Addicted to the Duke

by Bronwen Evans

  She couldn’t look him in the eye. Goodness, did he know she’d blatantly sought out the secrets of his body as he lay sleeping? Her cheeks burned hot.

  At the sound of Alex’s pained attempt to pull himself upright, she lifted her head and looked over; his maleness brought a hungry smile to her lips. Familiar longing flooded her person and heated her skin. Hestia admitted to herself that even though she might never have a future with him, she shamelessly still wanted him.

  She craved him, plain and simple. Life was short, especially for those on board this ship, given where they were and the enemies chasing them. She had no idea what would happen when they sailed into Greek waters. The urge to give in to her desires grew the closer they got to the danger. Damned if she’d die never experiencing passion.

  With heat pooling in her most private of places, she really didn’t care about the consequences of her desire. If Alex didn’t want to marry her, then she’d take what she could get. It seemed pointless to hang on to her innocence when she might not live through this adventure. She wanted to have one perfect night with the man she loved, to experience all that could be—passion, joy, and the feeling of closeness with the man who owned her heart.

  Alex finally managed to stand. The effort saw him breathing heavily for a few moments before he walked out to his balcony with fists clenched. There he leaned against the railing and took a few deep breaths before turning and making his way back to his bed.

  He clutched the headboard of his bunk, sweat glistening on his brow, his muscular body on display. His stare locked with hers. She stood motionless, soaking in his beauty. She felt her face flushing as Alex’s eyes darkened with answering desire, and her heart skipped a beat.

  “What did that prove? Why are men so stubborn, or is it only you?” she scolded.

  “It proved I’m getting stronger by the day; a few days ago I could barely stand up.”

  He lowered himself to a sitting position on the edge of the bunk and pulled the sheet up to cover himself, but not quickly enough to hide his hardness.

  He must be feeling better. This was ridiculous. Why should they go on denying their mutual attraction? She was sick of fooling herself; she wanted him, and it would seem the desire was mutual.

  “Don’t.” He spoke the words in a deep, husky tone.

  Forcing her hands to relax at her side, the fear of another rejection fresh in her mind, she approached him.

  “Don’t do what? I haven’t done anything.” Her tone matched his: deep, soft, and inviting.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” he growled. “You know very well what you are doing.” With a sigh he ran a shaky hand through his hair. “It can never be—leave me alone.” His tone was filled with raw emotion and made her heart lurch painfully in her chest. He wanted this as much as she did.

  It hurt that his need for revenge against Murad meant more to him than her.

  If they couldn’t find her father, then her days as a free woman were numbered. She would have to marry, and she would not be second best, not for Alex anyway. Being married to a man who owned your heart but did not love you in return would be torture. If Alex took a mistress, when Alex took a mistress, she’d die inside.

  She would have to marry someone else. A man whose behavior could not hurt her. She had too much pride to beg Alex for the protection of his name.

  However, she would not let Fredrick win, not after this.

  What ate her up inside was the knowledge that it was too unfair to never know the sweetness of Alex’s touch. He was beautiful in mind and body. More important, she loved him. It had to be him—he had to be her first lover.

  Nothing else mattered.

  Only something else did matter to Alex—revenge. That’s why he was pushing himself so hard to regain his strength.

  “You look as if you need this after your effort to disobey doctor’s orders. Admit it, trying to stand drained you.”

  “I’m fine, I just need a moment to rest,” he said, but he drank a glass dry.

  “Are you going to try to stand again, or do you understand you can’t rush the healing process?”

  A growl came from deep in his chest before he flopped back onto his bed, sweat glistening on his torso. At least he had not damaged his stitches; they were healing nicely and needed to come out soon before healing completely over. The scabs were forming without any sign of infection.

  Hestia hoped he couldn’t hear her pounding heart slamming against her rib cage. He would always affect her this way, but the newfound intimacy from caring for him heightened her desires. He desired her too; when he’d stood up, the evidence was clear for all to see.

