Scoundrel of My Heart (Once Upon a Dukedom #1) - Lorraine Heath Page 0,87

so that for now shouldn’ts no longer mattered.

He didn’t take her mouth gently, but claimed it with a fury equal to that of a tempest that had the strength to destroy ships. Powerful, strong, determined to have its way. She desperately wanted him to have his way with her.

Even if this was wrong. But how could it be when it felt so right, when she was so comfortable with her body flattened against his while he devoured? She could taste the whisky on his tongue, was certain he could taste the brandy on hers.

She scraped her fingers up through his hair, remembering how the wind off the sea had blown it into disarray. Every aspect of Kent reminded her of him. She wouldn’t be able to return here after tonight, because every facet of him would make her want him. Again. Forever.

But she was following Wilhelmina’s advice, taking once for herself what a proper lady should not have. The rough and scarred hands of a man she couldn’t marry skimming over her, weakening her knees until she wondered how she was able to stand.

She released the tiniest of squeals when he lifted her and tumbled them both onto the bed, his body coming to rest halfway over her.

“I used to imagine your hair across my pillow.” Combing his fingers through it, he spread the strands out over the pillow where her gloves rested. “So incredibly beautiful. I wanted to do this that night you unraveled your plait for me.” After gathering up her tresses until they filled his hand and spilled over, he buried his face in them. “So soft. So thick.”

“I’ve always loved your eyes, the same shade as Althea’s, but I’ve never wanted to stare into hers. I think because yours always have a bit of wickedness twinkling in them, as though you’re thinking thoughts that should never be said aloud.”

“Hmm.” He trailed his mouth up and down her throat, over and over, moving along it only an inch at a time. “You smell of oranges. I love eating oranges. That’s probably what I’m thinking when my eyes are twinkling. I’m thinking of feasting on you.”

“I can be tart sometimes.”

He lifted his head, grinned at her. “I like tart.”

She scraped her fingers along his jaw, loving the rasp of his stubble. “Take all of me tonight,” she whispered.

His growl, unrestrained, unfettered, echoed around them as he brought his mouth back to hers and took possession of it as though he owned it already—and perhaps he did. Because when he was near, she thought about kissing him. When he was away, she thought about kissing him. No other man had ever stirred her as he did.

Then they were exploring each other with abandon. Hands and tongues, fingers and mouths. She loved the various textures of him, loved that all was available to her.

Second thoughts and guilt might come later, and she would deal with them then. But she would never regret her brazen move or his groans of pleasure, of want. She would never forget the way he’d looked at the timepiece as though she’d given him the most precious thing in all the world. She would never forget the manner in which he’d looked at her: as though she was the most precious person in all the world.

As he gave attention to her breast, kissing and licking the pink bud that pearled for him, she moaned, deep in her throat, creating a vibration that traveled through her chest and lower, to the secretive spot that she had guarded with chastity. Suddenly it seemed to be screaming for release, release that he would provide.

Tenderly, he parted her folds. “You’re so wet. Ready for me.”

He lifted himself up, and she felt him nudging at her entrance. Slipping her arms beneath his, around his sides, she dragged her fingers along his powerful back, a back that had hefted crates and sacks on the docks. While others might have seen the labor as beneath him, the son of a duke, she saw it as his determination to survive. He would do what had to be done. It was one of the reasons she knew he would have success here. He was not the laggard that people—she, to her shame—had assumed. He would make his way; he would succeed.

He eased his way into her, slowly, inch by inch, the breadth of him filling her, stretching her. She pressed her feet flat, her knees bent, creating a cradle for him, and pushed herself up