Although it would likely excite him, so perhaps she could try.
She drew her shift up and over her head, dropping it to the floor. Standing only in her stockings before him, pulling the pins out from her hair and shaking it free to cascade over her back.
“Damn, but you’re gorgeous,” he said, reaching his hand out to her. She walked to the foot of the bed and climbed up, moving forward on her hands and knees on the bed to his body. She paused there, where his penis was, and ran her hand over the top of him, then tugged at the top of his smallclothes.
“Let me help get you out of these,” she said, feeling hesitant about all of it, but wanting to try.
Judging by his hissed breath when she touched him, she was glad she was being so brave.
She reached inside to hold him, moving his penis out of the way as she drew his smallclothes down his strong legs. She had to let go of him to pull his smallclothes all the way off, dropping them on the floor and returning to wrap her hand around him.
“What,” she began, barely able to think the words, but knowing she wanted to say them, that he would want her to say them, “what do you call this?”
His hand wrapped over hers and he showed her how to touch him, stroking up and down in a faster rhythm than he had done to himself. He glanced down at where their hands touched, and groaned. “It’s my cock. You’ve got your lovely hand on my cock.”
“And it is a lovely cock,” she replied, licking her lips as she looked. The head of it was large, a drop of moisture seeping out through the slit at the top. The skin there felt soft, but as though it were a swath of velvet covering an iron rod.
“Could I,” she began, licking her lips again, wondering why they were so dry, “would you want me to kiss your cock?”
“Oh God, Edwina,” he said, flinging his head back and closing his eyes. “Please.”
She hesitated for a moment, then lowered her mouth to him, licking the spot right at the top. And then she took him inside her mouth, swirling her tongue around him, tasting the salty flavor, smelling the warm musk that was his scent.
He arched his back and groaned again, which encouraged her to be more aggressive in her exploration, sliding her tongue down his shaft, burying her nose in the hair at the base of his cock.
She had to say she liked the word. It was hard, and forceful, and direct. Like him. Like his cock, as well, which was even harder than before, it seemed, thanks to her ministrations.
There was something so powerful about doing this to him, having him prone on the bed, his eyes closed, his cheeks flushed, his hands fisting at his sides as she slid her mouth up and down.
“I want to be inside you,” he said, moving upright as he spoke, positioning her on the bed and lying between her thighs. He pushed a stray hair away from her face, his gaze seeming as though it were devouring her, moving restlessly from her eyes, to her nose, to her mouth.
And still he didn’t enter her, and she felt so ready for him, so wet and wanting, she squirmed under him, shifting impatiently. “Now, Michael,” she said, placing her hands on his back. “I want you inside now. Don’t make me wait,” she said in a near plea, hearing the catch in her voice as she begged.
He nodded, looking intent and serious, and put his condom on with one quick motion. Thank goodness one of them was sensible and remembered, because she certainly had been about to forget.
“Edwina,” he said, sliding into her in one quick thrust. Oh. That. She felt stretched, wide open to him, feeling the throb of his cock inside her, how his body flattened hers, his chest hair tickling her skin, her hands on his strong back. Now moving down to his tight buttocks, pulling him in closer, even though it felt as though he was as far as he could go.
“Fuck me,” she said, moving her hips softly.
His eyes blazed green, and he pushed up on his elbows, starting to thrust in and out, faster and harder than he had any of the previous times the night before. As though he knew she could take it, and what was more, that she wanted it this way. Hard, and fast, and rough.
“I love how it feels when my cock is inside you,” he said in a ragged pant in her ear.
If she could speak, she’d tell him she loved it when he talked to her like that. There was something so primal about his language, spoken in his aristocratic accent, that turned her inside out, made her want to hear more of what he might be thinking spoken in that sex-roughened growl.
Just thinking about it made things swirl around inside, all focused on that one spot, the one that he was hitting regularly with his movements. It felt incredible, and the tension of it made her concentrate, made her grip her hold on his arse even harder, making her close her eyes and fling her head back, biting her lip.
“Dear God, Edwina, you’re so tight,” he said, pushing even harder. She didn’t know until now that it was a good thing to be tight, but she was certainly glad she was, if it made him sound like that.
He kept thrusting, his breathing hard and labored. And then she felt it, the moment when it seemed as though she’d spiraled somewhere off into the stars, and she pulsed, and felt herself grip him, and then he groaned and shouted, collapsing on her as he climaxed.
He shook his head slowly, and his hair tickled her nose, since his face was buried in her shoulder. “You might be the death of me, woman,” he said in a rough voice.
“I hope not,” she said. “Then I would be out of a job and a lover. And that would be most disappointing.” She kept her tone light, even though she wanted to tell him how she was feeling—that she had never felt like this before, that he was the most intelligent, intriguing, and handsome man she’d ever met. The fact that he was also the wealthiest and most titled didn’t even enter into it, even though that meant that they could have no future together. Which was why she didn’t speak in the first place. And so it did enter into it.
What would it be like if he were a regular—albeit still remarkably intelligent and impatient—person? Would they have a future?
