Regarding the Duke

by Grace Callaway

  “A queen doesn’t hide herself. If you want to please me, you’d best show yourself to an advantage.” He stepped back from her, circling her slowly, a sultan assessing his carnal prize. “Let me see all the alluring parts of you—tempt me with your charms.”

  Even as she squirmed at the notion, excitement thrummed in her veins. A part of her understood that this wasn’t just about sex: this was about changing old habits and taking a risk. She’d said she no longer wanted to hide, and Adam was inviting her to reveal her true longings…in a bold and naughty way.

  The familiarity of the fantasy made it easier to let go of her inhibitions. How many times had she dreamed about this very scenario? As she slipped into the twilight pool of her imagination, she shed the skin of the awkward, rejected girl she’d once been. Beneath Adam’s approving gaze, she became a beautiful queen, his willing slave.

  For his pleasure and her own, she explored her woman’s body, the lush swell of her hips and the inviting softness of her belly. She slid her palms upward, cradling the full curves of her breasts, feeling their sensual weight. Power leapt like a flame inside her when his mouth tightened with arousal.

  “Such beautiful tits,” he praised. “Do you enjoy petting them, teasing them for me?”

  Understanding his instruction, she rolled her thumbs over her straining red nipples, the spark of pleasure intensified by his avid stare.

  “Rub those nipples harder. I want them as ripe as cherries when I taste them.”

  She pinched her nipples between finger and thumb, imagining his mouth there, his tongue. The memory of his hot suckling blazed a path between her breasts and pussy, the tug and pluck of her fingers bringing forth a needy spasm in her sex.

  “Is your pussy wet and ready for me?”

  The coolness of his inquiry threw kindling on her arousal. Reminded her of the power of the man who’d chosen her to serve his needs.

  “Yes,” she said throatily.

  “Show me.”

  After a slight hesitation, she slowly placed her hand between her legs. Even as she shyly touched her slippery cleft, a part of her couldn’t believe she was doing such a thing. That she dared to perform this wicked deed in front of her husband.

  “Is that how a queen pleasures herself, so timidly?” he admonished. “Show me how you really touch yourself, pet. All those nights when you were alone in your bed, wishing it was Wednesday. Thinking of me just on the other side of the door and how I ought to have been in your bed instead, filling you with my hard cock. Taking away the ache in your cunny that your hand could only partially satisfy.”

  Her breath panted from her lips, desire and shame a combustible mix. How had he guessed what she’d done? Yet the glint in his eyes wasn’t one of disgust but hungry desire. Her gaze dropped to the front of his trousers, where his enormous erection tented the fabric. He was aroused by the thought of her touching herself. Of her finding wanton pleasure.

  Heady with wanting, she began to stroke herself. Slowly at first, then with increasing confidence, she explored her aching flesh. Finding the center of her sensation, she rubbed there, using that covert rhythm and friction that had eased her lonely nights. Only now she wasn’t alone, she was with her master, whose dark, lustful encouragement propelled her rapidly toward her peak.

  “That’s right, pet. Diddle your pearl, rub your sweet cream all over it.”

  Gasping, she moved her fingers faster and faster, the muscles of her pussy clenching…

  “Come for me,” he commanded.

  She moaned as her release washed over her, a tide of bliss that made her toes curl against the mat. She would have stumbled had he not caught her against him. His iron-hard cock pressed into her belly.

  “So beautiful, my queen,” he growled.

  He took her hand, the one she’d used to stroke herself, and brought it to his lips. He sucked her fingers into his mouth, the warm, wet pull releasing a fresh wave of need.

  “Delicious,” he said thickly. “I’ll have more of that after.”

  “After what?” she asked breathily.

  “After I enjoy the pleasure of your mouth.”

  His words from several nights ago flashed in her head. Another time, I’ll put you on your knees and wet my cock between your sweet lips. The idea had intrigued her, stimulated her, touched upon a nerve of longing that made her lick her lips now.

