Chapter Nine
Where Emma had thought to tease and torment Thornton as retribution for what he’d done to her the other times they’d come together, he once more managed to turn things around and take control.
The kisses he treated her to were powerful enough to turn her knees into cooked porridge, and with his hands seemingly everywhere on her person, there was naught to do except surrender to him.
As if she could do anything else. As if she wanted to do anything else. Her husband might be many things, but the moment he touched her with carnal intent, she was lost and nothing else mattered.
With a soft sound of surprise at the back of her throat, for in this kiss she forgave his absence as well as his penchant for hiding, Emma slid her hands up his chest that was surprisingly hard for his nearly forty years.
She loosely looped her arms about the breadth of his broad breadth of his shoulders then set out to kiss him back.
Couldn’t have enough of him. Did that mean she was as depraved as he now?
Absolutely, he refused to let her boss him during that kiss.
Instead, he settled her more comfortably into his embrace, and then he set out to apparently separate her from her senses.
He moved over her lips with slow leisure that would drive her mad before too long.
When she applied pressure at his nape to hurry him, he ignored her and took his time.
Over and over, he nipped and nibbled her lips. Soft but firm, those two pieces of flesh both cradled hers and provided enough stimulation and heat that her body felt as if it were vibrating, shifting, preparing for whatever else he had planned.
Knowing him, it would prove spectacular.
When he drew the tip of his tongue along her lower lip, erotic sensations trailed after, and she gasped from the unexpected delight of it.
No matter that she’d just had his engorged length nearly down her throat seconds ago, there was nothing like kissing Cecil.
The duke took advantage to slide his tongue into her mouth and flirt with hers.
A game as old as eternity commenced, as they both thrust and parried while the kiss deepened, and time seemed to stand still.
Or start again, since this felt more like a new beginning.
Desire clouded her brain as the heady embrace continued.
It was nearing the end of winter and she craved the heat of him.
In fact, she tugged him closer until their bodies were layered scandalously against each other on that terrace.
Belatedly, she remembered the maid polishing the window glass behind them, but couldn’t bring herself to care about how indecent she and Thornton were.
The scent of him accelerated her heartbeat, and oh she couldn’t have enough of that blend of cedarwood, citrus, and leather.
Eventually, the duke pulled away to drag his lips down the side of her neck while her fingers went into his hair.
It was criminal for a man to have such luxuriously thick hair.
Then he guided those talented lips to the tops of her breasts, and flutters erupted in her lower belly as the faint scrape of his stubble heightened her awareness of him.
Dear heavens, I adore when he doesn’t shave.
“You have always been intoxicating, but you are even more so now,” he whispered against her skin, but his hands were at her breasts, cupping them, teasing her nipples through the fabric, and sending shivery sensations zipping through her veins.
Oh, how she wanted his mouth on her!
The dratted man must have read her mind, for he curled his fingers into the low bodice of her dress beneath the cloak.
In a thrice, he pulled the fabric down, taking the petticoat and chemise with it, and didn’t stop until her breasts were bared to his inspection.
Seconds later, he took one of those aching tips into the warmth of his mouth.
On the edge of becoming an overly emotional watering pot, for this was the man she remembered, Emma curled her fingers into the lapels of his greatcoat.
They were on full display of the team of gardeners working around the terrace, but Cecil continued to play with her breasts, her nipples until she squirmed in his hold.
With no apparent shame, soft cries left her throat.
What was happening to her? Did she no longer care about their audience or his penchant to do wicked things in front of an audience?
Where had her self-respect gone? It must have dissolved like mist before the sun, for she didn’t give a flying fig.
Nothing mattered in the face of what Thorton was doing to her.
It was oddly freeing.
“Heaven, yes, don’t stop.” The hiss of approval seemed to hover on the February air. Emma arched her back, which put her more firmly into his hold.
“Ah, now I’m seeing the real Emma beneath that uptight mantle,” he whispered around her nipple before moving to the other tip and starting the seduction all over again.
Suckling, soothing with his tongue, and then he withdrew only to blow upon the moisture he’d introduced onto her flesh. It was a heady combination indeed, and already she shook with anticipation for what else was to come.
