The Duke is Wicked (League of Lords #3) - Tracy Sumner Page 0,82

brought me here on purpose. Very unjust, Tremont.”

“Maybe I did,” he snapped, grabbing a rag from the bench as he passed it and scrubbing the tattered linen across his face. She’d love to tell him, without soap and water, he’d no hope to repair the damage. But he looked incredibly virile, her dirty, devilish duke.

Swearing beneath his breath, he roamed three circles of the orangery until he halted before her. He opened his mouth, seemed to search his mind, tunneled his fingers through his hair, rocked back on his heels. Gave the Soul Catcher a toss between his hands. “To hell with it,” he murmured, walking her back against the door jamb, his hand going to cup her cheek as his lips captured hers. His body was blazing like one of his blasted fires, igniting her own. The scent of smoke and pure Sebastian rolling off of him in waves. Need and desperation rolling off of him in waves. He moved in, shifting, until they were connected in all the best places, the places she liked.

Directing her with his hand at her nape, exactly where he wanted her, how he liked.

For the first time, he didn’t ask. Didn’t hesitate, didn’t touch her tenderly. This was feral, uncontrolled hunger mixed with fragments of fear and hopelessness.

They fell into the kiss, lips parting, tongues tangling. Tipping her head back as he drew her nightgown high in impatient fistfuls. They stumbled into the bench, walking backward until they hit the settee, and falling in a tangle of arms and legs on it. He pinned her with his weight, his cock hard and heavy, her aroused cry as he ground against her echoing through the orangery.

He lifted his head, his eyes hot as he ripped at the buttons on his trouser close and pulled himself free. Then his fingers found her, delving, searching, sliding, one finger, two, until her lids fluttered. Until the pinpricks of sensation started at her feet and traveled north, seizing her entire body. Reaching, she wrapped her hand around his pulsing length and placed him at her core.

They had practiced this dance until they were skilled and efficient.

“Stay with me,” he whispered, and worked inside her in relentless degrees, with a shift of his hips, stretching and filling her until they were pelvis to pelvis. “I want to see you, all of you when you crest.” He dipped his head, releasing a groan that glided across her collarbone. “I’m not going to…leave you this time.”

Rocking into her, slowly, deeply, they found a delightful rhythm, an elemental push and pull. Again, then again, over and over as sparks lit her eyelids and forced the blood through her veins.

She opened her eyes when he emitted a throaty sound, a frantic call that, alone, could have made her come. His head tipped back, his throat working, a bead of sweat trailing down his temple. As shaken as she’d ever seen him.

Wrapping her legs around his waist, she brought him close. Brought him home.

Then they set themselves free.

His hand at her hip, cupping her breast, thumbing her aroused nipple. Arm snaking beneath her, shifting her body for purchase. Her fingers in his hair, winding and tightening as he stroked tenderly, then with greater urgency. Skin damp, kisses deep. Bodies grinding, moans circling. She nipped the sensitive spot where his neck and shoulder met, and a rough breath shot from his lips, “Again.” She complied and arched into him, taking him deeper.

When he knew she was close, he worked his hand between their bodies and touched her with his calloused fingertip, grazing, circling. A shower of pleasure rained down, and she cried out, flashes of color lighting her vision, her body contracting around him, a series of intense contractions that made him lose control, his pleasure riding just behind hers. His raw whisper rang through her ears as he thrust fast and sure, the muscles in his arms tensing, his flexed bicep bumping her cheek.

While working through his delight, he extended hers.

She returned from her pleasurable haze to find him braced on his forearms above her, chest hitching, hair a silken shroud around his face. The Soul Catcher had rolled from his pocket and lay beside them, an array of pale yellow facets striking the side of his face. Their muted exhalations mingled, the only sound aside from the slap of a branch against the orangery window panes. Pressing his forehead to hers, he reclaimed her mouth in a rough, impassioned kiss. “I love you,”