Chapter 8 #2
Lavisham pulled her to him, slamming his mouth down on hers with such possessiveness, such unparalleled savagery, Josephine felt the air leave her lungs.
Goodness.
As his lips moved over hers, with carnal intent, licking at the seam of her mouth until she opened for him, Josephine wondered if they’d actually be playing cards at all tonight.
As far as she was concerned, the wager had already been won.
Lavisham’s intentions were declared with every press of his mouth against hers.
Her body started up a delicious hum, and the fluttering in her mid-section, always present around the duke, increased tenfold, blooming between her thighs.
Gently, he eased away from her and pushed Josephine to sit on the leather sofa before striding over to his desk. He rifled through a drawer before producing a letter opener, frowned, and then went to the study door, opening it a crack.
Josephine heard him whispering to whomever stood outside. His butler, she supposed.
“Don’t move an inch,” Lavisham instructed her.
“I vow I will not, but I find I’m overly warm. May I remove my coat?”
“Jesus, Josephine. Yes.”
As she shook off the coat, footsteps sounded in the hall. Lavisham muttered something threatening and then shut the door. He held a small knife in his hand.
“I worried the letter opener wouldn’t be sharp enough.”
His gaze remained fixed on her breasts, which were unbound and pushing against the fabric of the shirt. She’d asked specifically for the oldest shirt her footman had, and she was not disappointed. The fabric was nearly threadbare in spots.
“Deal, Lady Josephine Harrington. And in future, you will promise to wear only my shirts if you wish to dress in such a manner.”
Josephine took a moment to compose herself. Lavisham was quite feral.
“I will agree to not stealing from the footmen,” she answered, “but you will not dictate my clothing, Your Grace, unless you wish to discuss the indecent cut of your own breeches.”
A snarl came from him. He sat across from her, took Josephine’s hand and placed it between his thighs, directly over the hard ridge of his manhood, which jumped and swelled further beneath her fingers. “Fair enough.”
Josephine slowly removed her hand, and dealt the cards, trying not to think about, well, what lay beneath Lavisham’s breeches. She had a theoretical knowledge of what to expect. She had older sisters, after all. Many inappropriate things had been said after a glass of sherry or two.
“Can you refrain from eyeing me as if I’m a pastry?” she teased, placing the cards before him.
“Doubtful.” Another low sound came from him, like a dog about to nip at her heels. Then Lavisham leaned over and licked her neck, taking his time to trace along Josephine’s collarbone.
“Deal the cards,” he murmured. “My patience is thin. I rarely lose at vingt-et-un.”
“You may tonight,” she answered.
“I know you requested five rounds,” he whispered, nuzzling along the side of her neck. “But I think one will be sufficient to determine a winner.” One muscular thigh pressed against her own. “Winner takes all.”
“As you wish, Your Grace.”
“Oh…” His teeth grazed a sensitive spot beneath her ear. “I do wish, Josephine.”
Given the way Lavisham was looking at her, Josephine had anticipated that the game would not go past one hand. She didn’t want it to either. Her heart was already compromised. Why not the rest of her? She was ready to belong to Lavisham, body and soul.
Josephine gave them both three cards. Carefully, she peeked at her own. A ten of hearts and a six of diamonds. A poor hand. She would surely lose.
I want to lose.
Lavisham’s eyes grew hooded. “Do you wish another card?” He gave nothing away, which was what likely made him such an excellent gambler.
Except for the heat dancing in his eyes, turning them from a lighter blue to deep sapphire, Josephine would never have guessed he was even interested in their little game of One and Twenty.
“I don’t believe so.” She gnawed a bit at her bottom lip. “Do you?”
“No.” He regarded her with carnal intent. “I’m perfectly fine where I am.”
“I remain uncertain.” She glanced at the knife in his hand, then back at her cards.
The breeches were uncomfortably tight, and as much as she had enjoyed Lavisham’s reaction to seeing her thus, she was rather anxious to have them gone.
Also, she’d never had clothing cut from her person before.
It was sure to be a sensual experience, if Lavisham was involved.
Josephine’s hand hovered over the stack of cards, tapping her nail against them.
“Tease. Make up your mind, or I’ll just start ripping things off.”
The room became a great deal warmer, and the fire wasn’t even roaring.
“I should.” She drew a card and sighed. A ten of hearts. “Oh dear.” She flipped over her other cards. “Twenty-six.”
Lavisham turned over his own cards. Twenty.
“It seems I’ve lost,” Josephine whispered, even as the blade of the knife flashed out, slicing the shirt from her breasts to her waist so effortlessly she gasped in shock.
“I’m impatient.”
“You might have cut me.”
“Never,” he murmured along her neck. “Now for the breeches.” He paused. “Are you certain, Josephine?” Lavisham’s features became solemn. “There will be no going back from this. I won’t allow it. I want you to be sure.”
“You’ve won, haven’t you?” she returned. Her hands raised to cup his cheeks, feeling the brush of stubble beneath her palms and kissed him. “And so have I, I think,” she whispered along his mouth.
Lavisham groaned, a deep masculine sound of pleasure that flitted along Josephine’s skin. One broad hand cupped her breast, his palms surprisingly rough as he kneaded the flesh. “You are magnificent. Thief of hearts,” he whispered to her. “Hold still.”
Josephine shut her eyes as the knife sliced open the breeches. She was still wearing her hose, of course. And the stupid boots.
“Lavisham—”
He leaned back and ripped off the boots. “The rest can stay. But I don’t want you kicking me in the backside.”
Josephine let out a soft gasp as he pressed a kiss to her stomach.
“Also, once we’re wed—”
“I haven’t agreed,” she replied, barely able to breathe with Lavisham touching her. “Also, you promised ruination.”
“I’m getting to that.” His tongue trailed down to her navel, circled, then dipped lower. “Allow me to convince you further.”
“Oh,” she gasped as his tongue trailed along the slit of her sex, a surprising but entirely welcome sensation. “I can see your side of things.”
“I might choose some of your gowns.” His finger slipped inside her while his mouth and tongue did the most incredible things.
Josephine could barely make a sound, pinned beneath him on the sofa as he pleasured her in the most erotic manner. Small sobs of pleasure escaped her, the crescendo she’d experienced before building in pitch.
“Bold colors,” he murmured against her flesh. “No more pinks and pale blues, but indigo. Deep purples. Forest green. Crimson.”
She would agree to anything he asked at the moment, if only he did not stop.
But Lavisham did stop. Which was entirely disappointing. “No. Please—” Her eyes snapped open.
Clothing rustled. His shirt sailed over her head. A large pair of boots thudded to the floor next to her own.
“As I was saying…” The sofa creaked as Lavisham’s large body loomed over her own, warming her skin. “I find you appealing in pink, but you are bold, Josephine. Brave. Confident. A woman so striking that one cannot help but stare in awe.”
No one had ever seen her as such before. Only Lavisham.
“You are a lady. A duchess. One with whom others should not trifle.”
“I’m not a duchess,” she whispered as he pressed between her thighs.
“Not yet. And I find crimson to be carnal in nature. As a color.” He looked deep into her eyes, one hand holding her hip firm as he slowly sank inside Josephine.
She winced at the stab of pain, the fullness, the stretch which was not entirely unpleasant.
All the while Lavisham whispered the loveliest things to her calling Josephine his Valkyrie.
That she should never want for adoration, love or anything else, as long as he lived.
Lavisham was so careful, treating Josephine as if she were a bit of fine bone china when she’d felt like anything but for most of her life. But he saw her differently. And for such a large man, he was incredibly gentle. Generous. Waiting until she reached her own pleasure before he found his own.