Her Deceptive Duke (Wicked Husbands Book 4)

by Scarlett Scott

He noticed her now.

  He gripped her hips, kissed her deeper, and all he could think was one word. Mine.

  He whispered it into her mouth. “Mine.” Moved his mouth over hers. “You’re mine, Georgie. Say you know it. Say you feel this too, that you want me as much as I want you. This—we—are not a mistake.”

  “Kit.” She framed his face in her hands, her expression confused, skin flushed, eyes glazed with desire. “I want to hate you.”

  He ground his rigid length into her, letting her feel him. “Do you hate me?”

  She gasped at the contact, her soft body melting into his. “I wish I hated you. Before you returned, I was determined to divorce you by whatever means necessary.”

  Over his dead, bloated corpse.

  “Only before I returned?” He had to know.

  A telling flush of guilt darkened her cheekbones. “After as well. You are the most surly, overbearing man I’ve ever met, not to mention the least pleasant invalid.”

  He supposed he could not argue against the truth. Softness didn’t exist in him. The old duke had done his best to see it beaten out of him, and the League had done the rest. “What about now, Georgie?”

  Deciding to employ a different sort of persuasion, he put some distance between them then, reaching down to find the slit in her drawers. His fingers dipped inside without resistance, finding her cunny hot and slick and deliciously ready for him.

  “Do you hate me now?” he forced out.

  Her sole answer was a low, delicious moan that sent a bolt of lust directly to his groin.

  The breath fled his lungs. His cockstand grew harder. He found the bud of her sex, rolled his fingers over it once, twice, thrice. Damn, she was so wet, everything he wanted. A moan purred from her throat, and she arched into him. He increased the pressure, pressing another teasing, lingering kiss to her lips before withdrawing.

  “You didn’t answer me, Georgie.” His need of her had rendered him breathless.

  “I…no, I do not hate you now.”

  The minx.

  Without breaking her gaze, he raised his glistening fingers to his lips, sucking them clean. It was his first taste of her, and he could not wait to put his tongue directly on her, to work her pearl, to kiss and lick and nip her, to make her come in his mouth and lap up her nectar.

  Fuck. He needed her. But he also needed to slow down. “Would you like to remove your drawers like a good duchess, or do you want me to tear them off you myself?”

  She swallowed, cheekbones still stained bright red as she toed off her shoes. “You.”

  He hesitated, the play of power between them arousing him more than he could have imagined. “Say it, Georgie. I want to hear it from your pretty pink lips.”

  Kit took her mouth again, letting her taste herself as he slid his tongue into her mouth before retreating.

  Georgie shuddered. “I want you to tear them off me.”

  With pleasure.

  She didn’t have to say it twice. On a growl, Kit gripped the waist placket of her drawers and rent the fabric in one swift yank in the front and another in the back. The remaining halves of her drawers fell to the floor around each ankle.

  But he didn’t care about the ruined drawers. All he did care about was the fact that his wife was nude except for her stockings. And willing. And wet. And delicious. Ready for him. He took her mouth again, kissed and kissed her. Guided her to the bed, backward, his lips never leaving hers.

  Until they were falling, as one, to the mattress. He twisted his body to absorb the brunt of the impact with his good leg, Georgie falling against and atop him. By blessed miracle, she didn’t land on his wound.

  As her luscious length came into full contact with his, her body pressing against his rigid cock, he could not withhold the moan that fell from his lips. And journeyed straight into her mouth. They still had not stopped kissing, and he did not wish to ever stop. He could kiss her forever. Kissing Georgie made him feel alive in a way that he’d never felt before.

  Once, he’d believed he required danger in order to feel. But not even the grave perils he’d faced during his covert work for the Home Office could compare to the way moving his lips and tongue against hers made him feel.

  He rocked his hips into the cradle of hers, seeking relief from the painful erection he had been sporting ever since he’d gotten well. Might as well admit it to himself—he’d been more randy than a green youth who’d just had his first woman from the moment his body had been healed enough to allow arousal.

  And he’d been drawn to her since well before that.