She couldn’t even dare to think about that, not when that was so far from what was possible.
He withdrew from her and she felt empty, missing him already. Even though he was right there, having pulled her into his arms and placing her head on his shoulder. She draped her arm over his chest and touched his skin, loving how the muscular ridges felt under her hand.
“How do you keep so fit, anyway?” she asked suddenly. Because she rather thought that most aristocrats tended to fat, but not him—he was lean all over, with all sorts of muscles where she hadn’t expected them.
Another element of his appeal, although she was honest enough to admit it was a sensual element. She liked touching him, quite a lot. Would she like him as much if he were short and round? And still intelligent and arrogant?
She might not like her own answer. Thankfully, he wasn’t either of those things, so she didn’t have to wonder about it. The opposite problem of wondering what it would be like if he weren’t a duke.
Thank goodness she’d evened out the impossible suppositions for the night, she thought ruefully.
“If I have been given a body to do work with, it just makes sense to keep the body as fit as possible.” He was nothing if not practical. She should have figured that out for herself. “I ride, I box, I fence, I walk when it is a short enough journey not to bother taking out the horses.”
“Ah, of course,” she replied, running her fingers through the hair on his chest. “Of course you would be entirely logical about maintaining your body. I don’t know why I even bothered asking, I should know you by now.”
He raised her chin and kissed her softly on the mouth. “You do know me,” he said in a low voice, and it seemed as though he was saying a lot more than just simply agreeing with her last statement. Her heart fluttered, and she had to clamp her lips together so she wouldn’t burst out with what she was thinking—I am fairly certain I am in love with you wasn’t what he would want to hear; she knew him well enough to know that. This was what it was, nothing more
.
And nothing less.
So she just nodded, tightening her grip as she drifted off to sleep.
Why Do Dukes Fall in Love?
60. Because if they didn’t, they would be very grouchy. And grouchy dukes are even more impossible than regular ones.
Chapter 19
“I have to go.” Edwina’s voice roused him from his dream, ones where he had somewhere to be and no way of getting there. It was an even worse iteration of the frustration he felt while he was awake, so he was grateful she woke him, but not grateful he couldn’t continue to sleep with her.
He held her tighter, rolling her body up against his hip. “I don’t want you to go,” he murmured, finding her breast in the dark and caressing its fullness.
“It doesn’t matter what you want, hard though you may find that to believe,” she said in a cross tone. He released her immediately, feeling unexpectedly contrite that he was making it more difficult for her to leave. Because he knew she didn’t want to as much as he didn’t want her to, and yet her reputation was far more in jeopardy if anything untoward was noticed. So she should go, yes.
“You’re right. I am sorry.”
There was a silence, as though she was processing his words. “Did you just apologize?” she asked in an incredulous voice.
For some reason, that nettled him. Even though he knew her comment had basis in his behavior. “I can apologize.”
She laughed and drew away from him. “Perhaps during the carriage ride tomorrow you can list all the times you’ve apologized. Maybe there will even be enough times so you don’t finish before the horses move.”
“Oh, now you’re asking for it,” he said, reaching for her and dragging her back onto the bed, her laughing as he did. He pinned her with his body, his legs on either side of her, sitting up and looking down into her face. It was just beginning to be dawn, so the light was faint, but he could still see her, see her bright eyes, and the hair she’d undone flowing all over his pillow.
He leaned forward as though to kiss her, but tickled her instead. “See what happens when you taunt me?” he said, easily leveraging his strength to keep her still. She was laughing, and begging, and flailing under him, and eventually he relented, moving his tickling fingers to her breasts, finding her nipples hard and peaked.
“I really have to go, Michael,” she said in a low voice.
“I know you do.” He caressed her one last time, then rolled off onto the edge of the bed, pushing her hip. “Get going, I’ve heard your employer is a dreadfully demanding man who needs you to be well rested.”
She snorted as she picked up her clothing. “Do you suppose I can just wear my dressing gown back? It seems silly to get all dressed just for a short walk down the hall.”
He considered it, then got out of bed himself, reaching for his own dressing gown. “I’ll keep watch for you. Better that than you enlist me as your lady’s maid,” he continued in mock horror.
“Thank you.” She wrapped the dressing gown around herself, pulling her hair out from the collar to hang down her back. She looked rumpled, and delicious, and entirely sensual.
He really wished she didn’t have to go. Just as much as he knew she did have to.
She gathered up her clothing, wrapping it up in a bundle and tucking it under her arm. “I’ll see you in the common room in three hours,” she said in a soft voice.
Three hours felt too long, but he knew enough than to argue with her.
He went to the door and opened it, poking his head out to scan the hallway. Nobody was there, and he gestured behind him for her to come through, watching as she scurried down the hall to her own room.
Only when he’d heard her door close and lock with a soft snick did he close his own door, getting back onto the suddenly too large–feeling bed.
Telling himself that it was actually smaller than his usual bed; he was probably just reacting to the difference.
