What the Duke Wants (30 page)

“Grace, let down your hair.” His voice was soft, his breath warm in her ear. Her skin tingled all over in response, but he just freed her hands.

*

She pulled at her pins, those that remained anyway, as he unbuttoned her dress. His hands caressed every inch of her skin as it was revealed to his sight. She was dressed plainly, thus, the buttons were in front and he could see her body being exposed to him in stages, as each fastener left its mooring. One button. Two. Now, three and four. Pale, smooth skin was exposed one button at a time.

She wore a corset and no chemise. And a drop of liquid leaked from his cock at the sight. The corset was simple, white, and unadorned, and the most tantalizing thing he had ever seen. Her breasts were pushed high and he wanted nothing more than to bury his face and worship them. Maybe thrust his aching shaft between them. He groaned at the thought and his cock twitched in agreement.

He was relieved to see the corset tied in front, rather than with laces at the back. He would be able to bare her completely without leaving his enjoyable position on the floor.

As soon as he reached the last button at her waist, he tackled the ties on her corset. Her breasts spread outward as they were relieved of their tight confines. He reached up and pulled them completely free of their cage, enjoying the sight of her nipples—swollen and distended, their rosy color begging for his touch. He touched.

One hand kneaded her left breast as his lips sought out the hardened nipple of the other. He held her breast in position for his tongue as he licked her everywhere but her nipple. She moaned and twisted in torment. Finally, unhurriedly he sucked the tip into his mouth.

Grace bucked off the floor, and he smiled at her responsiveness, her passion, her fire. And after paying sufficient homage to both breasts, he blew on each nipple to ensure their continued stand. He returned to the ties of her corset. Her nipples remained tight and peaked. Taunting him as he worked to unwrap her body.

Once he bared her completely, he paused to take in the sight. She took his breath away. And at that moment, he was the most fortunate man on earth.

Breathe.

He moved down her body and planted tender kisses along the way, and he could tell she had to stifle the urge to giggle. Good. He was delighted at her ticklish response to his touch. He kissed her hip and delighted when her flesh prickled in response.

He stuttered to a halt when he reached her woman’s mound. She had removed her underthings before they went out as if she knew where this night would lead. He was humbled and honored with her gift. Her plan. He wouldn’t waste it. He leaned in and inhaled, taking in her sweet, feminine smell. And he nearly lost control. Again. It was as if her scent was created for him alone. It fired his blood. Embedded itself in his brain, destined to remain for eternity. Tied to his soul.

He could smell her arousal, and he simply had to taste.

He slid his shoulders under her so she straddled his head, his face centered at her feminine core. He didn’t take a light taste. No. He dove right in and licked the petals of her sex before plunging his tongue into her tight channel.

She screamed her pleasure.

She tasted of honey and cream, and heaven and everything he had ever wanted in his whole damn life. He sought more. He found the pearl of her clitoris and began alternately tonguing and sucking it with furious intent while his fingers claimed her wetness below.

Ah, hell. Who had time to breathe?

*

Grace squirmed and clamped her knees to either side of his head, the sensation of his tongue and swirling fingers overwhelming. She tried to relax, but gave up that quest as futile. Instead, she reached forward and gripped his head making it clear he stopped upon pain of death.

He was so quickly there, his face buried between her legs; she didn’t have time to process his intentions before she was shaking with pleasure. She could never have imagined this scenario before, and she had no time to consider if it was proper now. She didn’t care. It felt too good, and before she knew it, every muscle in her body tensed with restrained energy. On instinct, she sought the sensation. It hovered out of reach, something she knew to reach for. Heat gathered in her feet and hands, like they were dipped in molten fire. Then, the dam burst and her body exploded, all the built-up energy shooting out from her center.

She screamed again as she thrashed in uncontained frenzy. Her channel contracting. Her cream gushing. Ambrose suckled her bud until her tremors subsided and her screams and moans turned to little whimpers of pleasure.

Goodness gracious. What was that? And why wasn’t everyone doing this all the time?

