Duked: Duke One, Duke Society Series

by Robinson, Gina

  Ren set me on my feet suddenly and tossed off his jacket and shoes. We faced each other, two proud people who didn't entirely trust each other but desired each other madly, sizing each other up. How would this be? How would we play this? Tender and slow? Rough and fast? I swore my breast was heaving. My corset felt too tight.

  He reached out, grabbing me by the waist and spinning me until my back faced him. His arms circled my waist. "Your waist is tiny." He sounded impressed.

  "Your hands are large," I said. "You know what that indicates. I hope I'm not disappointed."

  He pulled me close and whispered in my ear, "I haven't disappointed yet." He lifted the hair from my neck and nibbled the delicate skin at my nape until I trembled with pleasure and anticipation.

  I tipped my head back against his shoulder and closed my eyes, forgetting for the moment a man I barely knew was my husband, pretending instead he was the man I'd always dreamed of. And maybe he was. My taste in men had never been good.

  His lips traveled over the slope of my shoulder and back across the top of my back as he reached for the buttons on the back of my dress. He paused for a moment, perplexed, I imagined, by the row of tiny buttons. Did I dare tease him?

  Before I could speak, he showed his experience and found the concealed zipper. He had it down and was gently pushing my dress off my shoulders, kissing every patch of bare skin he revealed until he was stymied by my corset.

  Off my shoulders, over my hips, until my dress fell into a pool on the floor and Ren had my hips in his hands. "Damn this bloody corset," he whispered in my ear.

  "Most men think they're hot."

  He spun me around until I faced him and the fireplace behind him. "I'm not most men. Corsets are hot when I'm in the mood to be teased, not when they're impeding my progress." His face was in shadow. His voice was deep with desire.

  I reached for the buttons of his shirt. Unlike him, I didn't take my time. I wanted to see him, and I wasn't disappointed. His chest was hard and sculpted. His arms divinely muscled. He was every bit as well crafted as I'd imagined. I reached for his pants.

  He grabbed my wrists. "Not so fast." With the knowledge of a skilled lover, he grabbed me by the waist, pulled me to him, and unzipped the front of my corset, sliding it from me, totally unfazed by the laces in the back. His gaze was riveted on my breasts and taut, pointed nipples.

  I would have liked to pretend they budded from the cold, but the heat from the fire took away any excuse I might have made.

  He took my breasts in his hands and bent to kiss them, hefting them, tugging on my nipples until I moaned. I wore nothing more now than my jewelry, my lace thong panties, and my sheer thigh-high hose, with the garter Ren hadn't tossed still on my right leg.

  He shed his pants himself now that they were just another impediment, pulling off his underwear and socks, too. I sucked in my breath and my lips. He didn't disappoint there either. He was absolutely perfect, from the V that pointed to his groin all the way to his erect dick.

  We stared at each other, breathing hard, and we'd barely begun. It was a delicate dance with each of us vying for the lead. Who would make the next move? And would it be good enough?

  Everything rode on this first sexual encounter. Was the chemistry between us as electric as we thought? Or was it an illusion? If the sex was average or downright terrible, would this all be a bad joke? And if it lived up to the promise of the heat between us, what then? Did we walk away or hump like rabbits in heat for a year?

  Ren went down on one knee in front of me. His dark hair glistened in the firelight as he bowed and slid the garter down my leg. He caressed me until I trembled and ached for him to be inside as he slid the garter off and tossed it aside. He took my leg in his hand, kissing my shin, my knee, trailing kisses up my thigh, stopping just short of the triangle of my thong.

  He looked up at me with his dark eyes filled with desire. My breath caught. I realized again just how much this marriage had cost me. This desire was unearthly, the kind of passion that could spark something masterful and eternal. If only we hadn't been forced together.

  He slid my thong off and got to his feet, taking my face between his hands and guiding my mouth to his. I closed my eyes again and let him kiss me. I closed my eyes and pretended this desperate passion was something more. He teased my lips with his tongue. I grazed his lips with my teeth. His tongue darted into my mouth. I pressed my bare breasts against his hard chest and reveled in the feel of his perfect body, touching the tip of my tongue to his.

