Page 49 of Disciplined by the Duke
His cock. Just thinking that word sent a naughty thrill down her spine. She stared at it, swallowing hard. She’d seen what men enjoyed. Wanted to give Montague the same pleasure he’d shown her. But it was like standing before a horse with no riding experience. She understood the basic mechanics, but with no practical experience she worried about her ability to please him.
Stretching her neck, she licked the tip of him,of his cock,and was gratified to hear a string of curses escape his mouth. Emboldened, she licked up and down his length, found the groove beneath his head, dug the tip of her tongue in.
He grabbed her head like a drowning man a log. He liked that bit, she could tell. With a wicked smile, she rose up to her knees, angled his cock down from his stomach, and swallowed his head.
Swirling her tongue around, she slowly bobbed her head in imitation of what she’d seen. His fingers tightened painfully in her hair, but she didn’t stop. At that moment, she was completely free. Mindless of duty, of societal expectations. Her own woman. A little hair pulling wasn’t going to take that away from her.
He thrust his hips, his body wanting to go deeper. But Montague never pulled her head down, for which she was grateful.
“Suckle me.” It sounded like a plea, but the duke would never beg. “Suck my cock.” And there was the demand in his voice. Quickly back to his natural state of giving orders.
She sucked, and he slid deeper. His musky scent overwhelmed her senses. She gripped the base of his cock, more to keep her centered, in the moment, but the jerk of flesh in her mouth told her he liked when she used both her mouth and hands. So she stroked him with her hand, from his base up to her mouth and down again. She sucked and licked and took him as deep as she could without choking herself.
Cupping the back of her head, Montague said, “You’re going to need to stop in a couple of seconds. A couple more seconds of heaven, then”—he leaned his head back against the hill—“I’ll pull out.”
Yes, she’d seen Westmore do that. Shoot his essence onto the prostitute’s chest. While the thought of being marked by her duke didn’t disgust her as it had when she’d seen Westmore do it, she wanted something different for her first attempt at pleasing a man. Pleasuring Montague.
So she slipped a hand around to grasp one hard buttock, and pulled him snug. Between that and her firm grip on his cock, her mouth sucking for all she was worth, he didn’t have a chance of getting away.
His hand tensed in her hair. “Liz, I’m going to come down your throat if you aren’t careful.”
Humming in agreement, she shuffled closer on her knees. A pebble dug into her shin, but she ignored it.
“Elizabeth . . . Oh, fuck it.” He thrust deep once, twice. Holding himself deep, he groaned, and filled the back of her mouth and throat with his warm seed.
Breathing was difficult, lodged as he was, but she waited until Montague sagged back and relaxed his grip on her head. Waited for the swearing to die out. Lifting her head, she licked him clean, enjoyed the slightly salty tang that was the duke. His cock softened, and she tucked him away, buttoned his trousers.
Leaning her head against his thigh, she sighed. As his breathing slowed, the air around Liz became thick, heavy. Her holiday from her duties was at an end. It was time to return to reality.
She rose on unsteady legs and tried to tuck loose strands of hair back into their pins. She brushed leaves and a crushed blossom from her skirts, then stood tall before the duke, chin lifted. “Thank you, Your Grace. I am much obliged.”
His nostrils flared, his eyes slivered. Nodding his head curtly, he pushed off the hill.
With a short curtsy, Liz turned on her heel and headed back down the path. The duke’s eyes bored a hole in her back until she turned out of the glen and out of sight.
Chapter Fifteen
Loose wisps of Arabelle’s fair hair escaped from her bonnet and brushed against Marcus’s shoulder as she chattered on about one of her father’s new horses. They walked among the low hedgerows that formed the central maze of the east gardens. A maze easy enough for a child to decipher as the hedges only rose to mid-thigh, allowing an explorer to see to the heart of the design. Gravel crunched beneath their feet and the sun warmed their faces, by all accounts a lovely day.
Marcus had never felt lower.
His actions with Liz had been a mistake. One he couldn’t believe he’d allowed himself to make. Twice. Never mind that Liz’s sweet face, filled with tension and surprise as she came, had featured prominently in his visions as he stroked himself to completion last night, and would for the near future. Or that the crack of the ruler against her bare flesh when mingled with her breathy moans was the sweetest music he’d ever heard.
For fuck’s sake, he was getting hard just thinking about it, a situation he didn’t want the woman on his arm to notice. She would probably take it as a personal compliment and it would give her more expectations.
That, at least, was an issue he could resolve. He had let her and her family’s hopes linger for far too long. “Arabelle,” he interrupted. She was taken aback; her mouth opened and closed silently before she directed a small frown his way. “We need to talk.” Leading her to a wrought-iron bench along the path, he settled her down. He remained standing.
“Arabelle, our families have known each other for a very long time, been very good friends.”
She scooted forward on the bench. “The best of friends.”
“Right.” He cleared his throat. “Because of that, I want there to be no misunderstandings between us. It has come to my attention that you may be waiting upon marriage in hopes that you and I will form a union.”
She gave a breathless little laugh and waved her hand dismissively. “You have said before that you had no interest in marriage.”
“I have, and I said that because I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “But we both know that’s not true. I am a duke; I will need to marry.” She sucked in a breath, a smile dancing beneath the brim of her beribboned hat. “But it will not be to you,” he said firmly.
She stood then, a tight bundle of angry energy. “Are you betrothed to another?”