Page 33 of A Duke's Keeper
His smile curled sardonically. “I see.”
He did? What did he see?
The place between her legs ached as his finger played with the waistband of his trousers. Dark-blond hair led down his abdomen and trailed where she couldn’t see. He was beautiful, muscled but lean. Now that he’d removed his arm from the door, she should flee, but his finger... the way it slid back and forth had her core clenching.
All thoughts of running stilled. She’d never seen a naked man before; this may be her only chance. If one was to observe a specimen, surely, he was a choice subject.
His gaze darkened, and his voice was unsteady. “Would you like me to continue?”
Her teeth tugged on her bottom lip, but she nodded.
His fingers went to the button-fly and worked the trousers open with maddening slowness. The way his thumb pushed through the holes had liquid heat collecting between her legs.
She rubbed her legs together to keep the wetness inside, but the friction sent a spasm of sensation through her. She gasped and closed her eyes.
She couldn’t do this. A good girl didn’t ask a man to undress, and she certainly wouldn’t be aroused watching. Shame, hot, ugly shame, pulled her thoughts from the heat of pleasure and brought her mother’s words into sharp focus.
“You filthy, worthless wretch. Good girls listen. Good girls do as they are told. Good girls—”
A featherlight touch turned her head to the side.
“You’re frowning again,” he said. “There are so many nicer things we can do with your mouth.”
His words, whispered in her ear, had her toes curling. The fantasy he wove with words and touch did more than the room and disguise. With her eyes closed, she could be anywhere, be anyone else.
Maybe the mask was a blessing. Here, now, with this man who wanted the most basic of desires from her, the damning label forced on her as a child had no place. With him, her mother’s words faded into the recesses of thought and memory, as if it were possible for her to forget.
She’d spend the rest of her life alone, chaste and quiet, making up for a mistake that had cost her family everything.
This once, she wanted more.
Willing her brain quiet, she put herself into this moment—and nowhere else. She turned her head, feeling the rough scrape of a day’s whiskers against her cheek.
“Please,” she said.Make the thoughts stop. Make me feel something other than shame.She rose up on her toes and whispered against his lips, “Please.”
Chapter Nine
That word, whisperedbetween them, brought their match to a freezing halt.
No. A match required both parties’ participation. Renard had deliberately kept his knowledge from her like a lie. She had lied too, but her circumstances dictated anonymity. The club may very well have strict rules on a Pony revealing her name and face.
He cursed inwardly.He’dbeen playing games. A game she unknowingly had taken the upper hand in.
Stripping himself, cornering her, he was like some damn hound on the scent. He’d apologize for his abhorrent behavior. She deserved that at least.
He pulled back from the door to give her space. “Forgive me—”
Her lips snatched his apology, along with his sense of balance.
He caught himself on the door, resting his forearm above her head and pinning her against his instant hardness.
She smelled like parchment and tasted like spring, sour and sweet, the perfect blend of lemon and honey she must’ve added to her morning tea.
The detail pleased him. She was a woman of opposites, of constant surprise. If he weren’t careful, he’d lose himself to the excitement that washer.
If he hadn’t already.
She licked his bottom lip and he let his body take over, his hands running up her arms and displacing her cape to expose that same woolen dress she’d worn last night, the hem frayed and scratchy against his fingers.
