Page 90 of The Governess and the Brooding Duke
‘Thank you,’ she whispered.
‘For?’
‘For you. For your...’
Her cheeks felt hot.
She had indeed been on the verge of thanking him for that most masculine part of him. And he seemed to know exactly what she’d meant to say.
‘We will come back to that,’ he said. ‘Because I will want to hear it from your lips, darling girl.’
And then she found herself being pushed roughly back onto the bed.
Pinned to the soft mattress. But what she expected him to do was... Not what he did.
He did not rise up and thrust into her. Rather, he gripped her hips and pulled her towards his mouth, his tongue unerringly finding the place where she had just been stroking herself.
She lifted her hips up off the mattress. ‘Your Grace.’
‘West,’ he growled against her slick flesh.
He pinned her there, feasting on her as if she were a delicacy.
And her thoughts went every which way, billiard balls bouncing off the edges of the table. Going every which way.
All she could do was cling to his shoulders.
All she could do was hold tightly to him.
She cried out as he held her tightly, then clasped his fingers over the low, soft part of her stomach, preventing her from struggling against him as he licked yet more deeply into her.
‘West,’ she whimpered, putting her hand on the back of his head, pushing her fingers through his hair and clinging tightly to him.
Her sounds became animal-like.
This was pleasure beyond anything that she had thought might exist on this earth.
For her, the most glorious thing of all had been a warm bath. A warm bath and cake. And this was better than either of those things.
It was better than hot tea after a rainstorm. It was better than having a full belly every day when she went to sleep, something she had never once taken for granted.
It was better than anything she had ever experienced. It was like she was being released from her skin, free, in a way that she had never been before.
This was art.
This was living.
This was who she was. And free.
And when she began to reach for this impossible thing, something she could not name, it was as if everything inside of her was wound tight.
And she was certain that it had to break soon or she would.
‘West,’ she said, his name like a prayer.
West. West.
A new echo for her soul.
