Page 87 of Duke with a Deception
“Excellent answer, my love.” He removed her hands from his shoulders and held them in his. “Come.”
“Where are you taking me, you scandalous man?” she asked as he tugged her across the Axminster.
“To heaven in a moment.”
“You are irredeemable.”
“And I am forever yours.” He led her to the chair at her writing desk. “Have a seat, angel.”
“King,” she protested, although her body agreed wholeheartedly with his plans. “This is unnecessary.”
She sat, taking great care with her train.
“It is entirely necessary,” he countered, kissing her again. “Now I have only five minutes to make you come, so hush, if you please.”
“Five minutes?” Her head swiveled toward the mantel clock. “Is it really so late?”
It was, she realized, shocked at how quickly the hours had ticked by. When she turned back, King was already on his knees.
“Your trousers, darling,” she said, knowing how meticulous he was about his wardrobe.
“I’ll happily set them on fire in the drawing room if it means I can have my mouth on your pussy in the next thirty seconds,” he drawled, already maneuvering her voluminous skirts and petticoats to facilitate his aim.
Her heart pounded at his sinful words and the promise of what he intended to do. The pleasure of her husband’s skilled tongue and lips on her most intimate parts would never grow old. He was caressing his way up her embroidered stockings now, guiding her legs apart.
“You really shouldn’t say such vulgar things, you know,” she said, gasping when his fingers skimmed over the slit in her drawers, running through her folds in the process.
“But it makes you so deliciously wet for me,” he countered, just before his handsome countenance disappeared beneath her gown.
She widened her thighs obligingly, wishing she weren’t encumbered by so much silk velvet, cotton, linen, and lace. That she wouldn’t have guests arriving any minute, and she could instead tear away her corset and gown and make love with him all evening.
The breath fled her as his hot, humid breath fanned over her intimate flesh first, her core clenching in anticipation. His tongue flicked over her pearl, and she arched her back, pressingherself against his face. He indulged her by sucking her clitoris into his mouth. The lusty, loud sound of it was rude and lewd, echoing in the room.
It was so wrong, allowing her husband to lick her as the seconds ticked closer to when their guests would begin filing into Castelyn House. So wanton of her to like the way he said filthy things, to revel in the groan of delight he made that rumbled against her sensitive flesh and made her toes curl in her satin slippers. He started lapping her up as if she were the best thing he had ever tasted. The wrongness of it all, the limited amount of time they had, the thought of their guests lined up in carriages while King’s face was buried between her thighs…it all wound tightly within her.
When he sank two fingers inside her and caught her bud gently in his teeth, her crisis hit her, suddenly and without warning. She had been trying to savor it, to savor him, to hold off for as long as she could. But his fingers were curled, teasing that place that drove her mad, and he sucked her again as wave after wave of mindless pleasure flooded her until she was a gasping, limp heap in her chair.
King licked her slowly, thoroughly, until the last ripple left her, and then he emerged from beneath her skirts. His sensual lips glistened with her. It took all the restraint she possessed to keep from launching herself at him and demanding he finish what he had started.
“That shall have to do for now,” he murmured, as if reading her thoughts. “But after the ball is done, I want you in my bed, wearing nothing but those diamonds.”
A rush of anticipation swept through her.
“I aim to please, Your Grace,” she told him, feeling wicked and bold, as if she were capable of anything.
“You do, angel.” He rose to his feet, brushing at his trousers, which were as hopelessly wrinkled as she had feared they would be.
“You have ruined your trousers,” she fretted.
“I doubt anyone will notice.” He helped her to her feet. “Besides, it was worth it.”
“Wrinkling your trousers to please me?”
“Everything, my love. Now, let’s go to your ball.”
“What the devilis wrong with your trousers, old chum?” Brandon asked King, casting a judgmental look down at his badly creased garments.
So much for no one taking notice, he thought grimly.