  It had been the day he informed her he’d commandeered her chamber for his own use. The same day he’d been horrified to realize she had been looking after him intimately during his illness. His pride had made him lash out. But the rest of him had not forgotten what she had done. How many nights had she spent sleeping at his bedside when she owed him nothing? He was the man who had left her, and regardless of the justifications, it was a fact.

  Her fingers were in his hair, tugging, her nails raking his scalp. She moaned again, matched his kisses with a ferocity that could not fail to set him alight. When her tongue slipped inside his mouth, tentative at first but then growing bolder, stroking his, he jerked against her.

  Perhaps he could take her now after all. His stitches were cleanly healed, were they not? The time of infection and tearing it open once more had surely passed. And if it hadn’t?

  Well, he didn’t give a good goddamn. Not with Georgie atop him and a welcoming mattress beneath him. His mind seemed suddenly as if it was inhabited by an angel and a devil, continuously sniping and offering contrary opinions to each other.

  His first thought was that she could ride him. But she was an innocent… And then the wickedness within reminded him that she was an innocent he could tutor. One way or another, he was going to claim her. He couldn’t wait another bloody day. He tore his lips from hers, kissed her jaw, her throat, murmuring her name against her skin like a litany.

  “Georgie.” Kiss. “Georgie.” Kiss, kiss, kiss all the way to her ear. He set his lips there on the soft whorl, sank his nose into the silken perfume of her hair. “I want inside you. I want to do what I should have done on our wedding day. To make you mine.”

  His fingers slipped between their bodies again, meeting the soft, wet heat of her.

  “Oh, Kit.”

  He teased her pearl with firm strokes, kissed his way down her throat, gratified at the new moan he wrung from her, the buck of her hips that told him she wanted him with a desperation that matched his need for her. But it wasn’t enough. Touching her didn’t suffice. He had to taste her. Carefully, mindful of his thigh, he dragged his lips and his body lower. Over her breasts, sucking a nipple into his mouth before continuing over the plane of her stomach. Lower still, until his hands bracketed the fullness of her thighs and his lips claimed the silken patch of skin above her mound.

  She cried out, her voice husky with her desire as she writhed beneath him. “What are you doing?”

  “Pleasuring you, love.” He caressed her inner thighs, slowly working them open until she was spread before him. The sight of her, pink and glistening and oh so beautiful, sent a fresh rush of need straight to his cock.

  “But Kit,” she began to protest, likely shocked by the intimacy he was about to visit upon her.

  “Hush,” he ordered her, and then he licked the perfect, engorged bud of her sex. Direct from the source, she tasted better than when he had sucked her juices from his fingers. Sweeter, darker, the perfect blend of raw femininity and musky desire. He sucked her entire clitoris into his mouth. True manna from heaven. He could never get enough.

  And he wasn’t going to stop until she knew without a doubt that she was his.

  Dear. Sweet. Lord.

  She was going to shatter from the pleasure.

  Her heart was going to gallop straight out of her chest and launch itself into the heavens.

  The sight of his dark head nestled be
tween her thighs, handsome face pressed to her most intimate flesh, was as shocking as it was arousing. She could not look away as sensation, pure and decadent, rocketed through her, brighter and hotter than the sun.

  If she had thought Kit skilled with his fingers, she now knew his truest talent lay elsewhere. In his lips. In his wicked, wicked tongue. He licked her as she had never imagined a man would do to a woman, feasting upon her, as though she were a confection he could never consume enough of.

  She was sure it was altogether depraved and wrong, that she ought to offer up a maidenly protest. Georgiana opened her mouth, but all that left it was a moan of appreciation. She lowered her hands to his head, thinking she should perhaps push him away. The act was so very personal, so salacious, so… He sucked on the most sensitive part of her again, and her thoughts scattered like a handful of seeds tossed into the wind.