  He caught that movement, his eyes turning darker than midnight. He cupped her shoulders, pressing downward even as her knees bent of their own accord. Kneeling at his feet, she looked up as he pulled off his shirt, revealing the glory of his muscle-paved chest, all that rippling sinew dusted with hair. His long, clever fingers unknotted the colorful sash at his waist. It occurred to her that a sultan wouldn’t disrobe; he’d have his slave do it for him.

  When she touched his hand, he stilled.

  “May I do it for you?” she asked softly.

  Her courage paid off; his eyes flashed with approving hunger. At his nod, she went to work, pulling the belt from its loops. She found the fastener behind his waistband, undoing it with trembling eagerness. As she tugged the garment down, her thumbs tracing the steely arcs of muscle on his hips, the fabric caught on his rampant erection.

  He shivered as she freed the material from his jutting member. She worked the trousers over his knees and down to his large, bare feet. As he stepped out of them, she was treated to an erotic view of his swaying cock, a long, heavy branch that defied the pull of gravity. His balls hung like a succulent plum, swollen and ripe with juice.

  Naked, standing like a proud king, he wrapped his fingers around his mighty scepter. He stroked himself almost thoughtfully as her anticipation spiraled higher and higher. She waited, her eyes automatically finding his as she awaited his pleasure…and her own.

  “Have you sucked my cock before?” he inquired.

  “No.” Her throat convulsed with desire, curiosity...and regret.

  All these years, she’d been hiding, choosing to live in a cupboard when her marriage was a palace waiting to be explored. When room upon room of dazzling pleasures had awaited her. How she wished she’d had the courage to discover this intimacy sooner.

  “An oversight I intend to rectify immediately.”

  His forceful scrutiny banished her thoughts of the past, anchored her in the scorching reality of now.

  “Take my cock in your hand and stroke it.”

  With quivering enthusiasm, she obeyed. He leapt at her touch, the feeling of holding his hard vitality giving her an indescribable rush. He strained against the limits of her clasp, her fist barely fitting around him.

  “Use both hands to frig me,” he said.

  Loving the guttural edge in his voice, she did as she was told, using two hands to work his meaty stalk, to drag that velvety skin up and down over the iron core. When her fists descended, exposing his purplish tip, a drop of liquid leaked from the slit at its center. The urge to taste him was a visceral need.

  “Lick it off.”

  His dark permission banished any lingering uncertainty, cocooning her in the present. There was only her and her sultan, the all-encompassing passion between them. She leaned in, swiping her tongue across his burgeoned crown, his essence affecting her senses like a drug. She couldn’t help drawing on him, her lips fitting around his thick dome, trying to coax out more of his salty male elixir.

  His hands clenched in her hair, a message for her to hold still. She did, and his hips lunged, his cock pressing forward. Pulse racing, she widened her mouth for him, welcoming the strange sensation of him entering her this way.

  “Breathe through your nose, love,” he said through harsh breaths. “Mind your teeth and relax your throat as much as you can. Give me the gift of your beautiful mouth.”

  She moaned around the turgid flesh pushing deeper and deeper inside her. Her hands clung to the hard trunks of his thighs as she served him with her mouth the way she had with her pussy. As he owned this part of her along with the rest. She was an
eager servant to his desires, his grunts of approval building her excitement. Her cunny wept with need even as she parted her lips wider, wanting more, everything he had to give. She lost herself in the beauty of their perfectly aligned bodies, hearts, and minds.

  He reached the end of her, butting the silken wall of her throat, causing her muscles to flex involuntarily. She choked, and he withdrew, panting heavily. His thumbs dashed the tears of strain from her cheeks, tears she hadn’t known had fallen.

  “I’m fine,” she gasped. “Don’t stop—”

  “Lie back and spread your legs for me.” His gaze glowed with savage hunger. “I want to fill you with my seed. Want you to pull it from my cock with your greedy little pussy.”