  He slid one arm around me and crushed me to him, sliding his dick between my legs as he backed me toward the bed, kissing me so expertly that I lost track of time and myself until the backs of my legs bumped against the bench at the foot of the bed. I thought for a moment he might take me right on that upholstered bench. Instead, he cupped my butt and lifted me up until I wrapped my legs around his waist. He didn't break the kiss as he carried me to the side of the bed, laid me on it, and straddled me. Only then did he pull his mouth away.

  I opened my eyes to find him braced over me. "Are you going to tease me forever?"

  He grinned. "Not forever. Maybe all night."

  I glanced at his erection. "You have the staying power for that?"

  "The staying power, but not the willpower." He thrust into me suddenly.

  I gasped as he filled me and pulled his face to mine, kissing him again. I needed the intimacy of his kiss, needed not to feel separate from him. Needed him not to see my need. I thrust my hips up to meet him and wrapped my legs around his back. We found our rhythm, and he found the right angle to give me the most pleasure. He was a skilled lover. He read me well, rewarding each moan and contented sigh with another beautiful, perfect thrust. For my part, I squeezed him tight and released. I read him just as well, matching each pleasurable thing he did to me with one that elicited a groan from him.

  They say sex is mostly mental, and maybe that's true, but I was swept away by the sheer physicality of being with Ren. With each thrust, the waves of pleasure built. With each thrust, a little of the horror of the day washed away. With every move he made, I was more lost in him. It was beautiful, and I was selfish. I didn't want to crest and finish. I wanted this beautiful distraction to go on until I forgot everything else, including myself.

  But Ren was determined to foil my plans. He thrust harder and deeper until, finally, I couldn't hold back any longer. When my climax came, it came and came and came. My breath caught. I gasped and rode the waves, rocking against him selfishly. Ren's matching grunt of pleasure brought me back to reality. I moved with him until he was spent.

  When the waves of pleasure finally subsided, we looked at each other, stunned. No man had ever rocked me like that. I wanted to hide my astonishment, but I was afraid it was written on my face. I looked up at him with wonder, but his expression was dark. He was almost scowling. And yet there was no doubt he'd climaxed every bit as forcefully as I had.

  He rolled off me and lay next to me with his arm over his forehead. He was breathing heavily, but not winded. Neither of us spoke. I assumed his thoughts were too dark for words. I liked to cuddle after sex, but it was clear from his apparent displeasure that wasn't a wise idea. Instead, I lay still, waiting until he closed his eyes and his breathing slowed.

  Damn him. He wasn't going to fall asleep on me, no matter how hard he'd worked. Men and their spent hormones. He could damn well be displeased. He was the one who'd wanted sex. This was my wedding night, and I was going to have round two.

  I waited until he was completely relaxed and falling into the pleasant afterglow of sleep before I grazed his dick with my fingers. At my touch, it sprang to life. Impressive. I wasted no time giving him a furious hand job as I climbed on top of him. He wasn't hard to arouse, and I really didn't care about giving him any kind of completion this time. I sat on him with my back to his face, facing the mirror that was slanted down to give a view of the bed. Wanting to insult him. Wanted it to be impersonal. Wanting to turn my back
on him.

  My hair fell down over my breasts in golden waves highlighted by firelight. The gems at my neck glistened. My skin was slick and shiny with the exertion and heat of our first round. I slid him into me, riding him reverse cowboy, grinding on him only to please myself. This time, I refused to see any displeasure on his face. This time, I would do the work, ride him, use him, and, when it was over, fall asleep facing away from him.

  As I moved on him, I saw only myself, the place where he entered me, and his strong legs in front of me. He could have been anyone. He could have been the man my girlish self had fantasized about. He could have loved me beyond reason. This could have been a real relationship, a real marriage.

  My wedding dress was a white pool on the floor, reminding me of a flicker of white sleeves in the wind. White lady, are you satisfied now? You got what you wanted. My kindly groom is dead. The man I lust after is disappointed with the part of me I gave him.

