Page 101 of An Unwanted Bride for the Duke
He lowered his head again slowly. When his lips met her, the kiss was feather-light, lingering for only a heartbeat before he drew back the slightest distance.
His touch was not possessive or hurried. It was teasing. The sensation of it made her chest tighten in a way she had never known before. A deep pulse started to develop deep within her as he continued to lick and press with his tongue.
Seraphine's eyes fluttered closed as warmth blossomed through her. It seemed to begin where his lips met her rosebud before spreading gently through her until every anxious thought dissolved into quiet.
For one fleeting moment, there was only Damien, the crackle of the fire, and the astonishing flutter she felt inside of her.
When he kissed her again, there was a little more certainty behind it, though the same remarkable gentleness remained. She lifted one hand without thinking, her fingers resting lightly in his hair.
She wiggled against the bed as she descended new heights. She drew back only enough to look at him, her cheeks warm and her breathing unsteady.
"Something is happening to me." She could barely say the words as she felt the sensations growing and growing.
"That is what is supposed to happen. Do not fight it," he ordered.
Seraphine listened and obeyed. With those words she felt the explosion of release rock through her. She trembled. A blissful rush took over her entire being as she moaned louder and louder.
"Oh, Oh Damien…"
Damien's hands squeezed her hips as he placed soft kisses, tasting her.
She fell back on the bed. Her chest heaved up and down as she tried to understand what had just occurred.
A smile, small but genuine, curved her lips before she could stop it. An unfamiliar happiness settled over her, bright and fragile as the first morning after a long winter. She had spent so muchof her life believing affection must be earned through perfect behavior, flawless manners, and endless sacrifice. Yet here, in the quiet of the room, she experienced something altogether different, the simple joy of being pleasured by a man.
She knew she ought to guard her heart. Their marriage had begun from duty, and Damien himself had said as much. It would be foolish to weave impossible dreams from a handful of tender moments. Even so, as she looked into his eyes and saw the warmth he tried so hard to conceal, hope quietly stirred within her despite every sensible warning. It was a dangerous hope, but it felt wonderfully alive.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
What have I done?
The next morning, Damien sat alone at the breakfast table in the morning room, a cup of tea cooling untouched beside him. Sunlight poured through the tall windows, warming the polished mahogany, yet he scarcely noticed it. His thoughts had remained fixed upon the previous evening from the moment he had awoken. He had told himself countless times that pleasuring Seraphine had been a mistake born of weakness. Instead, it had become the one thought he could not drive from his mind.
He had known he should have stepped away before matters went so far. His intention had been simple enough, reassure himself that whatever strange pull existed between them could be mastered through simply getting a taste of her, then return to being nothing more than the dutiful husband she deserved. Instead, indulging in her had only deepened his torment. Now every memory of her moans, every blush, returned to him with relentless clarity. If he continued seeking her company eachevening, he feared his carefully constructed restraint would crumble entirely.
“Your Grace,” Mr. James, the butler, entered.
“Yes, James,” Damien said.
“This just arrived for you.” He held a letter in his hand.
Damien nodded and took the letter. He looked at the seal and saw that it was from his steward. He tossed it onto the table.
I have no interest in such matters at the moment, when all I can think about is her.
Damien closed his eyes for a brief moment and rubbed a hand across his jaw. This was precisely what he had feared from the beginning. The more time he spent with Seraphine, the more impossible it became to imagine keeping the emotional distance he had promised himself. She had somehow slipped beneath the walls he had spent a lifetime constructing. Worse still, he had begun to care so profoundly for her that the mere thought of harm befalling her sent a cold dread through his chest unlike anything he had ever known.
His thoughts turned to Lord Pemberley. The man's veiled threat at the wedding breakfast had not been an empty one. Damien knew too much about the circles Pemberley frequented to dismiss it as idle malice. There were matters Damien managed that no respectable Duke ought ever to admit, arrangementsconducted in shadow rather than drawing rooms, and men whose loyalty had been purchased in ways polite Society would neither understand nor forgive. Seraphine knew nothing of that hidden world, and he intended to keep it that way, even if it meant earning her resentment.
“Mr. James, parchment and quill,” Damien requested.
“Right away, Your Grace.” Mr. James moved to a cupboard where parchment quill and ink were stored and placed it before Damien.
He quickly scribbled out a quick letter to Benedict requesting him to meet him later that afternoon at Boodle’s. Then he handed it back to Mr. James.
“Pour the drying powder and seal it. Make sure it is delivered to the Duke of Northwick hastily,” Damien said.
“Of course, Your Grace.” Mr. James bowed then slipped out of the room.