  As soon as Alex was well she would see where this mutual attraction led. She had but one life, and if she had to marry another, she wanted one night with Alex. She had no idea how she would achieve her goal.

  Hestia took her chair and started to embroider. After thirty minutes, she glanced at Alex. The empty wineglass sat on the nightstand. He lay propped against the headboard, his eyes emerald slits, the pupils dilated by the laudanum she’d put in his wine.

  She must have dozed a little herself, because her tapestry hitting the floor woke her. Or maybe it was the moans coming from Alex. She quietly approached the bunk and did her normal routine placing her palm on his forehead to check his temperature. He felt warm, but no more than usual.

  Alex began to thrash his legs under the sheets, and she knew she had to stop him.

  She placed her hand on the middle of his bare chest and pushed lightly. “Alex, wake up, you’re having a bad dream.”

  At the sound of her voice his movements stilled. He did not open his eyes, but his eyebrows knitted in a frown.

  He was mumbling, so she leaned nearer.

  “You’re so beautiful. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He kept repeating “I’m sorry” over and over and he was getting agitated again.

  Was he apologizing to her? What for? For deceiving her into thinking this trip was for her benefit?

  She stroked her hand over his chest. “Shh, it’s all right, Alex. I’m here.”

  As his gaze swept over her, he said, “Even in my dreams you torment me.”

  He went motionless and closed his eyes. “Why are you torturing me?”

  So much pain imbued those words.

  She lay down next to him, cradling him in her arms. “I wish I could relieve your torment,” she whispered as she cooed to him.

  As if a part of him knew exactly the relief she could offer, he mumbled, “You haunt my dreams. In my dreams you belong to me. If all I can have are dreams, then I’ll embrace them,” he answered hoarsely.

  His lips nuzzled her neck and he rolled onto his injury-free side, pulling her in close to his body.

  His hand slid to her bosom and slipped underneath her garments.

  —

  Alex dreamed of his porcelain-skinned, fair-haired siren, Hestia. She came to him in this dream, caressing him, soothing him, helping him heal. In the real world he could never take her, but here in his dreams he could possess her, mark her, bind her to him always.

  In his sleep he let dreamland draw him forth. He hoped and got his wish, the dream returned, she appeared beside his bed, gliding as if on air.

  Striving for sanity, he closed his eyes; the feel of her lips against his and the smell of her skin were so real. He dipped his head and pushed her silky hair aside as he pressed a kiss to the back of her slender neck; her scent was enthralling. He heard her muffled groan.

  He could just make out her features, fine and delicate, beautiful, the face of an angel, framed by her hair glittering silver in the moonlight. It hung long and straight, freely flowing over her shoulders. He longed to wrap his hands in it and feel the silky softness against his skin. The face of innocence with the body of a temptress—a body made for sin. Tonight in this dream he’d take his full pleasure of her.

  “You feel so real.”

  “I am real.” The feminine words drove his need higher.


  He gripped her shoulders, suddenly lifting her away from him.

  He lay back on the bed gently pulling Hestia with him. With a relief so exquisite he could have wept, he lowered his head and kissed her lips, pouring all his pent-up frustration into her warmth. Her mouth opened immediately in welcome. The delicious taste of her filled his senses, heat pooling in his groin. He had to slow down. Her mouth had him on fire; his aroused member would burst with one more touch, and he wanted to take his time and make this dream last all night.

  Breaking the kiss, he whispered, “Tell me I’m the first man to really kiss you, hold you, and teach you about passion.”

  “Of course you are. It’s been only you since I met you. I’ve known since you saved me that you’re the only man for me. I’ve wanted you for so long.”

  She rose to a crouch on the mattress beside him, a smile of pure seduction on her breathtaking features.

  “Remove your shirt.” She obeyed his request, removing the half shift she wore beneath as well. He murmured encouragement, and just as he had imagined, Hestia was not shy. She pulled away from him and moved to stand on the cabin floor near the bed. Like a first-class courtesan, Hestia slowly slipped her breeches down over curving hips.

