Page 5 of The Duke
“Just waiting for you,” the duke said, “Celine.”
She shivered through her whole body the way she had when she first heard the duke’s voice. But more violent— Her name—Hername— She was unhinged from reason, within the grip of a purely sensate, animal part of herself she had been sceptical existed. Quiet and apart was the sophisticated, clever self, observing, aghast. But that self had been shaken loose.
The duke pulled her gently closer, and Celine went, until her hands came to rest on the duke’s shoulders, warm through the woollen coat.
Here was the phantasm whose imagined fingers had touched her, whose mouth had devoured her and body covered her as, beneath the sheets of her narrow bed, she had let her heart turn towards what it wanted. Here, in the flesh.
Here, and asking to have her. And able to save her.
There was only one possible answer she could make. Her eyes slid closed. Her lips opened. The duke gave a low growl of approval and, surging up, kissed her full on the mouth.
Distantly, she was aware the party continued downstairs, that her lover Bastien, not dead yet, was innocent of what she did, and with whom. But in truth, there was only this: she, held between the duke’s two hands, and the duke, taking possession.
Such avarice she had felt, watching the duke’s mouth while they spoke earlier. How she had wanted to make it open and express something meaningful. And now it had opened. The cool, articulate lips moving over her mouth. The cool lips becoming warm, softening, wetting themselves on her mouth. And then the sudden, hot advance of the duke’s tongue as she moved Celine’s head just so to receive it.
Her heart pounded. Her skin flushed. Her body gave itself over to pleasure with a vivid interest.
She opened her eyes, ready this time for the impact of meeting the duke’s eyes. But the duke, kissing her, had closed them. There was a line of concentration between the duke’s brows, a warm flush on her cheeks, a tremble in her lashes.
Celine’s heart skipped a beat.
She realised she was gripping the duke’s lapels, and that at some point, the duke had leaned back against the desk again; she wascradled between the duke’s spread thighs, which excited her unbearably. They were rubbing themselves slowly on each other. She broke off the kiss and looked down to watch.
The duke made a sound of complaint, then followed her gaze and continued the muscular movement.
The duke held her upper body away. Their heads bowed together, and their breaths grew heavy in the space between them. Then the duke pulled her close, a full-body grind. “You think you know how gorgeous you are,” the duke growled into her neck, “but you’re wrong.”
The words of an aroused lover, not to be taken to heart. And yet she felt them meet their target with force.
The duke gripped her arse and effortlessly lifted her, then turned to set her roughly on the desk, closing a hot mouth over her neck. She felt it all the way through her body. Hot kisses down to the swell of her breasts. A growl of frustrated desire. Then an obscene rending as the duke ripped her dress once down to the waist and again down to her lap. She wasn’t wearing a chemise, and the sudden exposure of her naked skin made her feel touched all over.
Her stays were brief and held her breasts high and bare from below the nipple, like hands offering her up lovingly. She heaved in a breath.
The duke looked down, hot disbelief on her face, and said, laughing, “God bless French stays.” She drew off her gloves and dropped them to the floor, then came back, crowding Celine. Perhaps her hands wouldn’t quite span Celine’s waist, but they took a comprehensive hold of her ribs, lifting Celine into her mouth.
Celine took a scorching breath. The duke released her nipple with a wet sound and started sucking on the other. The duke’s thumb smeared through the spit on the first, over and over the engorged teat.
She tried to keep watching the duke—the way her lips opened and worked, the swipe of her tongue, the deepening flush across her face, deepest over her sharp cheeks, but Celine’s eyes were rolling back, her head tipping as she arched. The sound of her own breath madeher feel frantic and hot. It was lewd, as though she’d heard a stranger’s uninhibited pleasure on the night air from an open window.
Fear and desire wrestled each other hard and fast, pulling in every sense, every nerve, every thudding heartbeat. Her arms were going to collapse where they held her upright. She couldn’t bear it. She had to—
She had to—
She reared forward, the duke going with her, and then her hands were in—an aching longing at last met—the duke’s pale hair, holding her, making a mess of her. Curled over and holding the duke to her breast, gasping into her hair.
“Yes,” the duke said darkly and took Celine fully into her embrace. “That’s it.”
Celine had dreamed of this. She had wanted— She gasped, rubbing her entire face against— She had wanted the duke. Shewantedher.
The duke brought her forehead to Celine’s, pushing the two of them upright so Celine’s tender nipples rubbed down the woollen coat.
“Celine,” the duke murmured. “Celine.”
Her very veins seemed to answer, dilating with blood. She felt huge and wonderful. She returned the duke’s dark gaze, craving this wholly unexpected congress.
And even as she craved it, she would use it, a dangerous knife that cut two ways. There was nothing she wouldn’t do to survive.
The mood shifted suddenly, and the duke took hold of her with singular intent, one hand around her nape, the other around her knee. On instinct, Celine made to close her legs, but the duke’s hard body was wedged firmly between them, stopping her. There was nowhere for her to move; she was held and mastered. She began to pant with fear, with anticipation, with a feeling she couldn’t name.