Knowing he was lying to himself. Wondering what it would be like to have her in his own bed, his bed back at his town house.
“Good morning, Your Grace.” Edwina settled herself in the seat opposite him, keeping her gaze on the table until she knew her face wouldn’t reveal how she felt. What they had done. Anything that might indicate that their relationship was more than just a working one.
Of course there would be people who would chatter about the duke taking a female secretary anyway, and assume the worst. Or the best, from Edwina’s viewpoint. But she had confidence he would be able to quell any talk with one raised eyebrow and a disdainful, dismissive comment.
She hoped so. She wouldn’t be able to endure it if people were actually gossiping about them. Taking what they had and making it into something sordid.
“Morning, Cheltam.” His tone was businesslike as well, and she felt a pang at knowing she wouldn’t be able to hear his loverlike tones until that evening. And then? The trip would be over in a few days, and then they would be back in his mansion. With her daughter, and his staff, and all of London, likely, watching to see what the reclusive, difficult duke was going to do next.
So this might be it, the beginning and the end of it. She would not agree to leaving his employ to become his mistress, and it wouldn’t be right to engage with him under the same roof as her daughter. Not to mention the servants, whose sharp eyes and ears were bound to be scrutinizing them.
Oh, it hurt.
“Are you quite all right, Cheltam?” he asked.
She started, feeling a rush of guilt as he spoke. He should absolutely not know how she felt about him.
“Fine, Your Grace. I—I did not sleep that much,” she said, raising her eyes to his and allowing a small smile to cross her mouth.
He looked as though he wanted to laugh, but merely indulged in a raised eyebrow and a glint in his eye that made her shiver in a very interesting way.
“We are going where today?” he asked after a moment.
She picked up their itinerary. “The Right Way Railway.”
“I should refuse to make an investment purely in protest of their asinine name,” he declared in his normal high-handed voice. “But I am not so petty, so we will go see if theirs is, indeed, the Right Way.” And then he did something even more surprising than kissing her in his library, or speaking to her so graphically when they were in bed, or even tickling her when she had made fun of him.
He winked at her.
And she nearly fell over onto the floor.
As though she weren’t head over heels in love with him already—she had to admit that, because otherwise she wouldn’t be being honest with herself—and then he had to go do something so—so different from his usual self, so appealing, as to wink.
She was sunk. She should just admit that now, that there would never be another man she loved quite like this one, all irascible, intelligent, and surprising male of him.
“What would you like this morning?” the innkeeper, the same one from the previous night, stood at their table, rubbing his hands together as he waited for their reply.
“Coffee for the lady, and I would like strong ale.” He frowned, then looked at her. “Is there something else you’d like to eat?”
Now he was asking if she wanted something. As though he had suddenly developed a thoughtful streak that he was exercising only on her. She felt as though she was melting inside.
“Uh, yes. Bread and butter as well, please.” She smiled as she spoke to the innkeeper, whose gaze darted back and forth between them, as though not entirely certain what their relationship was.
Edwina wished she could reassure him that she felt that way as well.
“Of course,” the innkeeper said, beginning to turn away. “Oh, I forgot! A letter has arrived.” He withdrew the letter, clearly written on high-quality paper, and handed it to the duke. He turned away as the duke read the address, and then held it out over the table to Edwina.
“This is for you,” he said.
She took it, feeling a spark as their fingers
touched. Careful, Edwina, she admonished herself. She slid her thumb under the fold of the envelope and undid it, shaking out two pieces of paper that had brightly colored writing on them.
And smiled as she recognized Gertrude’s labored penmanship and enthusiastic doodling.
“She says she is doing just fine without me, that she has gone for ices twice already.” Edwina lifted her head and looked at him in surprise. “Twice! This had to have been written a few days ago, does that mean she’s gotten ices twice in one day already?” She shook her head. “My daughter certainly has a particular charm.”
“No more charming than her mother,” he said in a low voice meant only for her ears.
She felt those very same ears get hot as she turned pink. “Shh, you can’t say those things in public.”
“Hmph” was his only reply. “What else does she say?”
Edwina read the rest of the brief letter. “Just that she’s the one taking Chester for walks now, even though William—that’s the footman, in case you forgot—also goes, just to make sure she and Chester are safe.”
“That dog is likely getting spoiled.”
“Not more than my daughter is. It will be hard to get her to return to normal life after living at your house with your houseful of doting servants.”
She heard him take a sharp breath. “Are you leaving my employ?” he asked in a terse tone.
“No, no, I have no plans to. I just assumed—”
“What? That I would have no need of a secretary? That I would suddenly be capable of managing all of the things that needed managing? You cannot leave.” He spoke in his most autocratic voice, but it held a note of insecurity, which made her not quite as irritated as his words should have.
“At some point, Your Grace,” she said deliberately, knowing it would annoy him for her to use his honorific when it was just them speaking, “you will be married. And it would not be appropriate for me to continue working for you when you have a wife.”
Why Do Dukes Fall in Love?: A Dukes Behaving Badly Novel Page 18