Page 60 of Distracting the Duke

“Don’t be shy,” he whispered, transfixing her with his dark gaze. “And tell me if I shock you too much.”

Nothing would shock her after Simon’s cruelty. She shook her head and tried not to tremble.

“Clara, you’re allowed to touch me, too. I would like it if you did.” His eyes were smiling, gently urging her on.

She hesitated, then placed her hands on his waist.

“Are we to do a country dance, then?” he asked, his eyes sparkling.

“Well, it is the country,” she said, gathering her courage.

She took a deep breath, grasped his pristine white shirt in both hands, and tugged it out of the waistband of his breeches. Her knuckles grazed the heated skin beneath and, when he nodded encouragingly, she slid her hands up over the muscles of his stomach, then across his chest, brushing against the down of hair smattered across it.

Lord, that felt so good.

She did it again, and he obligingly lifted his arms so she could pull the shirt over his head.

When he emerged, tousled and smiling boyishly, her heart clenched inside her. God, but this man was irresistible!

She twined her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him, dragging his head down for a kiss.

The kiss lasted until they both ran out of breath, and their bodies were so close there was barely an inch that wasn’t touching.

Their lips finally parted, and he sat down on the sofa, pulling her onto his lap. “I want to take off my shoes and stockings, but I can’t bear to stop touching you. Can you help me?”

Giggling, and scandalously aware of her total lack of clothing, she leaned down and undid his shoes, and after a short battle, tugged them off. She then unbuttoned each leg of his breeches and pulled down his stockings, gazing with interest at his sinewy calves and the fine dark hair that covered them.

It was quite a difficult task, because his hand was caressing the lower part of her back and her bottom, his fingers coming dangerously close to that secret feminine part of her.

He had warned her, but it still shocked her when his thumb slipped inside her and probed gently about, while his forefinger moved between the folds of skin and pressed at an incredibly sensitive spot there.

She went limp and, bent almost double on his lap, concentrated on the exquisite sensations he was creating. Soon her breath was coming in short, sharp gasps, and her hips rocked back and forth as he touched her.

Sweet mercy. She had never felt so alive, her body so sensitive. This must be what making love truly meant. Something precious and equally shared, which gave pleasure to both the man and the woman.

Marcus groaned. “You’re so wet. I need to be inside you, love.”

A thread of terror spun through her as he shifted her off his lap and peeled off his breeches, allowing his thick, hard erection to spring free. She took in its size with horror. How could this not be painful?

Not giving her any time to think, he sat back down and pulled her onto his lap, facing him with her legs astride.

Confusion replaced the panic. This was not at all what she’d been expecting.

She could still feel every hard inch of him pressed against her belly while one of his hands continued to massage and probe between her legs.

She grew hot, and her blood slowed, her body attuned to his every touch, fear forgotten.

Until he commanded, “Slide down onto me,” and lifted her up to take her weight on her knees while he positioned his member beneath her with one hand.

Her heart thundered.

He waited patiently as she battled back the panic, his hands supporting her, his face nuzzling her breasts, nipping and licking. “It’s all right. Trust me,” he said.

Tentatively, she lowered herself a little and felt his tight flesh pressing at her soft folds.

Surprisingly, her fear ebbed. She had never been put in charge before. It made all the difference.

Gradually she pressed down until she felt herself open, and the head of his manhood slid into her.