His hands slid from her face down her neck, her shoulders, finding the buttons of her dress. He took his time with each one, his fingers brushing against her skin with every release.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured against her lips. “Do you know that? Do you know how long I’ve wanted to do this?”
The dress loosened and slipped from her shoulders. She let it fall, pooling at her feet like spilled cream and stood before him in her stays and chemise, suddenly aware of how thin the fabric was. How much he could see.
“Look at me,” he said. She met his eyes. “You’re not just beautiful, you’re extraordinary. And tonight, I’m going to make sure you feel it.”
Heat flooded through her. “Henry?—”
“Shh.” He pressed a finger to her lips. “Let me worship you properly for I only became duke to find you and to make you duchess, worthy of everything the world has to offer.”
His hands found the laces of her stays. She expected him to rush, to fumble. Instead, he took his time, loosening each section slowly, his knuckles brushing against her ribs, making her shiver.
When the stays finally fell away, she drew in her first full breath of the evening.
“Better?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Good.” His hands settled on her waist through the thin chemise. “Because I need you to be able to breathe for what comes next.”
Before she could ask what he meant, he lowered his head and pressed his mouth to the curve of her neck. She gasped at the sensation—his lips, his tongue, the gentle scrape of teeth.
“Do you like that?” he murmured against her skin.
She let out a pleased little sound.
“Tell me if I do something you don’t like. I need to hear it.”
“I will. I promise.”
His mouth moved lower, trailing down to her collarbone, then the swell of her breast through the chemise. When his lips closed over her nipple through the fabric, she cried out.
“Good or bad?” he asked immediately.
“Good. So good.”
He did it again, this time using his tongue, wetting the fabric until it clung to her. The sensation was maddening—pleasure and frustration all at once.
“Henry, please?—”
“Please what?” He lifted his head to look at her. “Tell me what you need.”
“I need”—she flushed—“I don’t know how to ask.”
“Then show me.”
She caught the hem of her chemise and lifted it just enough to bare one breast.
His eyes went dark. “Perfect. You’re absolutely perfect.”
This time when his mouth closed over her nipple, nothing lay between them. Just skin on skin, heat on heat. She threaded her fingers through his hair, holding him to her.
He took his time, learning what made her gasp, what made her moan. When he finally lifted his head, she was trembling.
“We need to get you out of the rest of this.” He tugged at the chemise.
She helped him pull it over her head. Now she stood before him completely bare. She fought the urge to cover herself. To hide.
