Page 85 of The Governess and the Brooding Duke
He kissed her, and they grew breathless. Hot.
He released his hold on her face and backed her up against the bookshelf, and then he gripped her wrists, pushing them up over her head and pinning her there.
She was trapped. Between him and the wall.
And she had been in this exact position only days ago, and she had used a knife to defend herself. But she was not afraid now.
Not of him.
And she felt wild. Reckless. Filled with the kind of freedom that she would never be able to describe, not even to herself. Not in words.
For this was part of her. A part of her restored, reclaimed.
Hers.
His strength was testing her own, and it was a glorious thing.
To have been absent of this feeling all these years, and to be strong in it now, was a gift that she had never yet imagined.
Oh, how she loved it.
She arched against him, pressing her breasts more firmly against him, and he moved his free hand to cup her breasts, his thumb moving over one tightened bud there, and drawing a raw cry from her lips.
He kissed her. The scrape of his whiskers, grown longer from the day, a delicious friction against her skin.
And she thought, she really did, that she might be able to languish in this kiss for the rest of eternity.
Whatever came next didn’t matter. There was this. And it was everything.
He parted her mouth even wider, and licked her tongue, going deep, consuming her. And it was such a sensual act. It had nothing to do with that selfish, hideous thing she had experienced all those years ago. He wasn’t taking from her. He was giving to her. Even as he was all man, he was giving.
Even as his grip was punishing and bruising, it was all within a boundary that cared for her response.
That cherished it.
When she let out little moans of desire he made short sounds of praise in the back of his throat.
And then he began to verbalise that praise. ‘Good girl,’ he whispered against her ear as he kissed along her jaw, down her neck. To the tender swell of her bosom over her chemise. ‘You please me.’
It made her want to cry, foolishly, ridiculously, she could not say why.
Except she could not remember the last time anyone had been pleased with her, and certainly not in such a fashion.
She had been told that her body was bad. That her desires would have been wrong, had she ever had them.
That she had somehow been bred for the disaster that had befallen her, and that there was something rotten within her, but he said that she was good.
He praised her kissing him, pressing her body to his.
For moving her hands so that they bracketed his face, and holding him steady as she experimented with taking the lead in their kiss.
His breathing was harsh, his heart raging in his chest.
‘Not here,’ he said, his voice rough. ‘To my room.’
‘We will be seen,’ she said, the words punctuated by kisses, for she could not separate herself from him entirely.
‘We will not. There is a way.’