When he rolled those sensitive peaks, starting at the root and moving upward with varying degrees of pressure, Emma cried out with approval and more than a little desperation.
How was it she was reduced to this each time she was in his proximity?
This wouldn’t solve their problems, but then, she didn’t care about that just now either.
“Cecil, please. You know what I need.” It should have been humiliating, begging him to pleasure her, but strangely, it wasn’t. He was her husband, and this was his duty toward her.
At least she kept telling herself that.
“I do, and I’ll gladly give it to you, for I want it as well.” With a half growl half curse, he gripped her hips in his hands and shuttled her over the terrace until one set of French-paned doors prevented further movement. “Once I have your skirts rucked up, there’s no turning back.”
“I don’t want to. You and I are both going forward, and I will drag you with me, kicking and screaming if I must.”
“Somehow, I believe you, duchess.” Then Cecil once more caught her in a loose embrace, but he wasn’t done teasing her. Oh, no. The dratted man kneeled, and with desire glittering in his dark blue eyes, he shoved up her skirting. “I appreciate that you are a woman who knows exactly what she wants.”
“Only with you, Thornton.” She rested a knee over his shoulder, but her heart trembled. Would they be able to bridge the gulf between them and overcome his insecurities to have a real marriage?
“So enchanting,” he murmured as he wadded the fabric of her skirt at her waist. Then his fingers were on that private part of her, spreading her open, and she waited with bated breath.
The second he licked her flesh, any words she wished to say evaporated from her mind. All too soon, he encouraged that tiny pearl out of hiding, and with each probe and flick of his tongue, it swelled and grew more sensitive.
“I…” Emma dug her fingernails into his shoulders.
Just like yesterday in the portrait gallery, the duke was determined to put her through her paces.
The way Cecil moved over her button, the way he worried the nub, suckled at it, gave it little nibbles, was both familiar and foreign.
So much so that she squirmed in an attempt to elude his hold, but the duke was having none of it.
“No running, duchess. I want to see you fly,” he whispered against her flesh then soothed the throbbing bud with his tongue.
Emma panted. “Then promise me you will stop running yourself.” She thrashed her head from side to side as pressure built and stacked in her lower belly. Intense sensations crashed over her, had enough force to lay her out flat.
“I promise,” he whispered against her body, his voice laden with emotion.
“Good.” She moved a hand to the back of his head, holding him to where she needed him to be. “More.”
His chuckle added heightened awareness to his ministrations, but he did as she bid. The damned man added fingers to his play, sliding them in and out of her quivering passage, and that slow, languid rhythm bumped against the concentrated attention he paid to that button.
Once he applied just enough friction to drive her mad, Emma’s body stiffened, and with a surprised scream heedless of their audience, she went over the edge. Her body shook; her core rocked with contractions, and she was helpless to do anything except ride the waves.
“Cecil!” She sagged against him, her leg slipping off his shoulder, her arms wrapped around his head.
The duke chuckled. The sound sent renewed flutters of awareness down her spine. “Was that to my duchess’ liking?”
“Good Lord, yes.” she managed to whisper.
I don’t think I have bones in my body any longer.
“As I’ve told you before, you are mine, Emma, and you belong to me.” His eyes glittered with determination.
The word “mine” had gooseflesh rippling over her skin, but she nodded.
Tugging and pulling, she helped him into a standing position, then she threw herself into his arms. “But if you want me to be that, you must lay bare your soul to me so that I can help you.” She rather liked the solid feel of him pressed against her body as well as the scrape of his slight stubble as she pressed her lips to his and proceeded to kiss him with stark abandon.
Perhaps she was desperate or perhaps she merely enjoyed having him temporarily at her mercy.
Whichever it was, Emma didn’t care. She devoured him as if she had no decorum at all; perhaps she didn’t as the low murmur of the gardener’s voices drifted to her ears.
When she dragged her lips down the strong column of his throat, the line of demarcation between smooth skin and stubble was exhilarating and fired an unrelenting need in her blood.