What a Duke Wants (16 page)

He stopped laughing.

Chapter 16

I
sabella couldn’t believe she had said that. Admitting one couldn’t even pull off a shift was not seductive.

“I am happy to help you take it off,” Mark said. “Or if you’d rather, I could take off my clothing. I do declare this shirt is feeling rather tight.”

Even with his jacket off she could see how the fine-woven fabric of his shirt might be uncomfortable. That would never do. “Yes, I do think you should remove your shirt. But”—she glanced over him—“I really think your shoes should go first.”

They hit the floor with a thud.

“Shirt or stockings?”

She looked him over. “Stockings, then shirt.”

The stockings followed the shoes. He shifted then, so that he knelt beside her on the bed, towering over her.

His neck cloth fell beside her on the bed.

The first button slid open.

Then the second.

The third.

Had his skin been so tempting before? It was hard to remember. She tucked her fingers under the edge of her robe to keep from stroking. Right now she just wanted to watch.

The fourth. There was a light dusting of dark hair on his chest, a small scar on one shoulder.

The fifth. The skin on his chest was lighter than his face, but still darker than she had expected.

The sixth. His shirt slid open revealing his puckered dark nipples. They were so much smaller than her own.

The seventh. The last. He let his shirt fall completely open, but made no move to push it from his shoulders. His eyes met hers. He waited.

Pushing up to her own knees, she knelt beside him. A swarm of butterflies beat in her belly as she reached forward and slid her hands across his tight stomach. The few dark curls rubbed against her palm.

Her own breathing was fast. It felt as if her heart would burst within her chest. And those butterflies—they were ready to beat their wings until they burst free. She slid her hands up, over his hard nipples, and back down, then up again. She swallowed as she pushed the shirt over his shoulders and ran it down his arms. It caught at his wrists. She should have made him undo the cuff links first.

Although she rather liked how he looked with his arms trapped behind him. It was tempting to leave him that way.

She leaned forward and blew, watching the hairs shiver on his chest.

Should she taste?

He was salty. The smell of his soap and a light musky cologne filled her nose. She turned her face, feeling the texture of his skin against her cheek.

He shifted a little and her weight overbalanced, sending them both sprawling on the bed.

He began to laugh again. “I always have so much fun with you.”

She tilted her head up to look at him. “Isn’t this always fun? Isn’t that the point?”

“Not like this. I don’t know why, but it’s different with you. I can be laughing and playing and be delightfully happy. Oh, don’t get me wrong—I am eager for things to move along. But still, this is perfect.”

He reached out a bare foot and stroked it along her calf. It was her turn to laugh. She hadn’t realized her legs were ticklish.

His foot brushed higher up and she gasped. He smiled, devilishly, and moved in for further attack.

With a quick jerk she slithered sideways, running her hands across his bare ribs. His laughter increased.

And then it was all-out warfare.

Tickle. Rub. Nip.

Her ribs hurt from laughing and her eyes watered with joy—not, she was sure, in an attractive way.

She fell back on the bed, chest heaving as she tried to pull in a full breath. “This isn’t at all what I imagined.”

“Haven’t you ever had a tickle fight before? You must have as a child.”

That stilled her. A tickle fight? She couldn’t remember anything even close. Her siblings had both been older, and Violet had left home when Isabella was still very young. It was impossible to even think of Masters in a tickle fight. She thought he’d hugged her once or twice, but even that was hard to be sure of. Her family had never been one for physical closeness.

She changed the subject. “That’s not what I meant. I was referring to my planned seduction. I think the only part that has gone as planned is that we are both in my bed.”

“I thought you refused to claim it as yours—the bed of purple passion, that is.”

“Can’t you be serious for a moment? Seduction is supposed to be serious.” She rolled over and leaned up on her elbow.

He stared up at her. “Why?”

“Because this is my whole life. I am changing everything. It should not be a joke. This might be fun, but I cannot forget everything in my life will change because of this.”

