The Duke is Wicked (League of Lords #3) - Tracy Sumner Page 0,75
to retreat, spill outside her body, she held him close, imploring him to stay, knowing he sought to protect. If this was the only time, she wanted it all.
Every untidy piece of this affair.
A treacherous place, where she, for the single, heartbreaking instant she couldn’t call it back, loved him too much.
“What are you doing?” Sebastian murmured sleepily from where he dozed by her side, his long body curled around hers, the sheets a damp tangle around them. The bed was an unholy disaster, highlighted in the moonbeam wash leaking through the hushed chamber.
She trailed her finger over his shoulder and across his chest, his salty taste clinging to her tongue, his sweet scent a tenacious tickle in her nose. “I’m counting your scars by moonlight, Your Grace.”
He hummed and pulled her close, until her cheek met the steady beat of his heart.
Moments earlier, after the second encounter—in one night—he’d paused as they’d shuddered, seeming to consider, gazing down at her with an unfathomable expression before hauling her against his body. Pressing a fast kiss to her brow when she would’ve spoken, a wish to silence her.
He worked hard, her duke, to maintain distance in all aspects of his life.
The night had been miraculous. They’d barely finished when he’d begun again. Touching and kissing, caressing her until she was feral, her initial satiation dispelling like mist in sunlight, and bringing greater need. Greater want. She’d begged, gladly, before he’d consented and slid inside her with a lazy thrust that had nearly pushed her over the brink with its splendor.
Truthfully, she’d been reborn.
Now, they lay slumbering, breath returning, skin cooling. She stroked his hair, still so taken with the silken strands, wondering when she would feel herself again. She glowed, body flushed and molten. Sweet nothings and everythings blooming inside her chest. Her attic door closed. A rare instance when her mind, except for when Piper had touched her that one time, was calm.
“You’re in the attic,” she whispered against his moist skin. “I have a special area for you. Those stained glass windows I talked about coloring that particular corner brilliantly. You would be pleased, I think, were you able to see it.”
He exhaled against the crown of her head, the sound missing the joy of the previous hour. “I worry greatly for you. My life has been about protecting others, yet I don’t know how to protect you. Your gift…the way you disappear. Julian has a similar experience when he touches an object. And he’s had trouble returning to this side.”
Delaney shifted until she could see his face, those beautiful eyes unlocking secrets to his soul—if he would only share them. “I’ll join the League. For my protection and yours.”
“Of course, you will,” he said with all the arrogance of his title, his decision made.
She frowned, the dart of temper in her belly a warning sign. “Meaning?” She breathed hard through her nose. Here he was, the bounder, ruining a marvelous encounter, two encounters, with his conceit.
Sebastian caught the sharpness in her voice and rolled until they were face-to-face. “Don’t even think it.” He took her chin and directed her gaze to his. “We’re getting married, Delaney. Do you imagine I would ruin you and not make this offer?”
It was that statement, ruin you, that brought her heart low. She shook her head and swallowed tightly. “No, I don’t. You’re an honorable man.” When his shoulders started to relax, she rushed to add, “But you’ll have to look elsewhere for a duchess. I must politely decline.”
He worked his arm from beneath her and wrenched to a sit. “Are we truly going to do this? After—” He gestured to the decimated bed. Counterpane in a twist on the floor, sheet torn where she’d ripped it during her final orgasm. “Our clothes are scattered all over the house, Temple. If the servants didn’t hear me shouting when I arrived, they heard you. One of your four arrivals, as I recall.”
The room looked, and smelled, a convincing seduction. This was true. She’d planned to gather her belongings before the servants rose at dawn. But she couldn’t imagine, heavens, what they’d heard. Yanking the sheet to her chin, she reminded him, “My reputation is already in tatters. It’s never been anything but. You’ll have to try a different avenue of persuasion.”
He took her hand and drew it between them, cuffing it to his chest. A shackle she wouldn’t accept. Yanking it free, she shoved him back.