the completion of having him fully and totally inside her. Slick friction was only part of the pleasure. Staring into his eyes and seeing how much he wanted her was more. Feeling the tension in his body as he clung to her, knowing she would be bruised in the morning and would be glad for it, was only another component of this amazing act. How could she possibly describe it when she didn’t wholly understand it? No one could.

They moved slowly, Rose rising up and down on Grey’s lap as their gazes held. She could scarcely breathe under the force of those eyes. Couldn’t think. She could only feel and the pressure of it filled her heart near to bursting. Such pressure in her chest, such an ache in her throat. She closed her eyes, tried to squeeze it all away.

“Look at me,” Grey commanded, holding her hips so that she was poised above him, the head of him just inside her slick walls. She wanted to bear down, but he wouldn’t let her. “Open your eyes and look at me.”

How could she deny such a plea? Even if she had the will, her body did not. She opened her eyes, heart pinching at the vulnerability in his. He didn’t understand why she closed her eyes. He thought it was because of him.

Sinking down to fully engulf him once more, Rose gently churned her hips, stoking the fire within herself, fanning the flames that begged to burst out of control. She leaned into him, pressing her breasts against the hard wall of his chest. The crisp hair there rubbed against her nipples, making those muscles inside her clutch at him with even more desperation.

She pressed her lips to the scar that ran almost the entire side of his face. The skin was warm, satiny. She ran her mouth the length of it, pressing gentle kisses to the once-ravaged flesh. Grey’s hands released her thighs to slide around her back, holding her close with the combined strength of his arms. Was that a sob that just brushed her ear?

Rose wrapped her arms around Grey, quickened the pistoning of her hips as her tumultuous emotions threatened to erupt. “You are the most beautiful man I know, Greyden Kane,” she whispered. “And it has nothing to do with your face.”

Suddenly she was flung backward onto her back. Grey’s body still joined with hers, he grabbed one of her thighs and lifted it, pressing her knee to her chest as he thrust hard. His other hand was beneath her neck, holding her head still as his mouth claimed hers in a kiss that was as beautiful as it was brutal. He slammed himself into her willing—welcoming—wetness, thrusting so deep. So deep.

Rose clung to him. She wrapped her other leg around his back and lifted her hips to accept the ferocity he offered. Oh, God. It felt so good. If he didn’t give her what she wanted soon she wasn’t going to survive. She wanted…she needed…

“Grey!” It wasn’t a warning of her oncoming climax—it was a plea that he join her. That he finish this the only way it could end for either of them without leaving them bereft.

He didn’t disappoint her, and that meant more than either of them would probably ever admit. One last, violent thrust and his cry mixed with her own. They came together, clutching each other tightly as orgasm tore through them both, leaving them boneless and mindless in its wake.

Afterward, too satisfied to do anything but lay there after Grey drew the coverlet over them, Rose nestled against his side, her thigh draped over his.

“I love you,” she whispered, once she’d regained the power of speech.

Grey said nothing.

When she raised her head to—rather bravely, she thought—look at him, she found him with his eyes closed, face turned slightly toward her, lips barely parted. He was asleep. Obviously, she thought as she eased herself down beside his warmth with a wide yawn, he hadn’t heard her confession.

Chapter 18

“I
do.”

“You are the most beautiful man I know.”

“I love you.”

Grey heard the words, spoken in Rose’s honeyed voice, echoing over and over again in his head. He’d been told similar sentiments in varying degrees and manners over the years, all by different women. Some of them had truly meant what they said, while others told him what they thought would garner them the brunt of his favor. Regardless, he’d never heard as much sincerity in all those other times combined that he’d heard from Rose last night.

Rolling onto his side, he tucked his arm beneath his head and watched his wife sleep. His wife. His beautiful, surprising, sensual wife. The last thing he ever thought or wanted to be was Rose’s husband, and yet here he was. And if someone—a fairy godmother or some other magical being—offered to undo it all and return him to the life he had a month ago, he wasn’t sure he’d agree. In fact, he was certain he wouldn’t.