  The moment her back touched the mats, he was upon her. Driving into her with a possessive force that made her scream with pleasure. Her orgasm came abruptly, a thunderclap of rapture that began in her cunny and reverberated in the deepest part of her soul. Slinging her knees over his shoulders, her master continued to ram into her, his stones pounding against her sensitive folds, his eyes burning into hers. He took her higher and higher until she was suddenly poised upon another peak.

  “Come now,” he said. “Take me with you.”

  Her pussy convulsed at his command, milking his hardness, pleasure bursting in her womb. He threw his head back, groaning as he shoved into her, inundating her with his scorching heat. He collapsed upon her, their bodies still joined, and she wrapped her limbs around him, welcoming his weight. For long moments, neither of them moved, bonded by the sweat of their bodies and the frantic symphony of their hearts.

  Finally, he lifted his head. His sated, relaxed expression deepened her bliss.

  “My own Scheherazade.” He traced her lips with his finger. “A queen who is indeed talented with her mouth.”

  It amazed her that she could blush after what had just transpired.

  “I’m glad you shared your fantasy with me.” He shifted his hips, drawing her attention to the fact that he was still hard inside her. His gaze serious, he said, “You don’t need to hide anything from me. I want to know what is in your heart, always.”

  “You are in my heart.” On impulse—and with great daring—she used her lower muscles to give him an intimate squeeze. “And other places.”

  His eyes crinkled at the corners. “I may have created a monster.”

  Since she could feel him burgeoning inside her, her virile sultan rising once again, she took it as a compliment. Smiling, she tipped her lips up for his kiss.

  She was sitting at her vanity, one of her favorite places to be. He saw that she’d probably spent a great deal of time on her toilette. She wore another new gown, expensive but vulgar in how much it displayed of her smooth white skin. Her blonde hair was arranged in ringlets that enhanced her angelic features, yet the effect was marred by her heavy face paint. A gold, crystal-encrusted demi-mask lay on the table in front of her.

  She met his eyes in the looking glass.

  “Let’s go to the club tonight, luv,” she cajoled sweetly. “I want to please you.”

  He didn’t believe her. Behind her angel’s face lay a self-serving heart. Knowing her history, sharing a good chunk of it, he didn’t hold it against her. Life in the stews hardened you, taught you to get what you wanted, however you could get it.

  He’d wanted her. She’d wanted to be wanted.

  And not just by him.

  “You want to please yourself,” he said bluntly. “Change out of that dress and wash that bloody paint off your face. You look like a whore.”

  “You used to like me like this.”

  Her sparkling lemonade voice, which he’d once loved with a young man’s passion, soured to a petulance that made impatience gnaw at his gut. He didn’t have time for a tantrum; he had a business to build.

  “You liked the games we used to play,” she said, her pink lips forming a practiced pout.

  Perhaps he had, once. He’d been aroused by her lack of inhibition, her penchant for dark, carnal adventures. But the older he got, the less appealing these qualities became. Especially when he realized that what stirred her wasn’t the fact that she was sharing the experience with the man she loved but the covetous looks she received from others. She thrived on being the center of lustful attention, on his mounting jealousy.

  “I don’t have time for games,” he said shortly. “I have work to do.”

  “Work.” She spat the word like an epithet, rising from the vanity and whirling to face him. “That’s all you care about!”

  “You should care about it too. After all, my labor pays for your jewels and gowns, the roof over your head,” he said flatly.

  Her eyes narrowed. “You don’t own me.”

  “Don’t I?” He flicked a glance at the ring on her left hand. An ostentatious cluster of rubies and diamonds that she’d wanted and that had cost him several months of his hard-earned pay. Rubies for his wife…the irony didn’t escape him.

  “I ’ate you.”

  Rage rubbed off her polished accents. So much for the blunt he’d spent on their elocution lessons. His irritation grew: he was a man on the rise and, by God, she dragged him down.

  The thought stabbed him with guilt. For despite everything, he still loved her. She couldn’t help who she was any more than he could quell his own ruthless need for power and revenge. Unlike love, he thought cynically, those two things might actually bring a man peace.

