Page 65 of The Duke’s Defiant Love

Then perhaps this is not so different from every other challenge they’d faced after all. The thought steadied her more than she expected.

"Then let me make it quieter instead." She crossed to him, and took his hand, holding it between both of hers. "I am not asking you to forgive her tonight, Sebastian. I do not know yet whether she deserves it, or whether you can. I am only asking you not to do this. Not to disappear into an empty room every time something difficult finds you. I did not marry a man who runs from what he feels. I married a man I have watched argue a point to its very end, however uncomfortable, because he could not stand to leave a question unanswered."

"This is different."

"It is not different. It is simply harder." She held his gaze, steady, though her own pulse had not entirely settled. "You told me once you built the Circle because you could not bear secrets managed from the shadows. This room is a secret managed from the shadows, Sebastian. You are doing, in your own small way, exactly what you have spent ten years accusing your mother of doing. Retreating rather than facing what actually needs facing."

He flinched at that, and she watched the words land and take root, considerably more slowly than she'd have liked, though she saw, something in him slowly give way.

"I do not know how to simply feel a thing without it costing me control of everything else," he admitted, quiet, raw. "I have built my entire life around never being caught the way she was caught. Grieving and unprepared and used by people who understood exactly how to turn feeling against her. I decided, very young, that the safest course was never to feel anything quite so much again."

"And has it worked."

"No." He said it plainly, without defense. "It has not worked at all, not since the moment you refused to give me your name at that ball, and I have been failing at it steadily ever since."

"Then stop trying." She stepped closer, until there was no distance left between them., She let herself feel, how much she had wanted this marriage to simply be easy, and how much more it meant to her to be standing here instead, still wanting him now that it was not.

He looked at her a long moment the careful distance he’d created finally closing. Then he reached for an old strip of dark silk folded over the back of the single chair, turning it over slowly in his hands.

"There is a thing I have never asked anyone for," he said. "Because asking meant trusting them with more than my body. It meant trusting them not to use what they saw against me afterward." He held it out, not quite offering it, not quite withdrawing it either. "I want you to let me blindfold you. Not to hide from you. I want, for once, to be seen without being watched, if that makes any sense at all. I want to give you something I have never given anyone else, without needing to see my own fear reflected back at me the whole time."

Amelia felt her breath catch, some old, cautious part of her rising to object. Sheset it aside deliberately, understanding, with sudden clarity, that this was precisely the kind of thing she had just demanded of him: to let her all the way in, whatever the cost.

"Yes," she said.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

He tied the silk gently over her eyes, his fingers lingering at her temple and the world went dark and close, her other senses rising instantly to fill the space with the scent of cedar, old paper, and the musk of his skin. His breath, unsteady, near her ear.

Every sound was magnified. She felt the rhythmic thrum of her own heart, the soft rustle of his linen shirt, and the uneven cadence of his breathing.

As he guided her toward the narrow bed, the touch of his hand on hers felt like a brand. When she felt the mattress dip beneath her, the sudden lack of sight made her feel dangerously exposed yet strangely liberated.

She felt his weight shift, the bed creaking as he knelt between her thighs. The anticipation was a physical ache, a tightening in her lower belly that made her hips twitch instinctively. Then, the cool air of the room hit her inner thighs as he slowly pushed her skirts upward, the fabric bunching around her waist.

"Stay still," he whispered, his voice a low vibration that seemed to echo in her very bones.

Amelia gasped as she felt his warm breath ghosting over the sensitive skin of her thighs. He didn't touch her at first, merely hovering, teasing her with the proximity. The agony of the wait was exquisite. When his tongue finally made contact, it was a sudden, wet stroke from the crook of her knee upward, leaving a shimmering trail of heat in its wake.

Amelia arched her back, her fingers clawing into the thin mattress. The darkness intensified the sensation and she couldn't see where he was, only feel the precise, devastating pressure of his mouth. He moved higher, his breath hitching as he reached the center of her.

Then he found her.

The first flick of his tongue against her center was a jolt of electricity that shot straight to her core. Amelia let out a sharp, broken cry, her head tossing back against the pillow. He was relentless, his tongue swirling and pressing with a focused intensity that left her breathless. He used his hands to spread her wide, his fingers firm against her hips, anchoring her as he dove deeper.

She felt the wet, sliding friction of his tongue dipping into her, tasting her, while the tip of it continued to tease the swollen bud of her pleasure. It was a rhythmic, driving assault. Every lap of his tongue felt like a wave crashing over her, building a tension that tightened her muscles and made her toes curl.

"Please," she whimpered, though she didn't know what she was asking for…more, or perhaps for the release that felt so close it was almost painful.

He responded by sucking her deeply into his mouth, the pressure sending a violent shiver through her frame. She could feel the rough texture of his tongue and the warmth of his breath. The world narrowed down to that single point of contact, a blinding white heat in the center of the darkness.

The climax hit her with the force of a gale. Her muscles clamped shut around him in rhythmic spasms, and a long, breathless moan escaped her lips. She felt herself unraveling, the tension snapping as wave after wave of pleasure pulsed through her, leaving her limp and trembling.

For a time, the only sound in the room was their synchronized, heavy breathing.

Slowly, the pressure of his mouth faded. He didn't pull away abruptly, instead, he pressed a lingering, tender kiss to the inside of her thigh before shifting upward. Amelia felt the silk being untied, the knot loosening with a gentle tug, her legs still quivering. As the blindfold fell away, the dim light of the room rushed back in.

He was looking at her, his expression raw and stripped of all pretense. There was no shame in his eyes, only a profound, quiet vulnerability. He didn't speak, he simply leaned forward and gathered her into his arms, pulling her small frame against the broad expanse of his chest.