  The fire crackled and heat washed over me, but it was an entirely different kind of flame that fueled me. I watched myself ride him for a moment, closed my eyes, and threw my head back so that my hair fell down my back. I was no different than a dozen or more medieval maids who'd bedded their lords in this room over the centuries—inconsequential, a means to an end. I rode him hard and fast, and slow and long, with whatever rhythm felt good in the moment. I lost myself in my own fantasies. Shining knights. Did those ever exist?

  I rode him until I was on the edge of the orgasm of my life, one that threatened to dwarf the first one. I was so lost that the pair of hot hands that grabbed my hips startled me, and I almost fought the sudden thrusting of his hips. I wasn't alone in this after all.

  His hands held me in place as if he sensed I might bolt. I gasped as he thrust into me with wicked force and felt his abs flex beneath me. If only he knew I was too far gone to fight him. I moved with him, losing myself again to the sensations as the climax built. When I finally toppled over the edge into ecstasy, I screamed like a wild animal, letting all my pent-up frustration and completion out.

  I was done, but he wasn't. My scream only seemed to turn him on. Though I tried to scramble off, he held me firmly in place firmly and thrust once more, forcefully enough to make me gasp again and my climax hang on.

  He grunted and stiffened beneath me, pressing me onto him. I opened my eyes, watching us in the mirror, seeing his hands at my hips and his legs taut. His climax went on and on. When he finally relaxed and released me, I slid off him and turned my back to him. Without speaking, I pulled the covers up over me and buried my head in my pillow as he pulled me against his chest and threw his arm over me as if I belonged to him.

  I didn't care what he felt. Or maybe I did and just couldn't bear to see it.

  Chapter 11

  I woke when the bed groaned. Ren was sitting up with his legs over the side, his very fine, muscled back to me. The room was just beginning to get light. It was still before seven. He stretched.

  "Sneaking off?" I said in a sleepy voice.

  "Going for a run."

  Of course he was a runner.

  "Right off the estate and into the sunrise? Going to leave me already?" I was half joking.

  "And lose my half of the estate? Not on your life," he said, back still toward me.

  I couldn't resist. I ran my long fingernails down his back and watched him shiver with delight while trying to hide it. Goosebumps gave him away.

  He slid out of bed, giving me a fine view of his firm, naked bum. "Go back to sleep. I'll be back soon." He pulled a pair of running shorts and T-shirt out of a dresser.

  "You had your things moved here?" I was surprised. I hadn't noticed last night.

  "And yours," he said without turning around, hiding his expression and his dick from me.

  But at least I got my fill of looking at his profile in the mirror over the fireplace.

  "Cost me fifty quid to pay off one of the lads on the staff to do it. Everyone knows that room is haunted. Since word of your scare got around, no one will touch it without compensation."

  "Word got out, did it? Gossip spreads like wildfire around here." I laughed. "You Brits are a superstitious lot."

  "Some would say smart. And I'm half American, by the way." He slid the shorts and shirt on, grabbed a pair of socks, and went into the bathroom.

  I snuggled into the covers and lay back on my pillow, pondering whether he was punishing me now by not looking at me. His manner seemed almost cold. There was no understanding men. A few minutes later, he reemerged from the bathroom and grabbed his running shoes. "I won't be gone long."

  After he left, I lay in bed for a while but couldn't fall back to sleep. My mind was too busy. There were so many things to be decided. So many things to be done—set a date for Manly's funeral and lying in state, continue with the plans for the castle, and, now, get Ren's buy-in. Halloween was barely over a month away. One of the first events I wanted to hold at the castle was an overnight ghost-hunting tour.

  I sat up and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I still wore my jewelry. I hadn't taken my makeup off. It was smudged, and I had a bad case of bedhead. Maybe it was better that Ren hadn't looked at me. Crazy to be married and still be trying to impress him. The course of my life didn't run straight at all.

