“You,” she said, with a deep-throated giggle, “are a wicked man.”
“I want to ride,” he said, “and I want—” He stopped.
Dare he reveal what he wanted?
He wanted to bring her to the edge of reason, to show her the outward limit of his sensual imagination—not to debase, but to deepen.
She touched her lips to a spot beneath his jaw. Then, she whispered, “What do you want, Ashbey?”
Lust and invitation filled her voice.
Thus far, their desires had been in accord. No doubt, she’d follow his lead—right into the heart of the desires he’d vowed to conceal.
“What I want isn’t done,” he spoke honestly. “Not with fine ladies.”
She considered him for a long time. “I am not a fine lady.”
He searched her eyes for hesitation, but found only trust. One by one, he drew her hands above her head and then pinned her wrists beneath his palm. She was not in the least afraid.
“I want to ravage.” His voice cracked.
“Ravage? You’ve already thoroughly plundered.”
“You think you’ve been plundered?” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Not.” Her forehead. “Even.” Her ear. “Close.”
“Would just any woman do?” she asked, breathless.
His throat dried. “No.” This wasn’t a game. Not this time. “May I ravage you, Alicia? Will you permit me every desire?”
He traced her beautiful, expressive face, waiting like a coiled snake for her reply.
The sharp-edged promise in Ash’s tone daunted. Daunted...and excited.
“Alicia.”
On his lips, her name became a bind that could not be loosened. Not by time. Not by separation. Not by the laws of man.
The gentleness in his caress belied his strength. His grip on her wrists remained tight. If she accepted his sensual demand, he’d reveal the hidden eroticism she’d sensed—the razor thin line where pleasure met pain.
He bowed, resting his brow against her chin. His warm spicy scent filled her lungs, splintering hesitation.
She wanted to absorb all the force he could give, to carry this part of him forever, a memory forged in the light of dawn.
“Plunder and ravage, Ash,” she said. “I offer anything you want.”
Some kisses tasted light and sweet, some brimmed with passion and need. This kiss was a kiss of fusion, a vow for the present, and a promise of everything to come.
He crushed her body into the pillows, securing her with his weight. Then, he took her nipple into his mouth and swirled his tongue in a slow, aching tease. She sucked in as he rolled the point through his teeth, ending in a soft bite. Desire stabbed, acute.
He released the bud and the chilled morning air dissipated the pain, leaving a residue of heat. Their gazes locked. His was a wolf’s, and his short, swift breath hinted at hunger yet unrevealed.
“Please,” she said.
His pupils expanded, darkness devouring light, but he failed to yield to her plea. His hands manacled her wrists, thwarting half-hearted attempts to be free. She arched, forcing an animal sound from his core.
“If you must move, wrap me with your legs.”
She hooked her ankles behind his back, resting them on the curve of his ass. His hot skin sizzled against her inner thighs.
“Alicia.” He slid his hand beneath her hips. “Alicia.”
His chest blocked her view, but she didn’t need sight to know she was poised for him to enter. She shivered as his member’s tip brushed against her intimate folds.
“Alicia.” He inhaled. “I like the feel of your name.” His cock teased her entry. “I like the sound of other words, too. Common. Forbidden.”
“Oh?” she rasped.
The corner of his mouth turned up. “Let’s make a beast with two backs, shall we?”
She didn’t have to answer. His thrust rendered her utterly full. They blended together in a way she could almost taste—sugar and lemon, wet, tart, sweet. Then, he pummeled.
Ashbey. Ashbey. Ashbey. Each gasp sounded his name.
A tell-tale quiver began in her legs. But before that aching pleasure could spread relief through her veins, he withdrew.
“No!” She nipped his shoulder.
“Patience.” He nipped her right back. “You’ll get your due in time.”
She barely noticed he’d released her wrists. Her eyes stung, but her body wept with craving.
