Dark Duke (3 page)

“The saints don’t care,” he responded, switching to the
other side of her neck. He found a spot that delighted her even more and
feasted there. In her distraction, she didn’t stop the palm skimming over her
ribs to cup a breast.

He encased her. Ah. Exquisite. Full and round and pliable.
He thumbed a nipple, testing its rigidity. She dipped as her knees gave way. He
caught her. Swung her up in his arms and carried her to the bench.

From long experience, he knew better than to give a woman a moment
to think. So as soon as he had her settled across his lap and firmly braced
against the wall of the folly, he kissed her again. With one hand, he stroked
her nipples while with the other, he slowly drew up her skirts.

Why there needed to be so many layers of petticoats, he
could not fathom, but he managed to find his way through the morass. He set his
palm on her thigh and redoubled his attack on that particular spot at her nape.
She threw back her head and gasped and cooed as he tormented her. And as he
did, as her passion rose—so did his palm.

When he found her curls, they were wet.

A great shudder passed through him at the discovery. He
stroked them once, then twice, then slipped deeper. She wailed when he touched
her pearl, that hard, slick button.

God, she was responsive. He’d known. Somehow, he’d known she
would be. He rubbed harder, alternating between hard strokes and tantalizing
circles until she panted and wriggled on his lap. The pressure of her hip
against his cock was excruciating, but he loved it. Because he knew soon, oh so
soon, that cock would be sinking deep and receiving the benefit of all those
delicious wriggles.

But first, he had to make her come.

And she was close. So close.

As a man of experience, Edward could tell.

He knew instinctively when she was ready to be broached. Her
legs spread, only infinitesimally but enough for him to notice. Her muscles
quivered, her grip on his scalp tightened. Her breath became short and shallow,
her wails wild.

He brushed his lips over hers, teasing, back and forth,
until she grasped his ears and held him still and consumed him.
Consumed him
.

He thrust two fingers inside.

And froze.

Two things caused his brain to seize. First was the
incredible heat and tautness of her cunt. Hellish shivers took him at the
thought of plunging his cock into that tight sheath. The second realization was
the fact that there was no barrier. No hymen.

She was not a virgin.

He hadn’t even realized the possibility had been holding him
back—he couldn’t recall having such a chivalrous instinct before—until all
doubt was removed. He was not sure why, but didn’t bother to ponder on it.

That she was a woman of the world changed everything.

She was fair game.

Ruthlessly, he went to work on her, exploring her silken
walls, hunting for the bundle of nerves deep within. He found it—he knew when
she lurched and flailed and cried out, when she affixed her mouth to
his
neck and feasted. He found that bundle and grazed it, scraped it, rubbed it.

She came around him. Tightened until he couldn’t even move
inside her.

Good God.

Her body contracted then loosened as the swell of her orgasm
rose and fell. He paced her, easing in and out, increasing her torment,
ratcheting up the tension again and again.

And holy hell. She came. Again and again.

He pulled back and stared down at her face. She was
exquisite in her bliss. Her eyes glowed, tiny tears glazed her lashes. Her face
was soft, her muscles slack. Her lips were pursed, but not in a disapproving
manner. Yes. She looked decidedly dewy.

Decidedly delicious.

He eased his fingers from her still quivering sheath and
wiped them on her petticoats. His body thrummed. His cock ached. His balls were
tight little nuts burning for release. He needed to be in her. He needed to be
in her now. He fumbled with the buttons on the placket of his trousers.

“Kaitlin! Kaitlin!”

He winced as a young, high-pitched voice wafted toward them
on the breeze. It came from not far away.

Just in time, Edward yanked down her skirts and covered her
bare legs.

A small dark-headed boy with rampant curls and a raft of
freckles burst around the side of the folly and flew up the steps. “Kait— Oh,
there you are.” He stopped and stared. “What are you doing to Kaitlin?”

Kaitlin
. Her name was Kaitlin.

It was good to know the name of the woman one had just
brought to ecstasy.

It was better to not be interrupted.

She wrenched from his lap—damn, he hated the cold plaguing
him in her absence—and brushed down her skirts. “Hamish. There you are. We were
looking for you.”

Hamish was not one to be cozened. Or deterred. He propped
his fists on his hips and put out a lip. “No you weren’t. I was at the tree
waiting for you.” He glared at Edward. “What were you doing to Kaitlin?”

Edward stood and straightened his waistcoat, though it
hardly needed straightening. He propped his fists on his hips and put out a lip
and fixed the urchin with a very ducal perusal. And said the only thing that
came to mind. “Tickling her.”

Kaitlin gave a delicate snort. He didn’t glance at her
because he was busy being ducal. He needed to get rid of this little scamp, and
now, so he could continue what nature so adamantly insisted he finish. He
glared at the boy, willing him to vacate the folly.