  Sensation and pleasure was all that remained. Deep and drugging. Luxurious and delicious. Her fingers sank into his hair, tunneling a path, and she was surprised to find the strands as soft as the finest silk imported from Paris, thick and luxurious. She had not imagined a man’s hair could be so wondrous to touch, but Kit’s was. She reveled in the pleasure of caressing him as he worshipped her.

  When he gently took her between his teeth and bit, she bucked, crying out. The climax he had brought her to before loomed, and her body tightened, something deep inside her preparing to explode. She was at the edge, and she shamelessly twisted and arched against his mouth, wanting more, wanting release.

  “Mmm,” he hummed his pleasure against her, his tongue flitting over her in fast, hard strokes that alternated with long, leisurely licks. The wet sounds of him suckling her reached her ears, and she knew not an ounce of shame. She was mindless now. Desperate. “Spend on my tongue, Georgie love. I want to taste you when you come.”

  Love. When he spoke that word in his mesmerizing, deep voice, a strange new yearning unfurled within her. It grew in magnitude, opening like a blossom, bursting and uncontainable.

  He sucked her again, using his teeth to abrade the sensitive bundle of nerves hiding within her folds. It was all she could bear. Her release was sudden and violent, tearing through her with the force of a fire. She spent for him, on him, her heart pounding, bliss radiating from her core in steady, beautiful waves. And he licked into her still, taking her through the rush of her release, dragging it out with shallow thrusts of his tongue, until she was breathless and mindless.

  And he rose over her, his body lean from his lengthy time of recuperation, but hard with the muscle he had built before his wounding. She had a moment to appreciate the sleek lines of his torso, the delineation of his strength in slabs and sinews. How beautiful he was, how leonine and graceful.

  He favored his wounded thigh, bearing the brunt of his weight on the opposite leg as he knelt between her spread legs. His erection jutted out, hard and impossibly large, and she could not help but notice that it appeared to have grown. When he pressed his body to hers, she felt him for the first time, hot and rigid against her inner thigh, the tip of his shaft brushing the nub that still tingled with the sensation of his tongue and teeth upon it.

  His mouth found her nipple, one of his hands mooring in her hair. She moved against him, opening her legs wider to form a perfect cradle for his body. The weight of him pinning her to the bed, the heat of his skin on hers, the suction of his mouth…it was all too perfect, too wondrous, inciting a fresh maelstrom of desire. Being with him in this way felt like a homecoming. As though the most natural thing in the world was to have this man atop her, claiming her with his touch, branding her with his mouth.

  “Georgie,” he whispered against her breast, flicking his tongue over her nipple. “My sweet, tenderhearted Georgie. I want you so bloody much that it terrifies me.”

  His hushed admission shocked her as much as it emboldened her. She knew the feeling. The way he made her feel, and the way she felt for him…it frightened her more than anything could.

  She captured his face in her hands, drawing him to her. Their gazes clashed, his burning bright with desire and with something else she could not define.

  “Kit,” she said, breathless. “I want you too. Take me.”

  I love you, she added inwardly, because she was too much of a coward to confess it aloud. And because it was still too new, because she remained uncertain of what, if anything, her love could mean for them.

  A growl tore from him, and the hand that had buried itself in her hair tightened. Her Grecian braid tugged at her scalp, but she relished the possession in his hold, the barely leashed strength that told her he was as out of his depth as she was when it came to the mad attraction that sparked and burned between them.

  It had not been thus during their brief betrothal.

  Nor on their wedding day.

  But he had returned a changed man, to find her a very different woman than the one he’d left behind. It was almost as if the world had conspired to keep them apart until the moment they were both able to see how much they needed each other.

  Until right now, when they were skin to skin and eye to eye and soaring, overwhelming need to need.

  One hand remained planted firmly in her hair while the other dipped into her folds, working her as he had before. But this time was different, for though he worked his fingers over her wetness, he withdrew to grip his cock, slicking her dew over himself. And the next touch she knew was not his fingers at all, but the bulbous head of him.

  “Oh,” she said on a sigh as he rubbed his thick hardness over her folds, using the tip to tease the nubbin of flesh within. He felt so good, so right. But this also felt like it was somehow not enough. She was empty and aching and longing to be filled. She wanted him to take her.