Wrapping her in his arms, he lifted. She clung to his shoulders as he pinned her body against the wall. One leg dangled, not quite reaching the floor. His muscle held her in place and his driving thrusts resumed. The only softness she could find slid through her fingers as she clutched his hair.
Glimmers of release shimmered behind her lids. But again, just before the spark exploded, he withdrew.
“Ashbey, please.”
“Soon,” he whispered.
Soon? Involuntary quivers had stolen her strength. She had nothing left to give.
He carried her back to the bed like a child. Gently, he lowered her down.
“Stay, until I say.”
Cool air swirled around her body, raising tiny, tingling bumps beneath her skin. He, too, remained still—a naked man in full arousal, without any sense of haste.
He’d been wrong. Restraint—not power—was the ultimate aphrodisiac.
Ashbey was neither at the mercy of his cock, nor her need. He was a pause in a symphony, the calm center of a raging storm. But the hardness in his cheek and the fire in his eyes exposed his latent brawn.
For that look, for that ever-so slight smile, she would yield.
“Kneel.”
She came to her knees.
“Now, lace your hands. Like this.”
He angled her body away, and arranged her hands behind her head.
“Good.”
Fear rippled through her stomach—to be blind to his body was to be blind to his intent.
Could she trust?
The bed dipped behind her, she resisted the overwhelming urge to turn.
He gathered her hair and draped it over her shoulder. He touched his lips—and only his lips—to a spot on her neck just beneath her hands. Fire charred his mark, and then burned a trail down her spine before flaring between her legs.
He placed a comforting hand against her hip. “Alicia.”
She closed her eyes. “Ash.”
He encircled her body and then teased her breasts, coming close to the sensitive points. She wanted him to touch, to roll, to bite.
“I can’t, Ash. I just cannot.”
“Cannot what?” He sounded amused.
“Touch me!”
“Where?”
Shame warred with curious need. He would not force her to say, would he?
He withdrew both his hands. She almost collapsed.
He would not deny her if she turned, and forced him onto his back. Neither would he offer this part of himself again. She wanted Ash. All of Ash. Especially the parts he’d kept hidden until this morn.
“My nipple,” she whispered. “Touch me there.”
He drew her back against his chest. Solace, sweet solace, to feel his warmth. He rolled her nipples through his fingers, grinding his cock against her ass. Visceral tautness stretched between her breasts and that spot between her legs.
“Do you still want?” he asked.
She nodded.
“What do you want?”
“I want your,” she hesitated. “Your—”
“What, love?” Breath grazed her ear. “So many words you could choose.” He nipped her earlobe. “Dagger. Augur. Jock.”
New wetness seeped between her legs.
His lips dropped to her neck. “Brush. Pleasure-pivot. Pump handle...”
She chose the one she’d heard on the docks. “Cock. I want your cock.”
His member twitched against her ass. “Lewd woman.” He traced her spine before guiding her down to her hands. With a nudge of his knee, he widened
her thighs. “A lewd woman with a pretty vulva.”
Another full-body tremble. A limited vocabulary suddenly made sense. She was sure to be hot and ready every time she thought of his voice.
He ran a finger over her wetness. “Do you prefer Grove of Venus? Alas, no shiver. Shady Spring? Apparently, not. Quim? Yes, that’s better...” He lowered his voice. “Where should I put my cock, Alicia?”
She inhaled through her parted lips. Cock had been hard enough to say.
“I want you inside me.”
“Good enough.”
She fought the urge to buckle as all his ferocity unleashed. She didn’t care. She wanted nothing more than another thrust, to be caught up in a swirling storm of pleasure.
He gasped out words, punctuated by the slap of their thighs. She only dimly comprehended their meaning, though they left her panting and shoving back for more. Then, his hard stomach touched her spine, and he threaded his fingers through hers.
He shifted their weight on a single arm and forced her hand to her breast, and then further down.
“Make yourself come.”
She may have blushed, she couldn’t tell. She was past mortification and shame. She stroked with feathery touches, brushing him, too, where they joined. She was lifted like a leaf in wind, tumbling through forces she couldn’t see. Tiny sparks touched the inner corners of her eyes. She moaned and bowed her head, shaking in his arms.