A dark brow wrinkled. As did a ridiculous button nose.
“Tickling her? That’s stupid.”

“Quite so.” He tugged on his waistcoat again. Glared some
more. “Isn’t there somewhere you should be, boy?” His ardor was diminishing by
the second.

Hamish glared right back. “No.” He turned to Kaitlin.
“You’re not ticklish.” An accusation.

Her mouth opened. And closed. And opened again. Nothing came
out but a tiny “eep”. She met Edward’s gaze, a
help me
look on her face.

She was, in a word, adorable. He found he was unable to
maintain his officious mien, and chuckled.

Her lips twitched, then curled. A strangled peep escaped.
Then a snort. And then a laugh.

Then they both doubled over and howled with glee as Hamish
looked on, a befuddled look on his little face.

When he stomped his foot and growled, “I fail to see what is
so amusing,” they collapsed together on the bench, Edward holding his sides and
Kaitlin with tears streaming down her cheeks.

“H-Hamish, darling,” she finally sputtered, when she
regained some semblance of control. “Did you want something?”

His face puddled up as he thought, and then he remembered.
“Yes. Tay is stuck in the tree now. You need to come and help him down.”

“Oh Hamish,” she sighed. “Again? Perhaps you should find a
smaller tree.”

The boy grabbed her hand and tugged. “Come along, Kaitlin.”

In the end they all went, and Edward climbed up through the
thick branches and found Tay, clinging to a bough, and carried him down. They
all traipsed to the house together, but Kaitlin slipped away while Edward was
tending to a scraped knee. He watched her disappear with only a tiny flash of
regret.

The moment had passed, scuttled by riotous guffaws.

He couldn’t think of a better way to lose an opportunity.
There would be other moments. Other opportunities.

She was here beneath his roof.

She was extraordinarily sensuous.

She was not a virgin.

That was all that mattered.

Mercy.

Kaitlin collapsed on her bed and stared up at the ceiling.

What had he done?

It had started as a kiss, a small, meaningless kiss—although
she suspected it had never been meaningless—and went so quickly to something
else. The duke—
Edward
—had stroked and plucked and molded her breasts and
delight had shot through her. Her sanity had fled.

She’d lost her mind.

Yes.

That was it. She’d lost her mind.

It was the only explanation.

Dougal had kissed her, and many boys before him. She’d never
once felt like
that
.

And then, when Edward had slipped his hand between her legs
and
fondled
her, heavens, it had been wonderful and warm and—wet.

She couldn’t even think on the sensations that had rocked
her when he pushed his fingers inside. Even now it made her tremble, made her
temperature rise.

Pleasure. Pure, unadulterated, scalding pleasure.

What had he done?

It hadn’t been like that with Dougal. It hadn’t been
anything
like that with Dougal. Oh, it had been pleasant enough, the kisses, the
caresses. But then Dougal had pressed her down in the moss and raised her
skirts and pushed himself inside her. The pain had been excruciating; he’d made
her bleed.

Fortunately, the torture hadn’t lasted long. A few seconds.
Then he’d collapsed on her, wheezing and drooling a little.

It hadn’t lasted long, but it had been enough to ruin her
chances at marriage—because then Dougal had gone and shared the news of his
conquest with all and sundry.

No, the pleasure had definitely not been worth the cost.
She’d made a bad bargain there.

But this—Holy Mother.

This had been worth any cost. And more.

What on earth had he done?

Her encounter with Dougal had left her dreading any further
entanglements with men.

Edward left her panting for more.

She was sure there was more. She couldn’t imagine what would
have happened if Hamish had not interrupted their tryst.

Well. Perhaps she could.

Oh. What would
that
have been like? She shuddered.

A thought speared her and she sat bolt upright. She grabbed
the book on the nightstand. The book he’d given her.

What kind of book could it be?
“Read it when you’re
alone,”
he’d said.
“Think of me,”
he’d said.

She tipped the slim volume on its side and read the title.
The
Instruction
by Lord Hedon. An odd title.

She leaned back against the headboard and opened the book
and began to read.

It did not take long for her to realize this was no ordinary
book.

It was also not for decent eyes. Thank heaven she was a
fallen woman—twice now, or nearly so—because the book was stimulating. It was
very well written. Amusing and clever and it drew her in. She was well into the
first chapter before the penny dropped. And when it did, she couldn’t stop
reading. She was mesmerized.

The Instruction
was the tale of a young harem girl,
Asha, who had been sold to a wealthy sheik. Kaitlin could certainly identify
with that plot. The sheik had very
particular tastes
, the girl was told,
and she must be trained to please him.

Kaitlin turned a page and found a plate. Her breath hitched.
Oh heavens. It was an illustrated book.

