Mason moaned heavy and deep. He knew it’d be perfect.
When she twirled her tongue delicately around his broad tip, he sucked in a breath and held it. His fist tightened around the base of his shaft while his other hand came up to delve into the thickness of her hair and cup the back of her head. Though he exerted no pressure, his hold seemed to inspire her as she parted her lips and took him fully into her mouth.
Mason’s head fell back and a growl of pleasure rolled up from his chest.
She drew her mouth back up then down again. Long, luscious, sucking strokes accented by a teasing swirl of her tongue around the broad head. She consumed him. She enslaved him. And when her hand joined her mouth on his cock, he surrendered completely.
With one hand buried in her hair, he slid his other hand in a warm caress down the hollow of her spine, pausing to squeeze the soft flesh of her arse. She undulated beneath his touch, like a cat commanding more attention. Her hum of pleasure vibrated around his erection, inspiring a telltale tightening in his balls.
With a reluctant grunt of effort, he tugged gently on her hair in a signal to stop. She released him in a slow, torturous glide of her lips. Pulling her toward him, he took her mouth with his, thrusting his tongue deep enough to claim her moans for his own. Then he wrapped her in his arms and rolled her to her back. Needing her as close to the edge as he was, he slid his ridged head back and forth over her clit in short, purposeful strokes. Until her fingernails scored his back and her thighs tensed and shook around his hips.
When she planted her feet and tilted her hips, he rewarded her with a long glide of his cock along her opening, making sure not to penetrate her.
Her moan of frustration made him chuckle until the sharp edge of her teeth on his shoulder cut it short.
“My duchess demands satisfaction?”
“I need you inside me,” she gasped. “Now.”
A powerful surge of lust rushed through him at the words, and he plunged forward in one stiff stroke. Claiming her. Surrendering to her.
She lifted her knees along his sides and pressed her heels into his buttocks, forcing him deeper as her body fluttered and contracted around him.
Utterly destroyed.
SOMETIME LATER, SHE stirred from where she’d been softly dozing, nestled against Mason’s chest. He glanced to the clock. Dawn was approaching and she’d need to sneak away soon.
He had to very intentionally loosen his arm from around her back. A great effort when everything in him strained with the desire to keep her there. Further proof that he’d lost his mind.
She couldn’t stay in his bed any more than he could stay in Mayfair.
As she rolled gently away from him, he closed his eyes. He didn’t need to see her leaving to feel it.
He felt it. Everywhere. Deeply. Painfully.
He’d known the second she’d walked into his bedroom last night that it would be their last time together. The knowledge had filled him with instant rage as he’d forced himself to accept he wanted more than their circumstances could ever allow. With great effort, he’d tamped down his anger in order to surrender to the desire of the moment, the needs of the night.
Realizing she hadn’t yet risen from the bed, he risked a peek at her.
She sat at the edge of the mattress. Her hair had been swept forward over one shoulder, and her slim back was graceful and straight as she looked down at something in her hands.
Mason stiffened. An odd sort of pain arced through him as he realized what she had.
In one swift, purposeful movement, he rolled to his feet on the other side of the bed and walked across the room to the washstand. Busying himself with the task of washing the sweat and sex from his body, he managed to keep his back to her. If he tried hard enough, perhaps he could forget she was there.
“Mason.”
His name was a soft, stern whisper. A caress and a command.
With his stomach clenching and his shoulders tight, he lifted a fist to rub at the ache in his chest. But he didn’t turn around.
He could hear her moving—the gentle slide of her skin on the sheets. The quiet fall of her bare feet in the thick carpet. The subtle rustle of the paper in her hand.
The room was too hot. He should spread out the coals in the grate. Open a window, maybe. Anything to cool the heat rising beneath his skin.
He bent forward and splashed water from the bowl onto his face.
When he straightened, she was still there. Behind him. He could feel her.
“Mason. Turn around and look at me, please.”
He’d be a coward not to. Mason Hale was a lot of disreputable things, but he’d never been that.
After wiping his face with a towel, he turned. Taking a wide stance, he folded his arms over his chest and settled his features into the harshest expression he could manage. A Herculean task when the sight of her standing so proud and beautiful and completely, stunningly nude made his blood rush wildly through his veins and his heart beat at twice the pace.
Noting his fierce expression, she gave a soft sigh and lifted one elegantly haughty brow. “You’re in love with me.”
His heart stopped. Dead. “Bloody hell, duchess.”
She lifted the fresh sketch in her hand and tilted her head imperiously. “Try to deny it.”
A low growl escaped his throat.
He couldn’t deny a damn thing. He wanted to, but the words simply wouldn’t form.
She returned his heavy glare with a slow smile that curved her mouth in the loveliest way as she set the sketch on the chair next to her and continued toward him.
