Page 5 of Kidnapping the Duchess
Vulnerability flashes across her face then disappears. “You’re no Sigmund Freud, Mr. Blackstone. You’d do well to remember your job is to guard my body, not shrink my head.”
Her head. Fuck. I stride back to her nightstand and open the correct drawer where I find her pills. She’s no longer on the brink of an attack, but she shouldn’t skip doses. Returning to stand in front of her, I hold the small tablet up, giving her a silent instruction with my eyes. I stop breathing when her lips part, allowing me to place it on her tongue. Allowing me to care for her, however briefly, and I feel fucking high with the rightness of it flooding my veins.
“I’m right, aren’t I,” I prod with enough steel in my tone to make it less question and more gentle demand.
She hesitates, but only for a moment. “What if you are? Are you hoping for a treat or pat on the back, is that what you want?”
“I want the truth. And we’re not moving from this spot until I hear it from you.” She glares daggers, waiting for me to back down like anyone else would in the face of Daria’s ire. But I’m not just anyone, and she might as well learn that now. “Take your time, Duchess. I have nowhere else to be.”
She makes a frustrating sound in the back of her throat. “It doesn’t matter. It’s like the old ‘which came first, the chicken or the egg’ riddle. Was I already a party girl who liked to sleep around, or did the media give me the excuse of simply living up to the public’s expectations? No one cares so long as there’s another sordid story about me they can discuss at the breakfast table.” Daria shrugs a slim shoulder. “So, you see, it doesn’t matter who or what I was first, because in the end, it’s who I am now.”
Something about her is off. The mask of indifference she wears like armor is firmly in place, but her tone is lacking her usual bite. She actually sounds...hurt. And there’s a vulnerability in her eyes that makes me want to tear the world apart until I’ve obliterated whatever’s putting it there.
My mind races, scanning every piece of Daria trivia I filed away before I came to Geneva, and every detail about her I’ve committed to memory since. The more I think about it, the more certain things begin falling into place, like puzzle pieces revealing a hidden picture…
The strict NDAs preventing anyone from speaking about their time with her. The security reports from her night guards who claim to never hear so much as a peep coming from her room, even when entertaining “guests.” And probably the most telling thing of all: the absence of smug satisfaction on the men the following morning as she quite literally shoves them out the door.
The erotic novels that are highlighted and tabbed like she’s researching or taking notes for reference…her arsenal of toys…
Fuck me. I’m such an asshole.
“Bullshit,” I say with a fair amount of confidence. “That’s not who you are—not back then or now.” I crowd her against the wall and brace my hands on either side. I’d apologize for believing the worst of her if I didn’t think she’d view any kind of softness as pity right now. So I’ll settle for shining light on the truth, at least between us. “You don’t fuck the men you bring home at all, do you?”
“Of course not,” she says. But before I have the chance to think I’m right, she leans in and adds, “They fuck me.”
I pause, wondering if I’m projecting my own wishes onto the situation. Then shake my head. “I don’t think they do.”
“I think it’s none of your goddamn business what we do.”
“And that’s not an answer.” I change tactics, my confidence growing again. “What are the toys for, Duchess?”
She frowns with exaggerated pity. “Oh, you poor thing. I could recommend some good porn sites to start you off—”
Lightning fast, I pin her wrists above her head with one hand and let the other mold a path down her body. My thumb deliberately grazes her nipple, and I’m rewarded by Daria’s mouth parting on a soft, keening moan. “I’m not leaving until you’re honest with me, Duchess. Until you’re honest with yourself. And believe me when I tell you I can keep you on the brink of pleasure for a very, very long time.”
My hand slips between her thighs as I trace the shell of her ear with my tongue. When I plumb the seam of her pussy through the triangle of damp silk, I hear the words she’s uttered a thousand times in my fantasies. “Izak,” she whimpers. “Please.”
I can’t hold back my groan of satisfaction. “I knew my duchess would beg me sweetly.” I circle her needy clit with varying pressure as I push her toward her release. “Now, no more lies. No more pretending. How many of those men have you been with?”
“How many?” she repeats absently as her lids slide closed and her hips roll forward to chase my touch.
When she doesn’t give me what I want, I pull my hand away as punishment. She tries to squeeze her thighs together to prevent it, but only good girls get rewarded. I drop my voice nice and low, using the tone I bring out whenever I expect to be obeyed—whether in the field, or in the bedroom. “Give me a number. Answer me, Daria.”
Crystal blue eyes snap open, shining with desire and a hint of desperation. It’s the first time I’ve called her by her given name, and I’m not sure which of us it surprises more. I like the way she responds to it, though. I wonder how many different reactions I could get out of her using her name like a dirty secret while dabbling in a little edge play. My cock jerks in my pants, definitely on board with that idea. Finally, she says the last number I ever expected to hear.
“Zero.”
“Zero,” I repeat doubtfully, my eyes narrowing to study her. For once, I can’t tell if she’s being facetious. But I can tell that her defenses are coming back online, so I wedge my hand sideways between her tight thighs and start a slow see-saw motion over her pussy. She fights it for all of three seconds before she melts more with every stroke. “You’re telling me you’ve never been with any of the men who signed those NDAs?”
She lets out a tiny gasp as I graze her clit with my thumb. “Not one.”
I’m supposed to know everything the duchess does, every move she makes. Frustration rides me hard to realize I’ve been in the dark on a lot of things. Things I don’t know and should. Not onlybecause of who I am to her, but because of who I want to be.
I slip my hand into the front of her panties and give her more pleasure as I ask for more answers. “If they’re all part of the act, then who have you been sleeping with, your grace? And how the hell are you pulling it off without my team knowing about it?”
Two of my fingers slide through the wet heat of her smooth folds. She mewls in the back of her throat with need, and a wave of her musky-sweet scent hits my nose. I’m playing with fire, and I don’t know how much longer I can control myself when all I want to do is fuck her up against this wall until she screams my name out to the heavens.
“Goddamn it, Daria, you’re driving me mad,” I say, my lips grazing her neck as I speak. “Tell me so I can hate every fucking man who’s had you before me. Tell me.”