  I set my jewelry on the nightstand, swung out of bed, and padded to the bathroom, intent on a nice, hot shower. I brushed my teeth and took off my makeup as the water ran and my numbness wore away. At the thought of Manly and everything that had happened, I found myself suddenly emotional. As the steam poured from the shower, I stepped in and let my tears flow. It was hard to tell who or what I was crying for—Manly, myself, the future I thought I'd have, or the future I wanted now.

  Just like in the bedroom, I'd stocked the bath and shower with all the scents that were practically guaranteed to make a man horny. As I washed my hair with a light floral shampoo of rose and lily of the valley, the tears stopped and images of last night intruded. I scrubbed myself with blood orange scrub. I lost myself in my thoughts as I lathered myself up with vanilla body wash. I remembered Ren's touch as I touched myself and slid my hands over my body. If Ren wouldn't pleasure me this morning, I would myself. There should be sex on the morning after your wedding. There should be.

  I closed my eyes, enjoying the slippery suds over my body and the warmth of the water. I moaned softly as I slipped my fingers inside myself, imagining Ren sliding in. What was it about that man? How had he so completely invaded my mind and my body? Even my fantasies. I wanted him in the worst way, but that gave him the upper hand. I couldn't let him know. I couldn't let it show.

  I was so lost in my pleasurable fantasy that the glass door opening took me by surprise. I felt the cool breeze before I heard anything. My eyes flew open. Ren stood there, naked and erect, his hair damp from his morning run in the mist. How long had he been watching me? How much had he seen? Too much, that was clear enough.

  He stepped inside without speaking, spun my back to him, and, with barely a tease, slid into me from behind. Not that I needed to be worked up, but I would have taken him face to face standing up. I liked face-to-face shower sex. If he was punishing me with the impersonal nature of the act, he was doing a damned poor job. His dick was so much finer than my fingers. I gasped and bent forward, giving him better access to my breasts, rocking with him in the vanilla-scented steam.

  He was skilled and knew how to move to find my G-spot. He grazed my back with his teeth as he tugged on my nipples and held me tightly against him. Like last night, the pleasure with him was more intense than anything I'd felt before. If I'd been stronger, I would have fought it and him. A moan escaped me, then a gasp, encouraging him to thrust harder and faster. My climax, and his, came quickly. He held me to him as he shuddered, resting his wet head on my back. My knees were weak, but somehow managed to hold me up. Water streamed through my long hair over my face. Time stood still as we stood locked together, breathing hard and trying to find our balance. I was quick
ly realizing that, with regards to Ren, I had no balance.

  When he finally pulled out, he caught me in his arms and pulled me onto his lap on the shower bench. Hot water covered us. Steam surrounded us. But nothing hid the raw lust we felt for each other. My heart raced as I turned my face to his, unsure what I was hoping to find.

  He kissed me before I could find out, urgently, with the same intensity he had last night. I kissed him back, sucking his lip roughly, knowing it would leave my mark on him. Wanting it to. The water began to grow suddenly cold. This old castle needed a modern water heater. I pulled away from him and slid out of his lap. Nothing was going to throw cold water on this moment for me.

  I wrung my hair out and reached for the door. "Your turn."

  "You're leaving me in the cold water?"

  "I'm leaving you with what you deserve." I grabbed my towel.

  It took him just minutes in the shower. I put on my bra and panties and was still drying my hair when he stepped out and went to the bedroom to dress. I took my time, happier, for the moment, not having to face him and his mercurial moods. When my hair was dry and styled, I put on my quick, everyday makeup, and steeled myself as I entered the bedroom.

  Ren was just zipping his suitcase. His backpack was packed and on the bed, his coat thrown over it.

  "Going somewhere?" I asked.

  "London." He finished zipping his bag.

  I raised an eyebrow. "Really? On our honeymoon?" I tried to sound light.

  He finally turned to face me. "I have a life there, Bliss. A job. People"—he paused—"who won't be expecting me to come back from my uncle's wedding married to his fiancée."

  He spoke the truth, and even though he looked resigned, his tone stung. As if our situation was all my fault? As if he hadn't had a choice. He could have walked away. As if Manly hadn't manipulated both of us. And people, meaning who? Women?