Page 55 of How to Tempt a Duke

Charles ought to have resisted. God knew, he should have gently pushed her away. In truth, he had every intention of doing so—until she boldly sucked his tongue and gave a low, hungry moan. Her body melted against his, a delicious pressure against the strain of desire aching in his groin.

Dear Lord.

He was helpless against the lure of lust. His arms came around her, pulling her even tighter to him. Her hips pressed to his, against the impossible hardness aching here, and she gasped. Her hands slid up his back as she brought them closer still.

They kissed with lips and tongues and the careful grazing of teeth, until their panting breaths tangled with one another. He ran his hands over her body, gliding over the silk as he caressed her narrow waist and cupped the delicious curve of her bottom. She arched her pelvis against his and sent waves of pleasure through him from the hot friction.

She kissed his jaw, then his neck, and ever so delicately nipped the skin just below his ear. Prickles raked down him with an intense thrill. She writhed against him, her dance one of eager desperation.

Charles knew all too well the ravenous need plaguing her. He nudged his knee between hers and she parted her legs. Her skirts rode up to her shapely stocking-clad calves.

She held tight to his shoulders and rolled her hips in the natural rhythm of lovemaking, riding his thigh in a way that made him want her to ride him. Her right leg was between his own, and her movements ground against his shaft. He drew down the neckline of her dress with a tug and her breasts popped free, full and firm.

Eleanor’s hand moved up to the back of his head. “Yes. Please, Charles.”

He bent his head to flick his tongue over her nipple, circling it several times before pulling it between his lips and into his mouth. She gave a quiet cry of pleasure and arched her back.

He moved to the other nipple while he cupped the weight of her silken breast. “Please what?” he ground out.

His mind whirled in a maelstrom of lust and burning hot need. He could barely think to breathe, let alone piece together what it was she asked for.

“Pleasure me.” Her voice came out in a whimper.

Hell.

What man could say no to such a request?

Eleanor was so very near to exploding—as though she’d gone too close to the sun and all of her had been set aflame. Heat blazed through her veins and pulsed with such longing it was as if a pounding drum reverberated through her entire body. Her world focused on Charles—on those brilliant blue eyes and the wild passion he aroused in her.

He went still at her request. Would he deny her?

She put her hands to his chest and slid her fingers down his flat stomach, the way the woman in the journal’s entry had done, down to where the thick column of his desire rose within his breeches. He choked in a breath.

She grazed the swell rising beneath the placket, tentatively at first. He gave a shuddered exhalation and tensed against her. She fixed her regard on his face and curled her fingers over the bulge. His brows flinched and drew together, as if the pain of his need was as intense as her own. He was hard under her touch, like iron or bone. This was the shaft the journal had referred to, engorged and heavy. It was the device from which a man drew his pleasure and gave it in return.

Charles cursed and pulled her touch from his body. Disappointment charged her at the thought of being forever without satiation from such powerful, painful longing. That was until he leaned her back onto the chaise and his hand swept up her calf.

Her breath caught.

She lay back on the smooth velvet as his fingers continued to move higher up her leg, inching up her gown and chemise. Her breath came faster as his touch proceeded, until his fingertips whispered past the edge of her stockings and caressed the nakedness of her thigh. Her core trembled in anticipation.

Yes. Higher. Closer. Almost...

Finally, at long last, he made his way up her entire leg. He eased her hem higher, over her hips, baring her most intimate place to him. She ought to have been embarrassed, but the lust hammering through her was too great. She could scarcely think, let alone feel shame.

He paused, gazed down at her, and brushed the juncture between her legs. A jolt of pleasure shot through her and she gasped at its intensity.

Charles closed his eyes like a man in prayer. “Good God, Eleanor. You are so very wet.”

His words were appreciative, which must mean being wet was good. She rubbed her thighs together in anticipation for more.

His chest rose up and down with his ragged breathing and he opened his eyes to watch her again as he drew his finger over her once more. Pleasure, marvelous and perfect, rippled through her.

“More,” she whispered. “Please.”

He did not disappoint. His finger moved with careful skill, up and down over her, before coming to a stop on a particularly sensitive spot. His stare burned into her as he rolled his digit in slow circles.

Heat spiraled through her. Eleanor covered her mouth to stifle a cry of pleasure and her head fell back. She was unable to focus on anything save the bliss of his stroke between her legs. Right when she felt as though she might explode, he drew his finger away and made the lazy path up and down, up and down over her once more.