  Alex felt himself hardening further with anticipation. Please don’t let me wake from this fantasy.

  Boldly, she stepped aside and kicked her trousers away. Her hands glided over her rounded stomach, up to cup her breasts in her hands.

  Much more of this and he’d explode like an inexperienced schoolboy.

  Alex moved so he was lying back against the pillows, his wound all but forgotten. “I don’t ever want to wake from this dream.”

  He knew it was a dream, because Hestia stood naked in all her beauty, her body glistening in the moonlight, her breasts heaving with each deep breath. His gaze traveled down over her breasts, taking in the rounded curves of her hips before riveting on the silky fair curls at the apex of her thighs. Alex had never seen anything so exquisite.

  “Come here,” he said, beckoning with his finger, holding her gaze, her beautiful blue eyes the color of molten sapphires sparkling in the lamplight. “Put one leg on the bed, here by me.”

  She complied.

  He sucked in his breath. She was now completely open to his gaze. He could feel her heat, smell the musky scent of her. He was going mad.

  He ran his hands slowly down her legs, loving the feel of her soft skin. He felt her shudder.

  “I want to kiss you all over.” His desire getting the better of him, he raised her leg and kissed her toes.

  He repeated the action on her right leg. She stood as God intended, before him as perfect as any dream could be. His breathing hitched.

  “You’re so beautiful.” He pulled her forward until she tumbled down on the bed beside him, and he drank from her lips. “That’s better,” he purred. He lowered his head and claimed her mouth once more.

  He poured all his emotions into the kiss, telling her what he could never say in words. He wanted her. He was drowning in an endless kiss full of desire. His lips captured hers, his tongue invaded her mouth, claimed it, conquered it. She returned his ardor, plunging her tongue deep into his mouth, and they dueled back and forth until they were both shaking with desire.

  Finally he broke the kiss and trailed his lips down her slender neck, nibbling at the point where her pulse pounded in her delicate throat. Then he lowered his head further and kissed her nipple, laving her areola as she whimpered. Tormenting her no further, he sucked hungrily upon her, tugging her nipple between his lips. She cried out with pleasure, bucking beside him.

  It was his dream, so it was hardly surprising that he imagined her so eager for his loving.

  Panting, he quickly captured her other breast with his mouth and did the same. She was squirming next to him, frantic with passion as he devoured her breasts with his fiery, demanding kisses. But it wasn’t enough; he wanted to taste her, to make her explode with pleasure.

  Conscious of his wound, he urged, “Sit up, my siren,” longing in every word. “Straddle me and move up so your hands are on the headboard.” She complied. In this dream she was his to command.

  As he lay back on the pillows, she was positioned just above his face, up on her knees, hands on the bunk’s headboard. Alex noted the tension in her hands, her knuckles almost white as she held on tightly, no comprehension of the dizzy heights he was about to take her to. He smiled softly as she gazed into his eyes with apprehension and eagerness.

  That was what was so wonderful about dreams. You could have the same dream over and over. He could pretend to take her virginity again and again and again.

  She’d always be an innocent to him.

  Her eyes gave permission, but he hesitated, drawing out his anticipation as long as he could. Finally, when her whole body was trembling, he put his mouth to her and gently stroked her slick wet folds with his tongue.

  She cried out at his first touch, hands gripping more tightly on the headboard. “Oh my God,” she moaned. She lowered her head to watch him, the blue of her eyes darkened to almost black, her desire evident in their heated depths.

  He drew back and kissed her milky thigh. She closed her eyes, waiting, enticed.

  Her eyes sensuously opened and she whispered, “What are you doing?”

  “Loving you, my fair angel.”

  Eyes flashing with desire she moaned. “Then do it, take me. I can’t stand much more.”

  “All good things come to those who wait.”

