Page 22 of Duke with a Deception
A gorgeous one at that. No doubt he had known dozens of beautiful women, some of them intimately. She knew she was no great beauty.
But this was the man she loved. The man she trusted. The one who had saved her from a burning building. Her husband.
“Yes, I’m ready for this,” she answered, her voice firm and unwavering.
He didn’t say anything, simply stared at her. It was as if he were searching for something. The silence stretched between them, and just when she feared he would change his mind, King moved. His head dipped, and he lowered his mouth to hers.
With a low, needy sound, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing herself shamelessly to his body. He was strengthand seduction, so vital and alive. A strange pang crept over her at the thought, as if it were one she wasn’t meant to have. But then just as quickly, she dashed it away.
His lips were on hers, hot and demanding. He kissed her in a way he hadn’t before. His mouth ravenous, ravishing. And good heavens, she was lost. She opened for his tongue, and she tasted spirits.
Spirits and sins and darkness and endless devotion.
He cupped her face in his hands as he kissed her. Time ceased to matter. There was nothing but King and Verity, in each other’s arms, lips moving as one, bodies entwined. She kissed him until her mouth ached, until her body hummed with need. And then she rubbed against him, desperate for more, for the feeling of him, for anything and everything.
But he was still wearing his smalls, and she was clad in her dressing gown, and that felt wrong.
“Shouldn’t we be naked?” she murmured against his endlessly clever mouth.
He nipped her lower lip. “Take off your wrapper and get back into my bed where you belong.”
The sultry command sent an answering bolt of desire straight through her, bright and streaking and hot as lightning in a summer sky, every bit as dangerous. How cunning he was, she thought then. He might have simply joined her in bed when he had arrived, but the anticipation had stoked the fever within her.
She reached for the knot holding her dressing gown in place and loosened it. One shrug, and the garment fell to the floor. “Is this acceptable, Your Grace?”
She was being wicked and she knew it.
A dark hunger flashed over his countenance, thrilling her.
“More than acceptable. Perfection must be suitably admired. Get in so I can make amends to you.”
She turned to do as he bid but instantly faltered. There seemed to be no elegant way to enter his bed. She hadn’t concerned herself with appearances earlier, for she’d been alone. But his bed was ridiculously high, and even though she was tall compared to most ladies, entering it required hooking her knee on the mattress and hefting herself aloft.
He chuckled, seeming to understand her predicament. “We shall add some steps for you.”
Hands settled on her waist then, and he dusted kisses over her bare shoulder, the side of her throat. Then he lifted her as if she weighed little more than a bird, turning her as he settled her on the already rumpled bed. He was still quite frustratingly clad in his drawers when he joined her.
She knew a moment of disappointment, for she wanted to see him—all of him. And she wanted to touch him too. But perhaps that would come later. Verity would have to be patient. She had much to learn, and her husband would teach her. She could scarcely wait.
King stretched his long body at her side, elegant and lithe. As if he were in no rush, he slowly leaned into her, his lips finding hers for a kiss that was long and thorough as he caressed her body from hip to waist and then back again, inciting a fire in the wake of his touch. She surrendered herself to sensation, to the press of his lips over hers, the sweep of his tongue, to the sensual glide of his hand over her bare skin.
His mouth left hers to travel across her jaw and then lower.
“Do you know how astoundingly lovely you are?” he murmured against her throat.
His voice was almost anguished, as if he were in pain. Verity’s hands explored his body too, from the breadth of his shoulders to the rigid slab of muscle that was his chest.
“I could say the same of you,” she managed. “But I am hardly lovely. I am a mouse of average looks and wit.”
His head jerked up, his brows crashing together. “Hogwash. I’ll not hear another word of it. You are beyond lovely.” He kissed the slope of one breast. “Lovely here.” His mouth fluttered over her aching nipple. “Lovely here, such a charming shade of pink to match your lips.”
Verity might have argued, but he took the stiffened bud into his mouth and sucked hard. Her back arched, a gasp tearing from her as sensation unfurled deep within her. He sucked some more, and her fingers found his hair, sliding through the thick, silken strands. There was a slight wave to his locks, and she could see now that he must apply some effort to make it straight.
“So lovely,” he praised, flicking his tongue over the distended peak.
Liquid heat filled her, overwhelming. She offered no further protest as he moved to the other breast.
“Lovely here.” Once again, he rained kisses over her before suckling her, his velvety, hot mouth wringing a moan from her before he was finished.
