Anna Campbell - What a Duke Dares

She shifted restlessly. “Oh, Harry…”

His tongue teased her nipple as his hands drifted down her flanks to her waist and the alluring flare of her hips. Finally, unable to wait, he slipped his hand between her legs. He stroked the satiny folds, finding the place that made her gasp and tremble. Taking encouragement, he touched her over and over until she cried out and gushed over his fingers. When he raised his head, her eyes were dark and her face was flushed. Her parted lips were full and red.

“Sophie?”

She blinked as if returning from far away. “I liked that.” Her slender throat worked as she swallowed. “Can you do it again?”

Triumph surged. “Shall I try?”

Her flush became more hectic. “Harry, I feel… empty without you.”

Immediately he understood. Hunger vied with his overwhelming need to cherish her. For all her vitality and eagerness, she seemed fragile. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

She pressed so close to where he wanted her. Every time she moved, he struggled not to penetrate her. “I want you.”

Rapidly he reached a point where he needed to take the final step in this dance or leave the house. Given his state of undress, that would give the good residents of Russell Square something to talk about.

Very gently, he slid one finger into her. His belly contracted at how tight she was. He stroked her deep, feeling her clench. He used two fingers, making her pant for air. She was sleek and wet and her scent sharpened with need.

He stroked her until she quaked under the intimate caress, then he withdrew and propped himself above her. She raised her knees and tilted her chin with a defiant gesture that was so familiar, so beloved, that his pounding heart skipped a beat. Still, careful of her innocence, he eased forward. He inched inside until she’d accepted the head completely. She quivered and dug her fingers into his arms.

He kissed her until she relaxed. He pushed further. She breathed in gusts. A line appeared between her fine blond eyebrows.

“Should I stop?” he grated.

She shook her head and he felt her brace. Her tightening body blasted him with pleasure. “You’ll split in two if you stay this rigid.”

“This isn’t very… nice.” She closed her eyes on a wince.

“Sophie, I can stop.” He wasn’t sure he could. But he’d try. Dear heaven, he’d try. His carnal nature yelped denial at the prospect of chaste adoration. Having touched her body and witnessed her pleasure, it seemed the direst punishment.

“Don’t… stop.” To back up that choked command, she angled her hips, drawing him deeper.

“I must.” Sweat covered his skin and his muscles ached. His teeth must be ground to powder.

“No.” She clasped his buttocks. Her touch made him shake.

“Sophie, I’m sorry,” he muttered in a mixture of despair and unworthy pleasure. “I’m so sorry.”

On a deep groan, he thrust forward. She jolted at the invasion and released a soft cry. He closed his eyes and basked in heavenly completion. He felt part of her. They were united in a way that extended beyond words. No man could sunder them now.

He lowered, supporting his weight on his hands. Nuzzling her cheek, he pressed his chest into her breasts. She remained still and silent. He told himself to retreat. But he’d exhausted control. Instead, he stretched above Sophie in delight and self-hatred, and wondered despairingly whether she’d ever forgive him.

She moved. She probably wanted to shove him away and order him never to touch her again. He couldn’t blame her. The fact that it was good—beyond good—for Harry was irrelevant. Or at least so he told himself.

Then unbelievably, she slid her arms around his back. And Harry, who thought he couldn’t love this girl more, broke into a whole new universe of love. “My darling—” he sighed against the curve of her neck.

Not satisfied with that one astoundingly generous act, she shifted, settling him deeper. Heat speared him. He stared down at her. “I love you, Sophie.”

She was pale and still didn’t look like she enjoyed herself, but she summoned a smile. Not her most convincing effort, but he appreciated her trying. “I love you, Harry.”

He pulled away then pushed in. She hid a wince.

“I’m hurting you.”

“A little, but it’s better than it was.” She tightened her grip on his back as though afraid he meant to leave.

As if he could. He kept up the gentle undulation. It gave him blazing pleasure. Surely it must work on her. But still she lay like a frozen doll.

He was about to give up and spill himself on her belly when she released a sob that sounded more like delight than pain. He kissed her and this time she responded with a hint of enthusiasm. When he moved, she clenched in welcome.

With the next thrust, she rose to meet him and joy exploded behind his eyes like victory fireworks. She released a long moan that was a plea for more.

At last.

He couldn’t hold on much longer. Her eyes closed. Her features were strained. She started to shudder. Her nails scraped his back. The sting seared like flame.

On a massive groan, he pumped hard and furious, sealing their union.

Cam stepped closer to Pen and cradled her marvelous face between his hands. There was such character there. Beauty of course, but much more. Intelligence. Generosity. Strength. She’d been an exceptional child and she’d grown into an exceptional woman. The right woman for him. Too good for him, by God, but he wouldn’t complain to destiny about that.

Nine years ago, he’d known himself better than he’d realized. Proposing to Penelope Thorne was the smartest thing he’d ever done.

His earliest memories were of lies and conflict and his parents’ selfishness. In the perpetual war between the late duke and duchess, their child’s welfare hadn’t counted for a farthing. Cam had learned young that people deceived and betrayed and destroyed. As he’d grown up, a few outstanding men like Richard and Simon, and later Jonas, had earned his friendship and trust—up to a point. But the deepest core of him always remained closed to intimacy.

Until tonight. Until Penelope had described a man he didn’t recognize as himself and with a ringing sincerity that had melted the ice in his soul. She’d been chipping away at that ice since they’d met in Italy, but now he could no longer keep her out of that bastion of isolation deep inside him.