  “I wish me and Garrity ’ad never rescued you from the river. We should’ve left you to dine wif the fishes!”

  “Nonetheless, you will stay put in the house tonight,” he said curtly. “If not to respect my wishes, then for your own safety. The war with O’Leary isn’t over. He’s not going to sit back and let me take over his territory. There will be bloodshed, and I’d prefer it not be yours.”

  “What do you care what ’appens to me? You leave for your precious work, and I’m stuck in this ’ouse all day. I’m lonely, bored out o’ my bleedin’ skull!” She hugged her arms around herself. “No one’s e’er given a damn about me. I ne’er should’ve married you, you selfish bastard!”

  Despite her lashing words, he saw the shadow of his first love in her vulnerable pose. His sense of responsibility warred with impatience; in the end, the latter won out. She was a bucket that could never be filled. No matter how hard he tried, a new leak sprung. Another night spent arguing with her wouldn’t make a difference…whereas the meeting he was already late for could be the next step in building his empire. A step closer to avenging his honor and that of his mama.

  Numquam obliviscar. Never forget.

  “But you are married to me, which means you will obey me in this,” he said firmly.

  Her lips quivered, her eyes sheening.

  Stifling a sigh, he crossed over to her, curled his finger under her chin. “Tomorrow night, I’ll take you somewhere. The opera or a play.” When she didn’t take his olive branch, he sweetened the deal. “You can buy yourself a new gown for the occasion, hmm?”

  Still, she said nothing.

  His patience at an end, he left.

  The next time he saw her, she was lying in a pool of blood.

  “Adam. Wake up.” A soft voice called to him. “Wake up, darling.”

  He surfaced from dark, obscure depths, his lungs straining, his heart hammering with panic…from what he didn’t know. As his vision adjusted to the glow of lamplight, he saw her leaning over him, looking at him with worried eyes.

  Gabriella. She was safe. His wife was safe.

  “You were having a bad dream—”

  Her words ended in a gasp because he’d hauled her against his chest. Wrapped both arms around her, pressing her warm, vital softness against his rigid muscles until he was convinced that she was truly there. That his beloved was alive and well.

  She murmured softly to him, didn’t protest at his suffocating hold.

  Only when the tides of fear receded did he loosen his embrace.

 
She stayed in his arms, caressing his jaw. “What was the nightmare about, darling?”

  “I don’t remember.” Drawing a ragged breath, he searched for details and found none. There was only the remnant of that gut-wrenching terror. “When I woke up, I had this feeling of…panic. That I was going to lose you.”

  “You’ll never lose me.” She pressed a kiss on his chest. “It was just a dream.”

  He tunneled his fingers through her silken tresses, holding her against his heart until it calmed.

  “Do you know what I think the dream was about?” she asked.

  “What?”

  “Our time here coming to an end.”

  “That’s a possibility, I suppose. But as fine a time as we’ve had,”—he slid his hand down her lush backside, giving her a squeeze—“we have much more ahead of us.”

  “I know. But things have been so magical here. I just wonder…if they’ll stay that way. Once we’re back in London, in our ordinary life and regular routines.”

  Hearing the quiver in her voice, he tipped her head back to look into her eyes. And realized that he was not the only one struggling with the fear of the unknown.

  “Nothing’s going to change between us,” he said.

  “I know. It’s just that it’s taken us eight years to get here.” She bit her lip, a telling sign that whatever she wanted to say wasn’t going to be easy for her. “When your memory returns, what if you…change back?”

  Hearing the heart of her uncertainty filled him with remorse…and tenderness.

  “Sweetheart, I love you. Nothing can alter that,” he said firmly. “I don’t know why I was such an idiot before, but whatever the reason, I won’t let it get in the way again.”

  “Promise?” she asked in an aching whisper.

  “I promise.” He sealed his vow with a lingering kiss, letting the sweetness of their passion wash away the bitter dregs of his nightmare and her fears.

  When they parted, she said breathlessly, “I must admit that, as much as I miss the children, I wish our vacation didn’t have to end.”