He sat back and she looked up at him through eyes she could barely open. She was languid and relaxed. But he didn’t stay still for long. He all but tore his trousers from his body. Then, returned in a rush and centered himself over her, ready to join with her without delay.

He put his weight on one arm and reached down to position his iron cock at her entrance. He guided the tip. She shook both with anticipation and the aftershocks of her release. But he stopped and instead reached down to pinch the base of his penis; his face contorted in pain. His eyes squeezed shut.

“Are you all right? Ambrose?”

“Yes, sweet, I’m fine. I just need. A moment. Or it will be over before I begin.”

A moment more passed as she waited expectantly. Yes. It wasn’t over. His cock was still turgid and long. Dark purple and swollen. A mighty tool designed for her pleasure. She could tell by the look on his face that he was unsatisfied and needing more.

He opened his eyes and unerringly sought out her own. His own softened for just a moment. “This might hurt, darling. But I will endeavor to be gentle.”

He caressed her face. Soothed her. And she nodded her head in acceptance. He kissed her once on the tip of her nose, then he reached down, grabbed his cock with his hand, and pushed in to her still pulsing sheath. He pushed on and on and on. Until he was entirely seated, thick and full in her.

She stiffened for just a moment at the intrusion. The pain wasn’t bad, only a light pinch. She looked at Ambrose. He was laboriously still, his eyes clinched and she wondered at his pause.

“Are we finished?”

Ambrose let loose a burst of laughter. “Oh God, Grace, hardly. I was just giving you…and me…a moment to adjust.”

She laughed in return, though with undisguised relief, before leaning up to whisper in his ear, “If you don’t move now, I will not be responsible for my actions.”

That was all it took. He pulled back and thrust forward, deep. She watched his cock moving in and out, the sight erogenous to behold. Then, she could hold herself up no longer, and she fell back to the rug with a moan.

He grabbed her hips and pounded into her. He gave her everything he had. She took it all.

“Grace. Oh, hell, Grace!” He roared her name. Thrusting. Thrusting. Thrusting. She felt his shaft harden even further as he pistoned in and out. Out and in. On and on and on.

She gripped his waist with her legs and held on, powerless to do anything else but let him ride. The pleasure was intense, and she felt that energy building inside again, but now, she knew what was coming and she reached for it. It was upon her without warning, and the pause just before release seemed to last an eternity before she detonated and cried out in ecstasy.

Ambrose stiffened above her, and with one final thrust, the head of his cock brushed her womb as his seed exploded from his cock.

“Grace, I’m coming. Oh, God, I’m coming. Grace.” He roared her name again and again as he pumped on while he bathed her insides with his seed. She felt the heat of it scorch her. Brand her. Claim her. She held on and cherished his gift.

Later, he rested his head against hers, as she wrapped her arms around his. They were both slick with perspiration, and for the moment, content in each other’s arms.

They might have dozed. Who knew? It was Grace who finally broke the silence.

“That was wonderful. Tha…”

He interrupted her when he stood and carefully lifted her from the floor. His face was intent upon his course. He set her down and turned her toward the foot of the bed. She followed his unspoken lead, trusting him completely.

He pushed down on her back and bent her forward at the waist before he leaned over and whispered, “Grace, my sweet. You speak too soon. I’m not nearly finished with you, love.”

He placed both her hands on the foot board and squeezed them to indicate she retain her grip before he slid his hands down her arms, down her sides, and gripped her hips.

“Now, love, you had better hold on.” And he plowed into her from behind.

Chapter 23

Grace burrowed deep into her covers. She was in her room at Lady Harriett’s. Ambrose had driven her home before dawn. She grinned from ear to ear as she remembered how they had lingered at the rear garden gate for several minutes, groping and kissing playfully, each loath to part.

Now, the sun was shining brightly through the plain cotton curtains in her room, beckoning her to awaken from her dreams…and such delicious dreams they were, too. She grinned widely, eyes still closed, as she recalled one or two touching memories from last night. She wasn’t quite ready to awaken and let them go.

