Page 29 of Five Nights to Claim His Duchess

She cleared her throat again.

“Shall we go to bed, then?”

“This is the third night, Duchess.”

Her heart missed.

She did not look at him. She looked at her own hands and found that they had gone quite still, the way a rabbit goes still.

He shifted nearer. She felt the whole warm length of him come closer without so much as a sound.

“Are you ready, wife?”

Diana swallowed. Slowly, she nodded.

He came closer still. She felt the bed give, and she went back onto her elbows, and then onto the pillow, and her heart was going so hard now that she could feel it in her throat, and he came over her, unhurried, one hand set down beside her shoulder.

He was smiling.

“The last time I kissed you,” he said, “did you like it?”

Diana’s face went hot.

Do not answer that. But her body had already answered it. It came back at once, the hunger of it, his teeth on her lip and his hand at her throat and the shameless way she had come apart in his hands and clutched at his shirt and made a sound she had not known she could make.

“Did you?” he said.

Slowly, she nodded.

“Shall we do it again?”

He drew closer still, the mattress dipping beneath his weight until the length of his body hovered over hers like a promise. Diana did not resist. How could she, when every inch of her skin seemed to yearn toward him? His hand cupped her cheek with a gentleness that stole her breath, and then his mouth claimed hers. It was a press that deepened as his tongue swept along the seam of her lips. She parted for him on a trembling sigh, welcoming the intimate invasion.

Oh, how I have missed this. The thought rose unbidden, flooding her with heat. The memory of their last kiss had haunted her. It was rough and consuming, leaving her shattered and restless in the dark. But this… this was different. Tender yet insistent, a savoring that made her blood sing. Her hands rose of their own accord to clutch at his shoulders, the fine linen of his shirt warm beneath her palms. She wanted more. She wanted him, his strength, his certainty, the way he saw through every polite facade she had ever worn. The realization sent a fresh wave of lust curling in her belly, shameful and exhilarating all at once.

He lowered her to the bed as he kissed her, his tongue stroking deep into her mouth with mastery, tasting, claiming. She went willingly, her elbows giving way until her back met the cool linens, her nightgown twisting about her legs. Her heart thundered so fiercely she feared he must feel it.

“Do you want me to please you, Duchess?” he murmured against her lips, the words a velvet rumble that vibrated through her very core.

Diana swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. Desire warred with the remnants of maidenly modesty, but the ache between her thighs won. “Yes,” she whispered at last.

A slow smile curved his mouth, the one that made her knees weak even when she stood. He began to loosen the ties of her nightgown with deft fingers, drawing the delicate fabric down over her shoulders, baring her to the cool night air and his heated gaze.

“Duchess,” he said softly, that smile deepening, “you must speak. Always.”

“Yes,” she breathed again, the admission sending a fresh pulse of heat through her.

He kissed her once more, thorough and possessive, and his warm hands began their exploration. No one had ever touched her with such intent. His palms skimmed over the swell of her breasts, cupping their weight, and she arched into him despite herself. When his fingers found her nipples and squeezed, rolling them with exquisite care, a groan escaped him, sending a bolt of pure lust straight to her core.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, his voice husky.

She nodded, biting her lip at the sharp pleasure-pain that only heightened her longing.

He bent his head and caught her earlobe between his teeth, nipping gently. She winced, a soft gasp fleeing her.

“Speak,” he commanded, the word warm against her skin.

“It hurts, Your Grace,” she gasped, though the hurt was a delicious one, feeding the fire building within her.