She scrambled to wrap her arms and legs around him, but none of it was necessary. He held her securely with his strength alone. His mouth crashed down on hers and there was only one way to describe the way his tongue tangled with hers. It was a claiming. It was dominant, forceful, thrust against hers, not allowing for any doubt of who she belonged to. Her legs tightened where they were wrapped around him and she use the wall as leverage, trying to get herself as close to him as possible.
Their mouths broke apart, chests heaving, and she stared into his wild midnight eyes. Her fingers drifted into his short locks, just enough to latch onto. “What has gotten into you tonight, Duke? I’ve never witnessed this possessive side of you before.” She rolled her bottom lip into her mouth, needing a moment because the way he was looking at her—hungry, dangerous, as though he intended to prove just how utterly she was his, body and soul—had her thoughts completely muddled. “I have to say,” she said breathlessly. “I think I quite like it.”
He pressed a tantalizingly soft kiss to her lips. But there was nothing soft in the promise that kiss made. He nuzzled along her jaw until his lips hovered by her ear. “I didn’t like the way they were looking at you,” he murmured, his voice edged with a light growl. “Like you were anoption. Like the old cove that I am, cannot keep my young duchess completely satisfied.” The growl intensified. “Questioning my virility.”
His fingers tightened on her hips. “Unbutton my breeches, Duchess.”
She cast her lids low, peering at him from beneath her lashes, her hands falling to the placket of his breeches. She let the years of perfectly proper virtuous behavior wash over her. “As you wish, Your Grace,” she murmured demurely, popping button after button free.
His lips curled back, and a deep rumbling purr left him.
She undid the last button; the placket falling away, leaving his length straining against the thin fabric of his smalls. “What are you going to do with me?” she asked softly, the innocence in her tone belied by her wandering hands dipping into his smalls and trailing softly over where he was hard and ready for her.
His heated gaze locked on hers, gripped her like a hand around her throat. “Take me out, love.”
He lifted her at the same time she freed him from his smalls. His cock slid between her legs, and her hands shot back to his shoulders to steady herself. He teasingly coasted over her, slick and sinful.
“So wet for me, Duchess.”
“Always,” she breathed.
Her heart rate kicked up each time he passed over her entrance, not knowing if that pass would finally be the time he sank home. And then he leaned forward, lips brushing, teeth grazing over the sensitive skin of her neck. “Hold on tight, Duchess. Because I’m going to fuck you until your body sings.”
He thrust home, a keening moan falling from her lips. And then there was nothing teasing, nothing unhurried about how they came together. It was rough, it was desperate, it wasviolent. And Felicity bloody loved it. Her back slammed into the wall with every thrust. She dug the heels of her slippers—one popping off and landing on the floor with athud—into the backs of his thighs, trying desperately to get closer, for him to sink deeper.
Their mouths collided; a mix of tangled tongues interspersed with guttural noises ripped from each of them as they let everything go but the pleasure they found with each other. Animalistic and raw. Her eyes rolled back as he hit that glorious spot deep inside her. Her thighs clenched like a vice around him, back pressing firmly into the wall as she held herself perfectly still while he drove into her over and over again, hitting her in a place that had stars dotting her vision. She tried to form words, but nothing but breathy moans and half sobs fell from her.
“That’s right, Duchess. Your pleasure is the sweetest symphony I’ve ever heard.” He thrust hard. “Who do you sing for?” he demanded.
“You, Duke,” she gasped out.
He drove into her even harder. “Try again,” he gritted out.
“Your Grace. I sing for you, Your Grace.”
He stilled.
No!A whimper burst from her, her hands scrambling desperately over his shoulders. Needing him to move, hit that spot, grind his hips into her. Something.Anything.
Ragged breaths surged from him, chest rising and falling rapidly, his entire body as rigid as marble. His gaze pierced into her, straight through to the essence of her. And when he spoke, his words were just as dark, just as volatile as his gaze. “Who, Felicity.”
And she finally understood exactly what he was asking for. Her hands slid to cradle his jaw, and she leaned forward until they were nearly nose to nose. “Ashely James Stuart, Duke of Devonford. I only sing for you.”
His eyes slammed shut, and a pained groan left him. “Bloody fucking right, you do.” And then his grip on her was loosening, her feet touching the ground, and he was spinning her around to face the wall.
“Hands on the wall, Lissy. Arse out.”
She did as he said, giving her arse a saucy little shake because, well, she was Felicity Jennings after all. His dark chuckle shivered over her skin and, once again, all mirth evaporated, replaced by rampant lust.
His hands dug into the flesh of her hips, tilting her for him, and he let out a low, satisfied hum. “Someone’s desperate for their duke.” He leaned forward, the heat of his body, even through his layers of clothing, surrounding her. “I can see you clenching on nothing, darling. Are you aching?” His tip notched at her entrance.
“Yes,” she hissed out, trying to push back onto him. Her patience was wearing extremely thin. Her entire core pulsed with want. She needed him back inside her. She had been so close before he pulled back and now her body was in agony, frantic for release.
“Ask nicely,” he whispered in her ear.
“Please, Ash. Fuck me already.”
His lips curved into a smile against her throat and then his weight disappeared, and he slammed into her. Her mouth dropped open on a silent cry and her fingertips curled into the wall as she braced herself against his unyielding thrusts. One of his hands slid over her hip to the front of her, but she slapped it away and saw to the task herself. There was nothing she loved more than the feeling of him sliding in and out of her.
