feverish kisses and caressing each other through their clothes. Soon Harriet was clinging to his aroused body with a desperation that she couldn’t hide. It seemed not only natural but essential to offer herself to him. She might have existed for him to pet and stroke and pleasure. His hands roamed down her back and derriere, stealing the strength from her bones. If she could bestir herself from his spell, she would touch him everywhere, too.
“Harriet,” he murmured in his lilting baritone voice that mesmerized her. “Do you know I sit at my desk every night and think of being with you like this?”
She shivered. His fingers found and tenderly probed the vulnerable places of her body. Her head swam in delight. She swayed against his hard chest. She kissed his shoulder, smiling to herself. “I know you’ve kept those lewd pictures on purpose.”
He stroked the crease of her bottom, his fingers descending in a forbidden quest that quickened her blood. When suddenly he leaned over her, she fell back onto the carpet with a moan. He bent over her pliant form. His mouth took hers in a hard kiss that left her breathless and craving more. His unremorseful gaze acknowledged her response. “I don’t need those prints anymore, do I?” he asked, his hand pressing against her mound. “Besides, they hardly did you justice. Why anyone would depict this perfect body with thighs inflated like balloons is past imagining.”
“And I don’t have three of them, either,” she said, indignant at the unfairness of how she had been portrayed for posterity.
He looked utterly blank for a moment. And then an insulting grin lifted the corners of his mouth. “That wasn’t a third thigh, you milkmaid. It was the part of me that’s meant to go inside you.”
She levered up on one elbow, curiosity enabling her to overlook his mockery. Harriet considered herself to be anything but ignorant in the ways of the world. Her half brothers had not bothered to spare her any embarrassment when it came to the differences of their sex. That she had retained her virtue, and a certain modesty concerning earthly affairs, was no minor accomplishment. Had the duke been the devilish rake that gossip would make him, she would never have found him irresistible, let alone considered surrendering her maidenly innocence. It was, in fact, his protective nature and dedication to his aunt and niece that had captured her affection. But it was obvious that he had more experiences in carnality than she had.
And now this issue of what she had erroneously perceived to be her third appendage stirred her prurient interest.
“I don’t believe you,” she whispered hotly, looking him up and down as if challenging his claim.
“Harriet,” he scolded, lifting his hands to her shoulders, “have you ever caught me in a lie?”
“I haven’t caught you at all,” she said, swallowing as she stared up into his eyes.
“But you have.”
She held her breath, aware that he had loosened the cords of her nightdress and unbuttoned the long, modest sleeves. The muslin bodice abraded her aching breasts as he slipped his thumbs beneath the cambric collar. And pulled.
“Griffin.”
She tried to lift her head. Too much effort. His fingers glided over the bare curves and shadowed indentations that he had exposed. For all practical purposes, her body became a map of clamoring aches that awaited his conquest. In resentful admiration, she allowed this exploration to continue. It was, after all, his area of expertise.
As a rank amateur she would be forced to submit to his demands in the foreseeable future. She did not perceive this as a sacrifice. If she applied herself-and she had the sense that she would become a devoted student under his guidance-she’d have him at
Still, for now she was undeniably his to master. She lay with her arm half covering her face. At first she felt too overwhelmed to move. But when he kissed his way between her breasts, sucking at each elongated tip with a finesse that electrified her senses, she could not suppress the natural instincts that urged her to move.
He spread her knees father apart and studied her in absorption. The warmth of the fire, the heat in his eyes, stung her naked flesh. He slid his palms down her thighs, opening her yet wider. His thumb and forefinger gently parted her damp folds. His other hand slid under her hips.
She lifted herself, heeding instinct. She considered closing her eyes, pretending blithe ignorance of whatever acts she allowed him to pursue. But watching his face aroused her beyond what she could admit. Who would have guessed that she could undo the wicked duke? “You came to me tonight,” he said, slowly lifting his head from her belly.
She lowered her hand. She might have said something. His dark smile sent every coherent thought from her brain. She loved this man so much that she was afraid what would happen if he did not return her love. Her family, after all, did have a penchant for hotheadedness. And if she conceived his child, there would be another family to love and worry over. Would he take care of them? What position did he intend to find for her after they had made love?
He claimed he needed her.
They needed each other.
She made another attempt to speak. This time she was distracted by the glimpse of his taut-muscled chest as he stripped his waistcoat and freshly laundered shirt from his shoulders. She forgot what she’d intended to say. Whatever it was dwindled in importance to placing her hand on his sculpted torso and feeling his skin, testing his strength for herself. She traced her fingers across the striated plane of his stomach. He caught her wrist, gathering her up against his chest. She curled her arm around his neck and gently drew his head to hers. He expelled a rough sigh against her mouth. She felt his hand between their bodies as he unbuttoned his trousers. When they broke apart to breathe, she made no secret of studying his lithe frame and thick shaft, curved like a scimitar from below his belly.
He laughed softly, letting her look her fill. “Well?”
Her gaze lifted to his. “Fine. I believe you. There was no third thigh. Your point is taken.”
“Not quite.” He gave her a knowing smile. “Just wait.”
She drew her hand up and slowly touched the pulsing knob of his manhood with her fingertips. His shoulders jerked in a reflex that would have discouraged further intimacy had he not suddenly lowered himself over her and whispered against her mouth, “I don’t trust my body tonight. It wants you too badly to do what it’s told.”
He kissed her, bracing his weight on both hands until she wrapped her arms around his waist and whispered, “Please. I’m not afraid, Griffin. I’ve never been afraid of you.”
He released a breath, as if her admission had set him free. She raised her hips and felt his shaft stab gently into her passage. She closed her eyes, the pleasure so intense it was all she could do not to dig her nails into his back and draw him deeper. Her back arched.
He teased her. He penetrated her a little more each time she bucked her hips, withdrawing before she could catch her breath. Her sheath widened at the pressure, stretching beyond what she would have thought possible. At one point the friction became more than she could bear. She twisted at the waist. She moved away instinctively, only to feel his hands holding her hips still to permit his full entry.
She gritted her teeth and heard his soothing voice in her ear as he drove into her body. Too deep. He couldn’t possibly go farther. He promised her he could. He did. And she liked it, rotating her hips until she took him completely inside her, until she dissolved into the heart of a storm. For several minutes she felt as if her spirit had been enchained. She did not belong to herself. But then the blood in her veins began to flow with a renewed strength, and, after an eternity, she emerged, galvanized and acquainted with the laws of passion that had decreed her fate.
Chapter Twenty-five
“How is this? I must not be trifled with, and I demand an answer.”
MMARY SHELLEY