The picture showed Asha standing in a large chamber,
surrounded by robed men. She wore only a short jacket that barely covered her
breasts and a pair of blowsy pants riding low on her hips. The caption read,
Sold!

The story went on, telling of Asha’s journey to her new
home, her grooming—which made Kaitlin’s brows rise—and introduced the
sultana
,
who ruled the harem, the eunuchs who guarded it and the
kadin
, the
sheik’s third wife, who was in charge of training the slaves. First, Asha was
taught how to prepare her body for his use. At this detailed description,
Kaitlin’s eyes went very wide, her body restless.

Halfway through, she set the book on the bed and got up to
lock the door. Licking her lips, she found the beginning of the section and
read it again.

“Touch yourself,” the
kadin
ordered.

Asha winced. Embarrassed. Unsure.

“Go on. Do it.” The
kadin
guided her hand across
her naked belly and down to her freshly shorn curls. Deeper, into her slit. Oh,
how slick and wet she was. “That’s it,” the
kadin
murmured. “Rub that
little pearl.”

Wrenching up her skirts, Kaitlin read the section again,
this time, mimicking the action in the book.

“Good. Good. Little circles.”

Kaitlin gasped as she followed suit.

“Now, stroke your breasts. Yes. How does that feel?”

Asha sighed. It was wonderful. Her nipples were swollen
and fat and tender. The
kadin
scraped a nail over one and she winced
with pleasure.

“Faster. Faster. Yes. Now pinch your nipples. Tug on
them.”

Shards of delight shot through Kaitlin as she did as the
harem trainer commanded of the slave. Saint’s have mercy, she’d never imagined—

“Now, ease your fingers inside.”

Asha stilled. Surely she couldn’t do that.

At her hesitation, the whip fell on her hip. Not a harsh
lash, like the one she’d received when she arrived, but a warning. Still, it
sent a thrill slicing through her body.

Kaitlin paused, thrown out of the story for a moment. How
could the lash of a whip be thrilling? She decided to pass over that bit and
continue on, because now Asha had refused to obey and the
kadin
wrenched
her to her feet and led her to a small bench with a long, thin obelisk on the
seat.

“You shall be punished for your refusal, slave.”

A shudder walked through Kaitlin. She blinked in surprise.
Why would the prospect of a punishment cause that reaction? Oh, this was a
naughty, naughty book indeed.

“Sit.” The kadin guided Asha to her knees, then down on
the stool, spreading her nether lips, opening her cunt.

Oh heavens. Another shudder at
that
word.

Asha tried to wrench up when she realized where that hard
phallus was meant to go, but the
kadin
was relentless. The marble cock
brushed her cunt with a cold kiss.

“No. Please, mistress. I will be good.”

Dark chuckles echoed in the stony chamber, the
kadin’s
twined with those of the eunuchs standing guard.

“A familiar promise. But it is far too late for that, my
dear. Next time you will obey immediately.” She pushed Asha down on the phallus
and it filled her. She cried out. “Silence, girl, or I will find something to
silence you.”

The eunuchs laughed again. She glared at them.

“Look. She is still mutinous, mistress,” one of them
said.

Asha winced. Surely she would be punished for that too.

“She will not be when this is finished.” The kadin took
Asha’s hands and bound them behind her back, thrusting her breasts forward. She
strapped her ankles to the sides of the bench, leaving Asha impaled and
helpless. Why her body wept, she did not know, but she could feel the juice
dampening the marble—

Kaitlin moaned as a sharp thrill shot through her. The
strokes between her legs became more frantic. Her little button throbbed,
pulsed with every beat of her heart. Dew clung to her fingertips, lubricating
her path. She plucked at her nipple through the fabric of her bodice and then,
impatient, yanked it down so she could tug, skin to bare skin. Something rose
within her.

She imagined herself tied to that stool, with a thick
phallus filling her. Bare. Exposed. Forced to—

She came.

Some great, gushing tempest washed down and took her,
swirling her in the miasma, blanketing her in a fog of bliss. She shook, she
wailed, she trembled.

She planted her feet on the bed and arched up, sinking her
fingers deep into her sheath, as Asha had been commanded to do. Oh why had Asha
refused? It felt divine!

And as the pleasure took her, and she plunged in and out of
her dripping cunt, Kaitlin imagined it was Edward’s touch. Edward pinching her
nipples. Edward filling her. Edward stroking that spot that made her heart leap
and her toes curl.

When she succumbed again, for the second time—for the fifth
time that day—she cried his name.

She probably shouldn’t have, but sometimes one couldn’t help
such things.

After she returned to herself, Kaitlin closed the book and
tucked it into the little drawer of her bedstand.

Edward wasn’t getting it back.

She was keeping it.