He should feel guilty for that, he knew. He had promised Charles Danvers that he would stay away from his daughter and he had willfully and recklessly broken that vow despite the best of intentions. However, Charles Danvers had made many promises as well, promises he broke when he took his own life. So if his old friend’s ghost ever did come a-haunting, Grey would feel reasonably justified in telling him to sod off.

Rose stirred slightly, rolling to her side so that she faced him. The dark fringe of her lashes lay soft upon her cheeks. The pillow pressed against her face, giving her a childlike appearance. Her full lips parted slightly on a sigh and remained open. Grey smiled, wondering if she was going to wake up in a puddle of drool. He didn’t care if she did. He didn’t care if she snored—which she didn’t—or if she talked in her sleep. None of these things could ever be a flaw in his eyes.

In fact, he didn’t know what she would have to do to make him think her anything less than perfect.

And she loved him. Christ. What was he going to do about that? Eventually, she was going to ask whether or not he loved her. And what would he say?

Did he love her? He’d always thought of love—when he wasn’t being cynical about it—as something honest and selfless. He never really had any trouble with honesty. Many people would say that he was sometimes
too
honest. But selfless? Even he had to allow that he was probably the most selfish person he knew.

He brushed a lock of hair back from her face. Rose’s nose twitched but she didn’t wake. Meanwhile, outside dawn was just raising her radiant face. It promised to be a bright and sunny day. Birds were already singing and he could hear the groundskeepers and gardeners begin their daily work. Normally he would sleep through it all, but they’d retired so early the night before that he was wide awake and sorely tempted to wake Rose just so he’d have someone to talk to.

Normally he’d simply get up and go about his business. If he were in the country he’d saddle his horse and go for a ride. Given the hour, he probably could get away with doing the same in London, but a tear through Hyde Park wasn’t the same as riding hell bent for leather over his own vast estate.

Besides, he’d have to leave Rose to do that. And that simply wasn’t an option.

God must have taken pity on him, because it was at that moment that the woman beside him opened her eyes. They were glazed and somewhat unfocused, but Grey grinned at the sight all the same. She closed them again, rubbed them with her fists and then looked at him once more—slightly more aware.

“Good morning,” he said.

A slow, bright smile curved her lips. “It’s hardly morning. It’s still dark out.”

It was bright enough for him to see her face, and that was all he needed. “Close enough.”

She rolled away from him and threw back the covers. Naked, she strode across the room.

“Where are you going?” he demanded, bolting upright. Was that fear causing his heart to race like that?

Rose shot him a sheepish glance over her bare shoulder. “Morning constitution,” she replied and slipped into the adjoining bath. The door clicked shut behind her.

Grey fell back against the pillows, cursing himself for being such an idiot. Had it been so long that he’d forgotten what it was like to wake up with a woman? And what the hell had he thought she was doing? Running away from him without a stitch of clothing?

He rubbed both hands over his face. He was an idiot. She’d made him an idiot.

She returned but a minute or so later, climbing back into bed and snuggling against him. She felt good—like warm satin against his skin.

“What are we going to do today?” she asked brightly.

He trailed his fingers down the supple length of her arm. “What would you like to do?” The question left a slightly bitter taste in his mouth. Was it going to begin already? She’d suggest going out and he’d say no. Or she’d want to have a party and he’d say no. He’d thought it would take longer than this for her to regret marrying him. Not that he’d given her a choice.

Selfish.

A baby-fine cheek rubbed against his shoulder. “I would like to stay in bed all day. Can we?”

He stilled. “Do you mean that?”

Her head lifted and she met his gaze with a cheeky one of her own. “I do. I want your full attention for the entire day.”

Grey grinned and rolled her onto her back, easing himself between her splayed thighs. “I think that can be arranged.”

Thank God it seemed his bride was a little selfish too.