  He nestled down in the pillows between her thighs; the sight of her womanhood directly above him had his blood pounding in his ears. He touched her again with his tongue. She writhed above him. He savored the taste of her, imprinting it on his brain. She tasted sweeter than honey. He licked deeply with his tongue, penetrating her, drinking her, and she became his siren utterly, her head thrown back in mindless thrall. She squirmed and bucked, trying to move away, and then the next minute writhing to move closer to the magic his tongue created. He held her hips still, forcing her to accept his pleasure; finally he felt her hips begin to move, picking up the rhythm of his tongue’s relentless strokes.

  —

  Hestia trembled at his blatant intimacy. She was incapable of thinking as she watched his head move between her spread thighs, adoring the wanton way it made her feel. She should stop him. She wasn’t sure this was good for his injury or that he understood this was not a dream.

  The slow, deliberate caress of his tongue against her moist, sensitive flesh forced all thought of making him stop from her mind. The wet suction of his mouth…The languid strokes had her head spinning.

  His lips burned hot against her and she gripped the headboard harder; her hips moved freely, matching every stroke of his talented tongue. At the next heated lick, reason fled. His consummate skill made her dizzy. He knew exactly how to touch her, how to create an exquisite pressure that left her panting for more. His tongue played over her, rolling against the taut, erectile nub of her sex.

  “Come apart for me, darling.” He kissed her again, his lips suckling her swollen, plump flesh. “I want to hear you cry out with pleasure.”

  She didn’t understand the sensations she felt. The stabbing pleasure was almost too much to bear. The molten heat of his mouth had her on fire. She exploded an instant later, lightning flashing, and she soared in the clouds, flying high above her body, his scorching mouth forcing jolt after tormenting jolt from her.

  Her body quaked with pulsating release, and she’d never experienced anything more beautiful.

  Panting softly, Hestia eased her grip on the headboard. She looked down at her Adonis. His eyes glittered with fierce possessiveness, the wetness of his mouth curled in a gratified smile. He brushed one last kiss against her quivering flesh, and then moved from between her thighs.

  —

  The taste of her was on his lips. Now having tasted her, his dream tonight became primal, tonight she’d become his.

  During the
day he missed her smiling face, her gaiety, and wit. But most of all he ached for her, his body hard and fit to burst, his physical need for release a constant ache in his loins, joining the stabbing pain from his knife wound.

  He relished the dark, for in the night Hestia visited his dreams, and her presence seemed so real, so potent, he was determined to see this dream through to the end.

  He knew it must be the laudanum she gave him making his dreams come alive. He shouldn’t let her give him any now that the pain was barely a nuisance, but he was too weak to resist, for his dreams of her made his soul soar.

  During the day, he refused to take it, but at night he craved the drug. He craved the sensuous delusions of her. He knew she’d given him some to sleep.

  He sighed.

  Dreamland was the only world in which she could ever be his. He could tell her how much he wanted her, desired her, craved her, and he could pretend he was good enough for her, act as if the darkness driving his revenge couldn’t hurt her.

  A shiver shook him, a primitive recognition that in his dreams, he could have whatever he wished of her, that she wouldn’t, no couldn’t, resist. In his dreams she would belong to him and only him, always.

  She rose up over him—naked. Her pale curves, iridescent in the sliver of moonlight flooding the cabin. Her hands knowingly caressed every inch of his body; her lips kissed, sucked, and licked him all over. This was not the mouth of an innocent. This was his dream tigress, on the hunt and set on capturing and devouring him.

  He was desperate to be caught.

  Like a sleek cat she hung naked above him, balanced on all fours. Her luscious breasts swung free, teasing his chest. Her tongue bent and licked his nipple, branding him with its heat. His body burned to possess her, but as he tried to rise she swatted him back down. His tigress was in control.

  Hestia continued to stroke him, her hand as soft as velvet against his rough skin. As she lightly traced his hard rod beneath her palm, it responded to her attention, growing considerably harder in response to her touch.

  As if wanting to learn every inch of his body, her hands continued to fondle and caress him. The exploration was a slow, pleasurable torture. He couldn’t deny her, she wanted to—no, demanded to experience, and obviously sought to savor every inch of him.