Page 60 of Disciplined by the Duke
Marcus released her nipple with an audible pop. Rearing back, he scooped his arms under her knees, pressed forward until her legs were spread wide and high. He settled back between her thighs and leaned in for a deep kiss. “I have a rule. I don’t sleep with my servants. It’s the height of bad taste.” He rocked against her, his erection sliding through her slick folds. “But as you’ve stated your intention to leave my service, I can fuck you as I please. Isn’t that so?”
Her breath came in quick bursts. “Yes.”
The crown of his cock nestled in her opening. He pushed in slowly, eased back. He pressed in a little farther before rocking back again. His eyes, gray as the squall outside the window, bore into hers, never releasing her gaze as he worked his way deeper. His girth stretched her deliciously, and she dug her heels into his back, trying to force him deeper. His hand at her hip stalled her efforts.
On his next surge, she felt pressure in her womb, a pinch. Marcus’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction, and his movements stilled. Lowering his head, he whispered in her ear, “My little bird, my Liz.” He nibbled at her lobe, swept his tongue around the shell. She moaned in delight. Who knew the ear was so sensitive? His teeth nipped at her lobe again, then bit down, hard.
“Marcus!” She tried to tug her ear free, and he thrust deep. She whimpered as something tore inside of her, stealing her breath.
Holding himself still, Marcus laved at the hurt on her ear. A hurt she realized had been a distraction.
“Shh. It only hurts that once, I promise. Shh.” His lips captured hers, the kiss deep, drugging. The ache at her core eased, leaving her feeling full, complete. She instinctively rocked her hips into his, urging him to continue.
His movements were slow to start, his pelvis grinding into hers at the end of each shallow thrust. She went liquid around him, and moaned softly. Marcus pulled out until only the tip of his cock remained inside her, before pounding back in. He started a bruising pace, each slide of pleasure ending with a delicious nip of pain when he hit bottom. She watched in a haze of lust as a bead of sweat rolled across his forehead, dripped onto her shoulder. The friction he was creating made her squirm beneath him. “Montague!”
“No. No. No,” he said with each thrust. “When I’m deep inside you, what do you call me?”
“Marcus.” It came out as a gasp. He planted a hand near her head, pulling her leg higher until her knee was near her chin. His next thrust tunneled deeper than she thought possible. Deeper than what her body was willing to accept. She bit her lip. “Marcus, no, it’s too much.” He drove in again, determination writ over his face. He didn’t give her a moment of reprieve, demanded she give him her all. Her body, her pain, her fears. Her fingers loosened their death grip and she sank into the bed.
The bite of pain of each thrust transformed into pleasure, and her whimpers turned into soft moans. Placing one hand under her bottom, he tilted her hips. His cock dragged against a new spot inside of her, one that had her gasping, wanting to crawl out of her skin.
“It’s not enough, Liz. I can’t get enough.” His grunts mingled with the wet slapping as their bodies met. “Open your eyes,” he ordered.
When had they drifted shut? She forced them apart, tried to focus on his face. The pleasure building inside of her, so deep this time, threatening to tear her apart, had her complete attention.
Her breaths came in short bursts; her head spun. Her internal muscles clamped around his thrusting cock.
“That’s it, Liz. Let go for me.”
He shifted up, the base of his cock dragging against her sensitive nub, and her world exploded. The shock waves rippled outward until the orgasm rippled from her toes to her fingers. He hammered into her, each drive prolonging the ecstasy until she couldn’t take it anymore. “Marcus!” She screamed it, just as he’d wanted, unable to say anything else.
He withdrew from her until his crown rested against her plump lips. His brows pulled in, and a look of uncertainty crossed his face. With a groan, he plunged deep and his pulsating cock released deep in her core. His eyes slid closed and a smile of deep satisfaction curved his lips. “My Liz,” he whispered, and collapsed on top of her.
Their breathing slowly returned to normal. Rubbing the small of his back, Liz enjoyed the weight pressing her into the mattress, and stared at the canopy above. The Duke of Montague was on top of her, still inside her. It had been the most amazing experience of her life, and she didn’t think she could ever regret it. But she didn’t see where she went from here. Even if it had just been money she was to steal from him betrayal now seemed out of the question. The duke didn’t only have her body. He now held a part of her heart.
Best to keep it as small a part as possible, she told herself. And never let him know.
Chapter Eighteen
Marcus drew one leg up onto his study’s desk, crossed the other over it. A cut-crystal tumbler filled with amber liquid rested in his lap, and he released a satisfied sigh. His body hummed. Relaxed, yet brimming with energy. He’d forgotten how good he felt after a night of fucking, it had been so long.
He took another sip of cognac, the smooth liquid sliding down his throat with a small burn. Perhaps he hadn’t forgotten. Perhaps no other woman had made him feel so good.
Resting his head on the back of his chair, he stared at the ceiling, imagining the warm bundle of flesh snuggled in his bed above. After that first time, Marcus had cleaned the both of them up, then spent the rest of the evening exploring every inch of her, making love to her as gently as someone so inexperienced deserved.
Before taking her hard again.
Blood pooled in his groin at the memories of the night before. It would be a long time before he would be able to screw the woman out of his system. He didn’t know if he even wanted her out.
Marcus rubbed his jaw, scratchy beneath his fingers. Not wanting to wake Liz when he’d risen, he’d opted not to shave. His poor valet had been aghast. And slightly discomposed. He’d been pacing in the hall outside Marcus’s rooms instead of entering as usual. It was obvious the man didn’t know how to handle the situation of a woman in the duke’s bedchambers, and no wonder. It had never happened before.
Sighing, he gazed out the large bay window. The grass lining his drive was dark green from yesterday’s rain and the land looked lush and cheerful.
He rubbed the back of his neck. Cheerful? Damn it, that was the right word even though he was a right sot for even thinking it. But that’s how he felt and that’s how the world looked. And he wanted to hold tight to the feeling. Which meant holding tight to Liz.
There were several cottages a short riding distance away that he could install her in. And he would buy a town house for her in London. There was no question that she would travel with him. For the immediate future he didn’t want to spend even one night apart from her. He inhaled deeply and smiled. Her scent was still in his nose. Christ, he had it bad. If only . . .
His feet thunked to the floor. Pushing to his feet, he stood by the window, staring but unseeing. If only she weren’t a maid. If only they could marry. He tossed back the rest of the cognac. No use thinking about that. Wondering about what might have been never made anyone happier. Of that he had firsthand knowledge.