Say No to the Duke (The Wildes of Lindow Castle #4) - Eloisa James Page 0,85

me again, Jeremy. You and I are here, and this is the way it’s going to be. I’ll follow you wherever you go.”

Seeing a flicker in his eyes, she added, “Yes, to Bedlam, but you won’t go there. I’ll wave sausages under your nose until you wake up.”

“You could just take me into the bedroom and undress before me, slowly,” he suggested. “I’ll come back to my senses.”

“What if I undressed you instead?” She gave him an impish smile and tightened her hand.

A rough sound erupted from his throat. “You could do that,” he managed.

“What about this?”

His answer was a hoarse curse. And then: “Enough, unless you want to unman me.”

“It’s more the opposite,” Betsy said, giggling. But she brought her hands back to his chest. He had a scattering of black hair that arrowed down his stomach. “This feels wonderful against my breasts,” she whispered, arching to press her taut nipples against him.

Their groans entwined, the breathless, rapturous echo of bodily pleasure.

“I have to see your breasts,” he said, moving to the side and slowly easing her nightgown up her legs and then over her head.

“You don’t know how many times I’ve traced their curves in my head, imagined these.” His fingers shaped her. “You’re so much softer than I could have imagined,” he whispered. His fingers reached her nipples, and her breath quickened.

“There’s a wonderful bit in Romeo and Juliet,” he murmured. “Let lips do what hands do, or something like that.”

Betsy closed her eyes. His warm mouth was tracing a pattern on her right breast, coming closer to her nipple and then falling away until she was shivering with anticipation. Even so, his rough lick startled her into a throaty sound that turned to a moan.

One large hand held her breast, and as if his fingers were hers, she felt the heavy weight of its curve, the silky feel of her skin. Heat forked through her as if the veins of her body had dissolved and her body had become a conduit for sparks and fire.

She found herself arching instinctively, pushing her breast more firmly into his caress, silently begging for a rougher touch. He responded instantly, his mouth tightening into a delicious pull that made her cry out, her hips writhing, one knee coming up as she turned toward him. Eyes still shut, her hands blindly closed on his shoulders, taut muscles flexing under her touch.

Betsy was gasping for air by the time Jeremy raised his head, his eyes hungry but with a gleam of satisfaction. Betsy could feel sweat on her forehead and behind her knees, which was disconcerting and slightly embarrassing.

Jeremy smiled, a slow, happy smile. “Hello, you,” he said, his voice a rasp.

Betsy managed to catch her breath, but she was still reverberating inside from his smile. “We should marry and stay in bed all day,” she whispered, tracing his lips with her fingers. His tongue swept over her fingertips and she shivered again.

“Mmm,” he groaned, and rolled on top of her again, his thumb rubbing over her nipple and his tool throbbing against her legs. With a throaty moan she arched, rubbing herself against him.

He said something, husky and too low for hearing, and took her mouth in a kiss that had her shaking and pressing against him desperately.

In the back of her mind her hunger led to a flare of alarm. Was she being too—too forward? It seemed a ridiculous thought to be having at this precise moment, but it wasn’t easy to cast off years of determination to make certain her husband never thought she found bed play pleasurable.

Embarrassment flooded her and she pulled away from his kiss. She felt suddenly messy and sweaty.

“I would spend my life in bed with you, if you asked me to,” Jeremy said, his eyes on hers. He braced himself on his elbows, nipped her ear, and whispered, “I’m enthralled, in case you haven’t noticed, Bess. I’m at your feet, or I would be if you wanted it. Perhaps you do want it?”

She bit her lip, trying to think what a lady would say. He didn’t wait, just moved down the bed and began kissing her toes, and then suckled one, which made her squeal—and lose the embarrassment that was making her shoulders tight.

“Exquisite,” Jeremy said, his teeth nipping her right toes. “Were I a shoemaker, I would weep with joy to make shoes for this foot.”

Betsy began giggling, joy mixed with burning desire, which came back as if it hadn’t been quenched by