The smile dropped from his face. “You are right. This is serious, but it is also fun. It should always be fun. Don’t forget that, Isabella. We can be as serious as you like, but we should both have a good time.” He brushed a hand over the thin fabric covering her breasts.

She swallowed at the look in eyes. How could sheer silliness change to passion so quickly?

His gaze focused on her mouth and her face was drawn toward his.

It started with a simple brush of lips on lips. Soft and dry. Almost the kiss she would have given a friend after a long absence. But only almost.

No friend would have tempted her to open her mouth, to let her tongue slip out, to taste, to sample—

—and then to devour.

It happened in the blink of an eye. One moment there was curiosity and innocence, and the next, flames.

Lips ground against lips. His hands swept through her hair, holding her head captive. His tongue ran around her lips and she opened them to him, wanting to taste him, to feel him, to drive him on.

His hands slid down over her shoulders, down to her breasts. He pulled back a moment, looking deep into her eyes, and then with a simple twist of hips he was over her, on top of her, his hips grinding into hers as he fitted them together. His breeches and her gown were still between them, but her body only knew what it wanted—and wanted now.

Her hands locked around his head, his hair was silk, thick and alive, but still silk. She could have spent hours running her fingers through it, but that would have kept her from feeling the rough nap of his beard, the sweet fullness of his lips. She didn’t know where to touch next, where to taste next.

Her whole being was caught on the wonder of skin on skin, on the glory of touch.

She felt him glide her gown and robe down her shoulders, over her arms. She replied by rubbing herself against him. He felt like warm velvet. And smelled like  . . . leather, musk, a hint of cigar—and something else, something she could only define as him, as Mark.

And then there was no thought, only touch and sensation.

There was fire, and light, and glory—oh yes, there was glory. Isabella had never realized that all these sensations could exist at once, that her whole body could be nothing but feeling.

Her head fell back against the pillows as she sucked in a great breath. The other afternoon had been wonderful—at least until the interruption—but it had been nothing compared to this.

Mark stared down at her, his gaze firmly locked upon her breasts. His eyes were black with desire and she could feel the movement of each deep breath filling her chest. Reaching out, he ran a single finger down the side of her breast, following the full curve. Each inch of flesh he traced quivered. She had not known she was so sensitive there.

His movement became a series of circles, each one smaller and nearer to the center. Then he stopped and started on the other breast. In a moment she would be begging him to hurry.

He smiled as if sensing her thoughts. He brought his finger to his mouth, dampening it, and then finally traced her tightly peaked nipples, one at time. He blew after each touch; his hot breath on her damp flesh was almost more than she could take.

When he bent forward and took her breast into his mouth, her hips rose off the bed in response. She needed to move, to react. Her hands stroked down his back, fingers kneading into hard muscle.

S
he was so beautiful, so perfect. Mark buried his face between her breasts. He would have been content to die right here, right now. Life could get no better than this.

Her hands came around his shoulders, massaging him, urging him on.

He was wrong, life could get better—and better.

Keeping his lips moving over her breasts, he used his hands to slip her robe and gown farther down. She raised her hips so he could slide the fabric to her thighs. He nuzzled his way along the curve of her breasts and across her softly rounded belly. She shivered as he blew into her navel before beginning further downward exploration.

“What are you doing?” Isabella’s voice was hesitant.

He lifted his head to stare up at her. “What do you think?”

“If I knew, then I wouldn’t ask.”

“Then why don’t you wait and find out?”

Her breasts brushed the top of his head as she rose up on her elbows. “Are you sure that this is how it’s done? I am sure this wasn’t in any of the pictures.”

Pictures? That caught his attention, which, given what he was doing, was quite a feat. He lifted his head and looked up at her, giving himself a sightline right between those delicious breasts. Maybe he should move back to them for a while. He might have missed tasting an inch or two, and she did like it when he— Mark shook his head. Pictures—he was going to ask about pictures. “Who showed you drawings of such things?”