Beatryce had always referred to Ambrose as somewhat aloof, stuffy, and boring—HA! Ambrose had loved her thoroughly all night long. He was a wild, virile man beneath his polished exterior—someone, she realized, few people had ever been privileged to meet.

Sometimes, their bodies came together furiously with heated passion, while at others, they met hesitantly, lovingly, slowly…By the end of the night, Ambrose had called her many precious names: love, sweeting, darling…and it was clear from the many times she looked into his eyes, that he cared for her on some deeper level than either of them had previously thought possible. He had even suggested, quite clearly to her mind, that he had never before experienced passion such as they had shared.

Grace stretched in her bed, her arms extended above her head, her feet pointed toward the footboard. She arched her back—she felt like a woman, strong and powerful. Finally, she relaxed her stretch and opened her eyes. She had to get up and face the new day.

Today was her 21st birthday, and it felt like a positive beginning of a new chapter in life. She had much to do, a meeting with her solicitor being the priority. She had told Ambrose she was not going to attend the Lyndhurst Ball tonight with Lady Harriett, and it was the truth, though secretly, she hoped to make it in the end. It depended greatly on getting her affairs in order today, therefore, there was no hope to it—she must get going and save her remembrances for later.

An hour later, Grace bounced merrily down the stairs feeling more carefree than she had in over a year. As she reached the last several stairs, she was surprised to see Dansbury in the foyer handing his hat, gloves, and overcoat to the butler.

“Ah, Grace,” he said upon noticing her on the stairs, “you’re just the woman I was coming to see. How are you?”

Dansbury approached, his arms outstretched in greeting, and she blushed with guilt. It was unexpected and irrational, yet she couldn’t help but fear that Dansbury would be able to guess immediately what had happened last night, as if the word “wanton” was branded across her forehead as clearly as the nose on her face. And she remembered that he held some small amount of affection for her. She felt like she had betrayed him, though they had no understanding.

She shook off the sensation, for it was absurd.

“I am fine, Cliff. How are you?”

“Excellent—now. Might I have a word?” And he gestured with his arm toward the ground floor drawing room where they might have a few words in private.

She preceded him into the well lit room—for it had a grand bay window facing the street, and the curtains were pulled fully back to allow in the maximum amount of sunlight.

They crossed the room and sat together on a settee facing the window. He took her hands in his.

“I’ve come to ask an important favor of you.”

“Of course, go on.”

“Remember our conversation a week and a half ago, about your uncle?”

“Of course.”

“Well, I have it on good authority that the family will be out for the morning at Lady Jersey’s garden party and breakfast. I also understand that one of your friends on the staff, Janet, traveled here with the Becketts from Sussex.”

“Probably.”

“Good. I was wondering if you would like to visit Janet, and see how she is doing—perhaps have her introduce you to the staff.”

“I see. And where will you be while all this is going on?”

He just looked at her, baffled, as if she said something utterly nonsensical.

“So what you are really saying, is that you want me to distract the staff while you search the house.”

Dansbury’s, surprisingly, looked chagrined, but only for a moment.

“You must understand, Grace. I realize this is highly irregular, but the situation is grave and time is of the essence.”

He was serious. All traces of his normal good humor vanished. His face was grim, and she became nervous in response. She knew he was keeping something from her, but she didn’t know what. All she knew was that this was important—perhaps, though it seemed crazy to think so, important to her own future.

“Of course, I’ll do it. Anything to help.”

Dansbury relaxed, relief evident upon his face.

“Excellent. We leave now.”

* * * *

The Earl of Swindon’s Study…

Earlier that morning…

“Your Grace, welcome to my home. Thank you for attending so promptly.”

Stonebridge studied him from the doorway for a moment before he strode across the room. Confident and sure.

“Swindon.”

Swindon was about to offer the duke a drink, but stopped short as he took note of the duke’s concentrated demeanor.

Stonebridge took a seat in a chair facing his desk, not bothering to wait for the standard courtesies or an invitation to do so. He crossed his legs and rested both his arms on the sides of the chair. Clearly, he was ready to get on with it. Fine. All right. Sure.