  “Yes, oh.” His mouth was on hers then, and the kiss was claiming. Almost barbaric in the way his lips owned hers. It was hard and soft, giving and taking. His tongue was in her mouth, and she could taste herself. It was at once arousing and shocking.

  He broke the kiss, hovering over her, his mouth a scant inch from hers, his breath falling hot and humid over her lips. “This is your last chance, Georgie. There will be no divorce after this. No other man but me. You are mine forever, from this moment forward.”

  “Yes.” The lone word was all she could manage, infusing all the vehemence into it, all the suppressed love and desire, everything she had tried so hard to withhold from him. And there it was. She was giving him all the power. The power to hurt her. The power to break her heart. The power to destroy her.

  But she gave it freely, because she could no longer deny him any more than she could deny herself. Christopher Anthony Harcourt was all she wanted. The only man for her. Her heart was his. Her body was his. It seemed to her in that moment that her very soul was his if he would but ask it of her. She would follow him across the River Styx.

  She tugged his lips to hers then, her fingers once more delving into his hair, nails raking over his scalp and then lower, down his neck, over the plane of his back. Her fingers absorbed the tenseness of his muscles, the indentation of his spine. She learned him, reveled in his quiet strength, her fingertips grazing every bit of his naked skin that they could find.

  He lifted his head for a moment, his bright gaze burning into hers. “Georgie.”

  She failed to manage a coherent response. All that emerged was, “Mmm?”

  “This is what I should have done on our wedding day,” he said, and then he moved against her, his hand slipping between them to guide his cock to her entrance.

  His hips pressed down on hers, and with one shallow thrust, the tip of him was sheathed within her. Another jerk of his hips took him deeper inside her. Pleasure mingled with a sharp, burning pain. She was gloriously full of him, and the sensation was so new, so unlike anything she had ever imagined, that tears gathered in her eyes, collecting on her lashes.

  He stilled, his body partially inside hers, stretching her. A frown furrowed his forehead, his expression one of intense
concentration. She realized he was restraining himself on her behalf. “Have I hurt you, love? I’m told there is pain the first time, and I do not wish to cause you—”

  Georgie yanked his mouth back down to hers, muffling the rest of his words with her kiss. She didn’t want to hear apologies. She didn’t want tentative or controlled. She wanted wild. She wanted him to take her. His tongue slipped past her lips and he groaned into her mouth, his hips canting against hers.

  More burning, more stretching. But the pleasure had begun to overwhelm the discomfort. Testing herself, she moved against him, tipping her hips, opening her legs. He sank even deeper inside her, and she pulsed around him.

  He tore his mouth from hers, kissed her chin, her jaw, her throat. His lips found their way all over her. “Fuck,” he muttered into her ear, his breath scalding.

  His curse landed inside her like a burning ember, kindling into a flame. It was raw and real, torn from him. Evidence of the effect she had upon him, she dared hope.

  “Yes,” she whispered, her nails scoring his back. His skin was so smooth, so warm. The muscles rippling beneath her touch were tense and strong. “Take me, Kit. Please, I need…oh.” She didn’t know what she needed, not precisely. He was what she needed, deeper, more, faster.

  It was all the impetus he required. He surged forward, seating himself deep inside her. She felt herself spasm and clench around him, adjusting to this new, bold invasion. And then his fingers were on her, teasing, circling, working her into a frenzy. She moaned. He withdrew, only to slide inside her again.

  It was so good. So very, very good. The pain ebbed. In its place was a searing, transcending pleasure. The world seemed to shrink around her into a miniscule buttonhole, and all she could see, all she could feel, all she knew was Kit. His body, on her, within her. His mouth on hers, stealing her breath as he had thieved her heart.

  He fed her kisses, tongue in her mouth.

  She murmured his name, her delight, her pleasure against his lips again and again. In and out he slid, his cock hard and huge, but she no longer felt pain, only the most delectable craving for more. More of him. More of his lips on her, his cock inside her. Just more.