He wrapped her hand around his tightened sack. His breath changed, and then he roared.
Even if there had been someone to hear, she wouldn’t have cared. This was a raid, a claiming. There was no place for prudence.
His seed spilled warm into her body, and, in the end, they both collapsed.
She rolled onto his chest, still trembling. His forearms flexed as he held her close. Even weakened, his embrace contained all.
A special kind of awe stole her words. She had been Alicia, orphaned waif, spurned wife, and lonely widow. Now she was Alicia, worshiped, revered and ravaged.
She lifted her face.
He did not look as she expected to look—conquering, triumphant, the mirror of his predatorial smile. Instead, he held his breath, watching her with wary, guarded eyes.
He anticipated censure.
Instinctively, she knew he would not believe if she told him she felt cherished, and, in a strange way, freed. She needn’t hold herself to impossible expectations of purity and reserve.
“Ash?” she asked.
“Yes?” he answered.
“I’m hungry.”
For a long moment, he just stared. Then, he started to laugh. How she loved the sound.
“Well? Are you going to feed me?”
He kissed her brow, and then went to don his banyan. In response to her quizzical look, he explained, “Mrs. Kent won’t be awake for another hour. I will see what I can find.”
What kind of duke protected his servant’s sleep?
Ashbey wasn’t just any kind of duke. He was...
He was...
Oh no.
Ashbey was a duke she could love.
He returned with a plate of dried meat and cheese. He handed her his find. She handed it back.
“Feed me.”
“Minx,” he said to her lips.
He placed a tasty morsel on her tongue. And then another. They sipped wine from a single cup. The heady sensation added to Alicia’s dream-like state. He dribbled the last drops of liquid over her stomach, and then followed the trail with his mouth.
Later, she returned the favor.
Throughout the day’s remainder, they alternated between food and amorous congress.
He introduced her, gently, to new things—binds that constricted her body, but set loose her most sensual side. He trussed her with a crumpled cravat, her stockings, the ties that held back the drapes on the bed. He unlocked her passions, and she held him in complete trust.
When at last the night was dark and they lay exhausted and still, they laughed like children who’d played a naughty prank. She rested her aching body in his arms, and fell into slumber with the pressure of his lips against her hair.
Chapter Eleven
Alicia awoke to an empty room. Her travel clothes hung from a hook on the wall, just above her packed valise—both signs that Mrs. Kent had been inside. The only sign of Ash was the scent permeating the rumpled sheets and the dull ache between Alicia’s thighs.
She listened for sounds from the connecting washroom—silence.
Fear upended her heart.
She scrambled to her feet, dashed into the dressing room—empty, but for his banyan.
She shook her head no. Ash would not have left. Not without saying a proper farewell. He was just out for a ride.
Please let him be out for a ride.
She went to the window. Heavy mist hung in the air, obscuring her sight, though branches emerged from the grayish foam as if floating, unattached. The effect was disturbingly grim.
Even if Ash was out there, she wouldn’t be able to see him.
Her fear turned to dread, threatening to spread out from her heart in permanent cracks. For three days, Ash had pleasured her, fed her, held her, and in turn, she’d relinquished her only true possession—her body. She’d trusted him, opened to him, granted every desire. Even if he were the devil duke he claimed, he would not abandon her on the morning they were to part.
He owed her a proper goodbye. One that would acknowledge her consummate surrender, one she could hold close thorough the lonely nights to come.
She searched back through the prior night, searching for something she might have done wrong. She found none—she’d betrayed her hope for a different end into the silence of her heart, but never aloud.
There was no way he could have known she was falling in love.
She held her hands to her cheeks. Calm. She needed calm.
And she needed to get dressed.
The simple tradeswoman’s dress in which she’d arrived wasn’t made for women with time and help to spare, but her shaking fingers made fastening the ties almost impossible.
