The Duke Goes Down (The Duke Hunt #1) - Sophie Jordan Page 0,59

his eyes quickly scanning her face, reading her quick wave of tension. He retreated, moving his hand back to her thigh, stroking and kneading her flesh, winding her up again until she was panting. Until a gnawing ache pulsed between her legs.

His velvety voice continued near her ear, spiking fresh chills down her neck. “I would lavish kisses on all this sweet skin. Like this.”

He dropped down, and she sighed in pleasure at the lingering kiss he bestowed on the inside of one knee, and then the other.

Yes. Pleasure. She felt it. Just as he had promised.

Just as he said he could deliver.

She continued to feel that pleasure as he settled between her legs and began raining kisses all over her thighs. Everywhere. The insides. The outsides. The undersides. He rolled her over and kissed the back of her knees—openmouthed kisses where his tongue licked her sensitive skin. Skin she never knew was so sensitive.

She was a wreck, discomposed and panting, flattening her palms against the cool stone.

“I’ll kiss and touch you . . . all over.” His hands drifted up the backs of her thighs, his broad palms finding the bared cheeks of her bottom, smoothing over the plump flesh and squeezing. The pressure sent her over the edge. She moaned, tilting her hips, pushing up into his hands, brazen and shameless and not the least bit self-conscious because it felt too good.

Even with her small bit of experience all those summers ago, she never knew that intimacy could be like this, that it could be so . . . intimate.

He gripped both cheeks, kneading and massaging, sending sensation blasting through her. Her back arched and her fingers curled, nails digging into rock.

Moisture rushed between her legs and her moans broke into a hoarse, rattled cry that did not sound like her. It did not even sound human. She was something else, another creature born of primeval need and fierce desire.

He rolled her over. She fell limply onto her back, her bones reduced to pudding. She chased after her breath as little ripples of sensation eddied through her.

His hands slid around her hips and dragged her closer, bringing her to him like a feast to be devoured.

She lifted her head weakly, attempting to peer down at him.

His face was there, between her thighs, his gray eyes as dark and feral as a beast intent on its next meal, and that meal was Imogen. It was as disconcerting as it was thrilling. Her hand lunged for his head, her fingers diving into his thick hair.

“What are you . . .” She stopped abruptly, shivering as she felt his warm breath lightly blowing on her.

She squirmed and fidgeted, aware of how very wet she was down there—and that he could see that for himself. Mortified, she opened her mouth and choked out, “You should not do this.” Men did not do this sort of thing. People did not do this. Did they?

He stilled, the breeze of his breath halting as he spoke. “Why shouldn’t I?”

“It’s . . .” She groped for the proper word and settled for the truth. “Embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing?” he echoed, surprise lacing his voice. “There’s nothing embarrassing about this pretty quim.” He stroked a finger down her exposed flesh and she whimpered. “Or all the things I want to do to it.”

She moistened her lips. Curious. Intrigued. Tempted.

“Like what?” she heard herself ask, the question coming from some place deep inside herself where secrets and long-buried longings dwelled.

What was she doing asking such a thing? It was practically an invitation.

She was inviting him . . . this boy she once despised who was now a man that she . . . well. She did not know what she felt for him now. It was suddenly very complicated.

“Like this,” he answered.

Then his head went down, and his face was there, buried between her quivering thighs, his mouth directly on her, hot and ravenous, devouring her.

“Oh. My!” She arched her spine, using the flat of her palm to push up off her rock bed.

He flattened his hand on her abdomen, pinning her for his hungry mouth. The pressure of his lips and tongue on her was too much. His tongue was everywhere. Taking deep sliding licks on her sex, slow and savoring, before arrowing in on the little bud nestled at the top of her mound.

She had noticed it was sensitive before—when washing herself, but she had never given herself to exploration before. Clearly she should have done so because it