The Duke Heist (The Wild Wynchesters #1) - Erica Ridley Page 0,75

within her, sharp and luxurious. Her legs trembled and her body pulsed with need. She was almost at her peak.

“I want…” she panted. Her fingers dug into the cushions of the sofa. “I need…”

Without lifting his tongue from the little nub, he slid his hand between her legs and filled the ache with his fingers. Her body responded at once, the twin pleasures radiating through her. She came apart against his mouth and fingers, exploding like a distant star in the heavens.

Only once the tremors ceased did he climb atop the sofa to nestle her to his chest.

“What are you doing?” she whispered, once she found her voice.

He brushed a damp tendril from her forehead. “Cuddling with you.”

“Stop it at once,” she demanded. “We aren’t finished.”

His eyes were dark with desire. He stroked her hair, her cheek. “You’ve no idea how deeply I yearn to bury myself between your thighs. You may not care about your reputation, but I shall not defile you.”

She wiggled beneath him, coaxing their hips to align. There was no sense saving one’s virginity for a prince who would never arrive. She had never planned to marry. A wise woman took what she could when she had the means to do so. The man she wanted was in her arms. There was nothing to stop them.

“I want you to make love to me.” Her voice was husky, unrecognizable with desire. She trailed a fingernail down his back. “I know what I’m asking and what it means. This moment is about taking what we want, not what others think we should have. You’re worth it. So am I.”

He propped himself up on one elbow, his eyes glinting.

He did not look convinced, but he was close. The wildness in his eyes made him look as though he wanted to pounce upon her, rend her gown from her flesh, and show her exactly what ravish meant. He was holding himself back by a thread. A single, solitary, gossamer thread.

She could snap it with one touch…

“You once told me not to uncage you unless that was what I wanted.” She ran her hands up his strong arms. “It’s what I want.”

He brushed his knuckles against the underside of her bosom. Her breasts tightened, the peaks hardening. His lips parted as though he wanted to taste them just as he’d devoured her below.

“Besides”—she tugged his shirt free from his waistband—“it’s not ‘defiling’ if I’m begging you to finish what you start. It’s an act of mercy.” She skimmed her fingertips across the hard planes of his stomach and felt the muscles jump. “A true gentleman would not hesitate to bring pleasure to us both.”

His breath caught, his eyes hot and his voice raw. “If my very honor depends upon finding release with you…”

“It does,” she assured him. She slid a finger down the seam of his fall. “I shall be quite piqued if we walk away now.”

“Well, I cannot have you piqued with me,” he murmured, and slid his hand to where his fingers and tongue had been moments earlier, this time keeping his gaze locked on hers to see just how deeply he affected her.

She could hide nothing. Her body was still slick and sensitive, more than ready for his touch. She moaned as the welcome teasing sensation quickly spun the pressure inside her higher and higher.

A sense of power filled her. He was no more capable of walking away than she was. He craved her just as she craved him, had feasted upon her and still hungered for more. In seconds he would have her back at the edge of need, teetering on the precipice.

“No.” She reached for the buttons of his fall. “Not without you this time.”

Eyes glittering, he flung his linen shirt from his chest in a single movement.

She had not realized the sight would be so erotic. His skin was hot and inviting, the hard muscles twitching beneath the light pressure of her fingertips as though her touch brought both pleasure and pain.

He caught her hands and pinned them to the cushion as he covered her mouth with his. She should feel trapped and helpless, but instead her body quickened with exhilaration, relishing the promise of his possession, eager to join as one. She let her legs fall apart in invitation.

When his hands released her wrists from their sensual prison, she immediately sank her fingers into his hair, marking him as he had marked her. His hair was disheveled because of her hands, her thighs. His