He trusted his wife. Completely. Unconditionally. Unquestioningly.

His heart expanded as he remembered her standing up to those shrews. “You made me feel like a hero tonight, Penelope,” he whispered, kissing her between her dark eyebrows. “Thank you.”

She shook her head. “Cam, you’ve always been my hero. You must know that. When I was a little girl, I followed you around like a duckling follows its mother.”

“That was many years ago.”

Characteristic humor lit her seriousness. “Not that many!”

“I rather like hearing that I’m still your hero.”

“You saved me from the bandits.” She sent him a glance beneath her lashes.

“I did indeed.”

“And from the waves.”

“That too,” he said, although he couldn’t laugh about nearly losing her to the sea. He still had nightmares about catching uselessly at her hair before the current ripped her away. He’d wake sweating and terrified.

“And I’m hoping you’ll now save me from a dull evening.”

He smiled at her, enchanted anew. “Let me remedy your boredom, Your Grace.”

He kissed her with openmouthed enthusiasm. She kissed him back with unfettered eagerness. She gave a soft squeak of surprise as he lifted her and carried her to the huge bed where they’d already rattled the gates of heaven.

“You look so smug,” she said with a delicious gurgle of laughter. She linked her hands around his neck and tugged at the hair brushing his collar.

“I’m a hero. My wife told me so.” Gently he laid her across the bed, her legs dangling over the edge. She rose on her elbows and slid back until he caught one slender ankle. “Don’t move.”

“Cam?” she asked uncertainly.

“I want to give you pleasure.”

“You have.”

“There’s more.”

“I doubt I’ll survive more.”

He smiled as he untied the ribbons around her ankle and slid one green silk slipper off. “Be strong.”

She lay back in silent acquiescence. He released her garter and slid her stocking down, then lifted her foot to kiss her instep. The fragrance of her skin filled his senses, a tantalizing hint of what was to come. He hid a sly smile and gave the other foot the same attention. He flicked his tongue across her toes until she shivered.

The glassy look in her eyes betrayed her enjoyment. Anticipation surged like a cavalry charge. He tossed her skirts up, revealing her drawers. With one rip, they were in shreds.

“Cam!” she gasped in shock, jerking up on her elbows.

“I’ll buy you more.” He drew her forward until her hips balanced on the edge of the mattress. Her dark curls glistened and the scent of her arousal rose to tease his nostrils.

“Good thing I married a rich man.” She lay back, tangling her hands in the sheets.

“Very wise, my dear.”

He wasn’t entirely joking. This week, he’d torn three pairs of drawers, ruined two gowns, and left a nightdress in tatters. Their battle for supremacy had been tough on her wardrobe.

Yet tonight he discovered that he’d always sought an equal, not a subordinate.

“What are you doing?” she asked nervously.

He kneeled on the floor between her legs. Her scent was earthy, luscious, familiar. Like her daytime self, but richer, more evocative. “Admiring the duchess.”

He lifted his head from contemplating her secret places. She really was lovely. She was particularly lovely sleek with desire.

“The duchess is blushing.” She reached to shield herself.

He caught her hand and placed a kiss on each fingertip, then set her hand beside her hip. Before she could protest, he bent his head and licked her cleft.

Her flavor flooded his mouth. Salty and female and succulent. Like a delicious exotic fruit.

She shuddered and her thighs spread wider. He loved that she didn’t hide her reaction. He licked her again, lingering at the sensitive flesh above her sex.

She whimpered and wriggled. “That’s indecent.”

He smiled into this hidden place and began to nip and suck and kiss her, taking her so far but stopping short of release. She dug her fingers into his hair, pulling hard.

“You leave me no inch of privacy,” she protested.

He smiled into the soft skin of her thigh. “I’m a very thorough man, darling.”

Her choked laugh ended on a gasp as he nipped her and returned to his exploration.

“Please, please,” she moaned, rippling toward him.

He fluttered his tongue and felt her clench. The sounds of her pleasure filled his ears. Despite his fantasies, he’d never imagined how powerful this act would prove. Holding her thighs, he plunged his tongue into her. He increased the pressure, biting gently at the sleek, swollen flesh until she moaned. Then he drew her into his mouth and she convulsed on a choked cry of completion.

Eventually he raised his head. With one shaking hand, he wiped his mouth. Pen sprawled sideways across the bed, looking completely debauched and more beautiful than he’d ever seen her. Her face was rosy. Her extravagant blue gown was rumpled. Her ebony hair tumbled about her shoulders. Her long white legs spread in ungainly abandon.

Surely a woman who gave herself so wholeheartedly to physical satisfaction could hold nothing back. He placed a kiss on one smooth white thigh and rose above her, his hands flat against the mattress.

Her black eyes found his immediately and he read warmth and trust and affection. And pleasure.

And far away in the starry darkness, a closed door.

Harry stirred from his doze. At his side, Sophie curled, warm, soft, and boneless. His hand idly traced patterns over her bare shoulder.

For two, the chaise was delightfully cramped. In the grate, the fire burned down. He should tend to it. The idea drifted into his mind and drifted out again. His contentment left no room for anything but the beautiful girl who had just shown him the shining path to ecstasy.

A carriage rattled past on the quiet street and like that, the imperatives of real life jabbed him to alertness. He had no idea what time it was and his pocket watch was in his coat across the room. But he knew that the hour approached when Sophie must return to Leath House if she meant to continue the pretense that she’d been at the British Museum.