She prayed Ash would be waiting for her below, but deep inside, she knew the truth. When she descended into the empty hall, she felt no shock.
“Miss, is that you?” Mrs. Kent called up from the kitchens below.
“Yes.” Her voice wobbled, teetering on despair.
She’d thought she’d touched Ash’s heart as deeply as he’d touched her own. She’d been wrong. So very wrong.
What kind of person bought a woman’s body, coaxed her to give him her soul, and then disappeared, without the smallest gesture?
She hadn’t expected gratitude. Kindness would have been enough.
Mrs. Kent came up the stairs.
“He’s gone, isn’t he?” she asked.
Mrs. Kent’s gaze flicked to the door, and then she dropped her eyes. But Alicia had already seen the flash of disapproval.
“I’ve made cakes for your travels.”
“Thank you.” Alicia couldn’t force a bite if she tried.
The door opened. Alicia’s heart stuttered as she turned.
“The carriage is ready, ma’am.” Mr. Kent bowed, looking weary.
“Thank you,” she forced again.
How could he not be here?
Nights, she reminded herself. They’d agreed to nights. Not to mornings. Not to sentimental goodbyes.
How could he not be here?
She lifted her chin. This wasn’t the first time she’d suffered humiliation. She would get through this, just like she got through Octavius’s rejection, his affair, and his death. Just because Octavius had never made her feel precious—
Her shoulders heaved.
“Oh—Oh, dear.” Mrs. Kent rushed up the remaining stairs and enveloped Alicia in an embrace.
“Moll.” Mr. Kent’s tone reprimanded.
“’Tis not my place,” Mrs. Kent said with a stony glare. “But this isn’t right. None of this is right. Never thought he
’d be as callous as his—
“Moll.”
Mrs. Kent harrumphed. “’Tis the devil’s own work to let her go without a by-your-leave. And here I thought she’d be the one.”
The one?
Mr. Kent’s troubled gaze came to rest on Alicia. “Pay her no mind. The carriage is prepared.”
Alicia nodded, gathering her wits. She may feel as if she shattered, but she was whole. Whole, if with a breaking heart.
She squeezed Mrs. Kent, grateful for the sympathy, but Mr. Kent was right. Whatever despair she may feel, Ash—no, she would think of the Duke of Ashbey as his grace or the duke from now on—had not lied. His grace had acted precisely how he had warned her he would act.
Truth was a harsh salve.
“I am ready,” she said.
Mr. Kent nodded. “I’ll retrieve your bag.”
“Oh!” Mrs. Kent said suddenly. “This came for you this morning.” She rushed to the sideboard and returned to deliver a package.
Alicia unwrapped the brown paper. A cloak—she shook out the fabric—but a cloak like none she’d ever seen. The outer layer was black wool, and the inner lined with the thickest, blackest fur she’d ever seen. Her mind went blank; all she could do was blink.
...a coat of sable.
Mrs. Kent looked away. “His Grace ordered it the night you came. Mr. Kent rode all the way to Bath.”
She touched the lining—rich and smooth and supple. A coat like this could keep her in constant coal for a year or more. A coat like this would remind her of the dark, sumptuous nights they shared.
“Do you have the cloak I was wearing when I came?”
Mrs. Kent shook her head no. “Destroyed on His Grace’s order.”
She pursed her lips. She didn’t want this. Didn’t want something that would remind her of this awful moment. But she’d freeze without the protection of a coat.
“Take it, please.”
Mrs. Kent did not. Alicia laid it gently over the rail and made her way back up the stairs through his bedchamber into the dressing room. She spotted his banyan on the wall, grabbed it from the hook, held the cloth to her face and inhaled.
Her body, not truly understanding the morning’s change, instantly relaxed.
He was a devil—a devil for whom she cared so much more than she wished to care. And if he wanted her to have a memento, she much preferred this. She rolled up the banyan and tucked the bundle under her arm.
Her Duke at Daybreak Mythic Dukes Trilogy Page 9
