Who Wants to Marry a Duke - Sabrina Jeffries Page 0,38

Then he lifted her onto the table and sat her right down on the journals.

“Thorn!” she cried. “Be careful!”

“I will, sweeting.” He spread the upper part of her redingote open. “I’d never hurt you, you know.”

“That’s not . . . what I meant.” Her breathing quickened as he lowered one cup of her stays. Then he untied the gathered neckline of her shift so he could ungather it, so to speak, and drag it down to expose her bare bounty to his eyes and fingers.

And mouth.

Oh, God, yes. He bent his head to suck her and thought surely he’d died and gone to Paradise. She smelled of jasmine here, too, and he feared he might come right in his trousers. Which were becoming painfully tight at the moment.

He shifted her a little, and she caught his shoulders. “When I said ‘be careful,’ I meant . . . I meant . . .”

The words left her brain, apparently, once he began flicking his tongue over her bare nipple and lightly pinching the other one through her clothes. At this moment, it wouldn’t take much for him to lift her skirts and explore her lovely quim, too.

God save him, but he desired her most powerfully. It was madness, he knew, yet he couldn’t get the thought of bedding her out of his randy brain.

No, it wasn’t his brain doing the thinking right now, but his cock. And damn, if he didn’t want to give it free rein.

Chapter Seven

A thousand thoughts rushed through Olivia’s head, but only one kept pushing its way to the front.

More. Now. Yes. Good.

If her brain would stop chanting that, she might remember why she’d been cautioning him. But that seemed impossible at present. Because he was treating her breasts to such sucks and nips and astonishing licks of his tongue that she wanted to swoon.

She never swooned.

And all the while that he was devouring her naked breast, he was fondling the other one through her clothes. It drove her to distraction.

Was this supposed to feel so wonderful? Or was he simply that good at being a rakehell? Because if this was what he’d been learning to do all this time, it was a pity she’d stopped going into society to avoid him. She might have run into him and had this sooner.

“You taste delicious,” he rasped against her breast. “I could fondle and suck you for hours.”

“That would be . . . unwise.”

“This, right now, is unwise.” He lazily traced her areola with his tongue. “Hasn’t stopped me, though.”

Or her. Mama had once warned her it was the woman’s responsibility to keep a man’s urges in check. If that were true, Olivia was clearly very bad at it.

But she had urges, too, and he was rousing every . . . blessed . . . one. Like her urge to smell him, which she indulged by kissing the top of his head and taking in the scent of sandalwood in his hair. Like her urge to touch him, which she indulged by sliding her hands inside his coat to feel his magnificent muscles straining against his waistcoat.

“God, yes,” he growled. “Here.” He tugged one of her hands down to the middle of his trousers and flattened it over a strange protuberance there.

“Is that a codpiece?” she asked.

He choked out a laugh. “Something like that.”

“I didn’t think men wore those anymore.”

“Just rub it. Up and down.”

The moment she did she realized it was flesh . . . a man’s flesh, and rather thick, too. Not to mention, reactive. It seemed to expand the more she stroked it.

“Does rubbing it . . . feel good?” she asked.

“Oh, yes.” His eyes slid shut. “Like a bloody good dream. Like Paradise.” He sighed heavily. “I could . . . rub you like that, if you want.”

“I don’t have a rod of flesh like yours.”

“Thank God. Doesn’t mean you have nothing else to rub.” He began dragging her skirts up. “Here. I’ll show you.”

He shifted her on the table again, or perhaps she slid on the notebooks. But next thing she knew, something fell off the end of the table and crashed. One look in that direction, and her haze of pleasure evaporated. She knew what was in that jar, and it wouldn’t be long before . . .

She shoved him hard. “Let me down. I have to take care of this. Now!”

“We can just clean up the glass later, sweeting.”

Wriggling past him, she slid off the table. “You don’t understand. That glass jar