She blushed. It was quite something, given his current position, to watch the color spread up toward her face.

“Well,” she said. “Nobody exactly showed me—well, there was a footman who tried, but what he had were just nasty. I stayed with my older sister once and she had some books that had belonged to her late husband. They were beautiful Asian books with gilt covers.”

“Beautiful books with gilt covers. And that is, of course, why you looked at them.”

Isabella turned even redder. “Well, it was in the beginning. It was tempting to find out what they were—my sister did have them just lying on a desk—and then they were irresistible. Nobody tells girls anything. I’d lived in the country so I knew the basics of how things worked—but not with people. I had no idea there were so many possibilities. Do people really do all those things?”

He was lying with his head almost between her legs and they were having a discussion—a serious discussion. Mark would have laughed if—well, if it had not simply been so wonderful. And given the nature of their discussion, perhaps it was not quite so surprising. “If they are similar to books I have seen, I would have to say I think people, men and their mistresses, do most of those things. I have to admit I have seen some that do not seem either possible or pleasurable. I have never wanted to tie myself into a knot.” It was time to turn back to the matter at hand. “But you say there were no drawings of this?” He blew across her belly, causing the red curls to dance. “I find that surprising.” He blew again.

“Well, if you would tell me what you were going to do”—her voice shook as he blew lower—“then I would know for sure, but I think most of the books—well, I don’t remember exactly, but I don’t think that . . .” Her voice trailed off altogether as he used the fingers of one hand to separate her folds.

“There weren’t any pictures of a man simply admiring a woman, of him gazing enraptured at her most intimate places?” He ran his thumb over her, noting how she quivered at each spot. Ah, there was his target. He moved his thumb again, watching how her whole body jerked and moved.

“No, I don’t think there were any pictures of men just looking.”

“Then they must not have been very good books. I can tell you for a certainty that men do like to look, even if that is all they can do.”

She squirmed beneath his touch, trying to find either escape or ease—it was impossible to tell which. “But you do intend to do more than look?”

“Yes, I certainly do. Although you are so pink and pretty—and wet. It drives me wild to see how much you want me, want this.”

He started to lower his head.

“If only you would tell me what this is, then I would know for sure that—” Her words stopped completely as he made contact.

He had chosen his target well. He could feel every muscle in her body tighten as he found that hard nub with his tongue.

S
he had never even imagined such a thing. Isabella felt her world dissolve in the midst of sensation. Mark’s mouth, his tongue, controlled her. As the feeling grew and tightened she pressed herself up on her elbows so that she could look down at him. She expected to see only the crown of his head, but to her shock she found him gazing up at her.

Their eyes locked. She could see his pleasure in her desire, see his eyes glow with delight as each twitch of muscle revealed her ecstasy to him. And then it was too much.

She tried to hold herself up, to meet his gaze, but as her whole body clenched in ultimate pleasure she could do nothing but cry his name—and then collapse.

She lay there, almost numb, as he slowly kissed his way up her belly, around her breasts, and finally up to her lips.

She could taste herself in his kiss.

His skin was damp with sweat, and tension still held his muscles tight. He might have enjoyed her pleasure, but it was clear that he had not found his own.

“Mmmm,” she murmured against his mouth as she turned on her side toward him.

“What?”

“That was wonderful. I don’t know why it wasn’t in Violet’s books. It clearly should have been.”

“Everyone has their own tastes.”

“I must say I like this one.” She leaned forward and kissed him lightly.

“I do too,” he answered.

“Only—only there were other pictures, pictures of women doing something very similar to men. Is that also to your taste?” It was her turn to trail kisses down his neck and chest, pausing to lick at his hard brown nipples, so different from her own. “And do you think I’d like it?” She reached the waistband of his heavy silk knee breeches. “I thought you were going to undress first. How did I end up naked while you are still covered?” She pouted up at him, but ran a finger over his hard arousal.