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He shakes his head.
“Why not?”
One big boulder of a shoulder moves up in half a shrug as his hand keeps moving my zipper down. “Didn’t fill the void inside me. Made me feel emptier. So I stopped.”
“And tonight? Me?”
He doesn’t answer. The zipper is undone, and the Duke moves his hands to my shoulders. He slides the silver fabric over my skin, letting it puddle at my feet.
Apart from a tiny thong covering the space between my legs, I’m naked. He’s not.
His eyes darken, drinking in every inch of my body. The backs of his fingers touch my bare stomach, sending a tremor straight through my core. He runs his hand higher up, turning it around to sweep his palm over the top of my breast. His thumb teases my nipple.
I shiver, but not from the cold.
Finally, the Duke speaks. His voice is low. His eyes dark. “Tonight,” he says, “you’re mine.”
8
Ada
Reaching for the Duke’s bowtie, I unfasten it with long, slow movements. He watches, standing before me unmoving.
“If anyone were to walk in right now…”
“They won’t,” he answers, completely sure of himself.
I bite my lip, eliciting a groan from the Duke. I tug his bowtie free and lay it gently against the piano bench, then move to his shirt. Before my hands can get there, though, the Duke is unbuttoning it.
I don’t know what it is about the sight of him tugging those little white buttons open, but it sends heat ripping through my core. The broad palms. The tendons and muscles flexing over the back of his hand. The sliver of exposed chest growing wider, and wider, and wider.
When he pulls the shirt free from his pants, I suck in a hard breath.
There’s a V, and it’s glorious. Carved deep into his abdominal muscles, it leads my eyes down to the promise of something good. Crawling my gaze back up, I inhale every hard plane and sweeping muscle in front of me.
The Duke is more than a man. He’s some sort of higher being, crafted from stuff that isn’t quite human. No one can be this perfect. It’s not fair to other men. It’s not fair to my poor, ruined panties.
Reaching for his chest, I let my fingers hover an inch from his skin. Flicking my eyes up to his, I see him grin.
“You can touch. I won’t bite. Unless you want me to.”
A blush creeps over my cheeks, my fingers still hovering close enough to feel the heat of his skin, but not close enough to touch. He catches them in his hand, bringing the tips of my fingers up to his mouth. A soft kiss lands on each fingertip, and my knees knock together. I feel weak.
His eyes drink me in. They’re so green and deep with the pupils blown out, and I feel so incredibly naked and so incredibly good.
Then, the Duke parts his lips and takes the tips of my fingers in his mouth.
I melt. A breath escapes through my parted lips as my eyelids flutter, hardly able to take the closeness of someone who looks like sex incarnate. “Your Grace…”
“Heath,” he says. “Call me Heath.”
“Heath,” I repeat in a whisper, knowing from my little sister’s ramblings that he never lets anyone call him by his name. A thrill pierces my gut as the Duke—Heath—opens my palm and lays a soft kiss in the center of it.
With one step toward me, his chest brushes mine. I lean in, feeling the softness of my breasts press against the hardness of his muscle, tilting my head toward him.
I need more. I need his kiss. His hands. His cock.
I need everything he’s willing to give me.
