Page 68 of Disciplined by the Duke
His voice made it sound like a demand, but they both knew it was a question. One whose answer had the power to destroy him. His breath came in short bursts. His eyes searched every inch of her expression, desperate to read the answer he wanted. He needed her to give herself to him, put her body in his hands.
His hand at her wrists trembled, and he prayed she didn’t know that he was a hairbreadth’s distance away from losing control. It had never been like this for him. His desires weren’t commonplace, which was why he’d frequented an establishment such as the Black Rose. He reveled in commanding a woman’s body, her pleasure, inflicting that slight hint of pain that drove her need higher. But it had been a game, a diversion. Meaningless of anything except meeting a base need.
Until Liz. Making this woman his in every way was now his sole focus. This wasn’t playacting like with Madame Sable’s girls. This was real. This was for life.
“Say yes, damn it.” He barely recognized his voice.
Her skin glowed golden in the lamplight. Luminous, she appeared lit from within. Her eyes glittered like diamond-studded coal, and her chest heaved against his, her pebbled nipples making him throb each time they brushed against him.
She wanted him. Her body made that clear. The way she looked at him said that she just might love him. And didn’t that make Marcus want to shout with joy, before dragging her to the floor and rutting her like a beast. He knew if he took her as he wanted she wouldn’t object. But he wanted more than a passive acquiescence.
His lips hovered over hers. “Say yes,” he said softly.
Her pupils flicked back and forth between his eyes. When she nodded, her nose brushed against his. Sparks of elation shot through his body. She was his.
“Yes.” She brushed her lips across his once before sinking back against the wall, into his hold. Her eyes crinkled at the edges, a soft smile curling her lips. The look she gave him was knowing, seductive. She took his breath away with that one word. And then she waited. For him.
His body was one raging nerve. His skin so tight, he was surprised it didn’t burst through his clothing. Mastering his expression, he pierced her with his stare, like she was a butterfly pinned to his board. “Keep your hands up. Do not move them.”
She dipped her head, and he removed his hand from her wrists, pausing to make sure they remained where he’d instructed. Satisfied, Marcus brought both hands to lightly encircle her neck, his thumbs stroking the dark bruises marring the creamy flesh.
He packaged the rage that flared in him and stored it away in another compartment. He would deal with that bastard later. He dragged his hands down her spencer, unbuttoning it and pushing the sides wide. His touch roamed over her bodice, the cotton pulling beneath his fingers. He paused at her breasts, unable to pass those by without a firm squeeze, another twist to her nipple.
She bit her plump bottom lip, and stifled a groan. Marcus swept his hands down to her hips, jerking her flush against him. “Stop biting your lip,” he ordered. “No more teeth or nails digging into your sweet skin.” A small line creased between her eyebrows, but she released her lip.
He pulled her bottom even farther from the door, giving her back a delicious arch as she kept her wrists planted to the wood. He swatted at her arse, knowing the spank would be only a light tap through her skirts, but determined to make his point. “From now on, only I get to punish you. Understand?”
Her pupils were so large, he thought that he could drown in the inky pools. She nodded, but she didn’t understand, not really. Her guilt consumed her, blinding her to the truth. His little bird didn’t need punishing. She was far too close to perfect to ever do real wrong. That was one thing he hoped to show her, how good she truly was. What she did need was the release, the relief of letting go and giving the reins to someone else.
To him, he amended. Only to him. That was something he would be only too happy to take from her.
Desperate now, he fumbled with the buttons to his trousers and opened one side of his falls, shoving his clothes far enough down his hips to allow his cock to spring free. He pulled her skirts back up, too damn many skirts, and his shaft automatically notched at her entrance. It knew where it belonged.
Her hands slid down the door an inch. “Keep them up,” he growled. Her arms must be getting tired, and he would help her. He would. Just as soon as—
Gripping her bottom, he lifted her up, and thrust home, pushing deep past the tight muscles, past the limits of his sanity. They groaned together. He pressed her tight to the door, using the leverage to plow so deeply into her, he lost track of where he ended and she began.
“Marcus . . .”
Her arms were still up, but bent at the elbows, her hands crossed on top of her head. Her eyes were closed, her face slack, and if it weren’t for the sporadic twitches of her hot sheath around his cock he might have thought her indifferent. Knowing she wasn’t going anywhere, speared by his cock, he moved his grip from her hips, grabbed each of her hands. Tangling their fingers together, he pinned them back into place over her head.
“Wrap your legs around me.” He eased out of her heat an inch and thrust back in, the door behind her knocking against its frame. She raised her eyelids to half-mast. When her thighs encircled his hips, he drove even deeper, the aching head of his cock grazing the entrance to her womb.
“Oh God.” She levered up an inch away from him, and dug her small white teeth into her bottom lip. Neither of those would he allow.
Grasping both her hands in his left, he brought his right hand back to her hip, his fingers digging into the soft cotton of her dress. He held her steady for his next stroke, made it impossible for her to escape that bite of pain, the slow build of pleasure. His mouth found hers, ravaging her lips, forcing his tongue deep into every corner. She whimpered, but the flood of liquid heat coating his throbbing cock told him everything he needed to know.
She was his. She couldn’t deny him as much as he couldn’t imagine living without her. He would make her safe. He pounded into her again, the silky glide of her pussy driving him wild.
He would find a way to help her sister. He’d find a way to keep her by his side. Tugging on her lip, he bit down until Liz moaned. He wrapped his arm around her waist and held her tight. And he would destroy Westmore for daring to put his hands on her. Her sheath tightened around him like a vise, and Marcus stopped thinking.
The rattle of her back on the door matched the raging beat of his heart. His world telescoped to the pleasure flooding his groin, and the woman surrounding him. He ignored the angry pounding on the wall, a neighbor yelling for them to keep it down. All he heard were her broken moans, the whimpers of her pleasure. The soft sucking when he withdrew, and the louder slaps of flesh meeting flesh as his body plunged back into hers. And above all that, the roar of his blood coursing through his veins.
He was so close. So was she. He needed to hold off. A little. Bit. Longer. His balls drew up tight. Marcus fought the prickling sensation that wanted to explode through him. “Come for me, Liz.” His thrusts became uneven, frantic. “Damn it, get there.”
She writhed in his arms. He couldn’t hold back any longer, the need too great. He groaned and dropped his head to the crook of her shoulder. The burn gathered low in his balls. Her slick sheath clamped down on his cock, hard. He raggedly jerked his hips into her as his orgasm shot up through his shaft, undiluted pleasure flooding his entire body.
Liz screamed her release, her voice hoarse. Warmth radiated throughout Marcus’s body until even the tips of his fingers tingled. He was destroyed by his body’s response. It had never been this good. Christ, it was Liz who slayed him. At that moment, he’d give her anything, even his heart on a platter if she asked for it.