Chapter 12 #2
“You are sorry?” The Duke sounded perplexed.
“It was never my intention to equate you with these people. It was merely a joke. Truth be told, I do not have so many social skills to differentiate between a joke and an insult. You must excuse me. After all, the most company I’ve had in my life were gangsters.” Marigold tried a dry smile.
The Duke neared, setting his glass aside, looming over her.
“Even if he only threatened you with words,” his voice dropped low and fierce, “he does not deserve to live. I will make sure of that.”
“In case you didn’t know already, Your Grace,” Marigold said, “you’re nothing like them.”
The Duke looked down at her, his expression unreadable, distant and cold.
“Do not be fooled, sweetheart,” he said. “I am plenty cruel. You just don’t know me as well as you think.”
“No, you’re not.” Marigold shook her head. “First of all, my body would know. Each time they were near me, each time they touched me, I felt disgusted and repulsed. It’s not the same with you, Your Grace. And then, I could tell they were bad men. They enjoyed torturing me. They fed on my fear.”
She looked up at him, her cheeks flushing, almost ashamed to speak more, but she had to make him understand what she really thought of him.
“It’s different when you…”
The Duke stepped closer, as if sensing the change in her disposition.
“It’s different when I what, sweetheart?”
Marigold looked away, but he wouldn’t have it. He grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him.
“Answer me.”
“It is different when you touch me,” she finished in a whisper.
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. He just looked into her eyes before his dark gaze drifted down to her lips. And then he descended upon her. His hand slid from her chin to the back of her neck, his other arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against him.
It was as if a dam broke inside her. There was no surprise, no relief, only an overwhelming want as she kissed him back, following his lead. A sound escaped against his mouth that she barely recognized as her own. Her hands fisted the fabric of his shirt, almost feeling his heat underneath.
He gently walked backwards, falling with her. They reached the leather couch, and he sat down, draping her over his legs. He never stopped kissing her, only now his lips became more insistent. Softly, his tongue darted out, licking the seam of her lips slowly.
The sensation was so overwhelming that Marigold gasped.
He took his chance, carving his tongue over her upper lip and then pulling her lower lip before he tilted his head just right.
She could never deny him entrance, and she mimicked his moves, not exactly sure what she was doing but utterly overcome with a deep need, she let her tongue meet his.
“If you don’t tell me to stop now, sweetheart,” his voice was rough, “I won’t.”
Marigold didn’t know a lot of things in her life, but she knew one thing for certain.
“Do not stop. Please do not stop.”
“Such a good girl.” A primal, almost animalistic sound left his mouth.
Her stomach tightened and flipped, hearing him call her that. It was the one thing in her life that felt it was missing. He shifted beneath her, and the position brought her closer to him.
“This is where you belong,” he murmured. “Anyone else who touched you before me will now be erased.”
His hands found the narrow curve of her waist, holding her there, steadying her, grounding her down. And then he leaned in, and his lips brushed her neck. Marigold moaned, and she could feel him smiling against her skin.
“You’re doing so well, sweetheart,” he praised her.
Marigold swallowed and bit down on her lips in a futile attempt to keep the sensual sounds from leaving her mouth. His lips trailed a path from the back of her ears to the slope of her shoulders, setting her on fire.
“Don’t hold back,” he ordered.
His fingers found the buttons of her dress and undid them slowly, one by one. He made sure his knuckles brushed against her skin with each movement. Soon, her chemise pooled at her waist, baring her to him.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, and she could hear the reverence in his voice.
His hands circled around her breasts, and his thumbs traced circles over her nipples. A long gasp escaped her lips as her eyes rolled closed.
“Look at you,” he kept teasing her. “So responsive. Good girl. Do you like my touch?”
Marigold gulped. Her tongue tangled in emotion.
“Tell me, sweetheart.”
“I…” Marigold was shaking just from this touch. “I do.”
“You make the most beautiful sounds.” He gently scraped her neck with his teeth. “Do you know that? They are mine. Each gasp and every moan.”
He leaned even closer, and soon, his mouth replaced his hands on her breasts. His skillful tongue circled her peak, and Marigold all but catapulted out of his lap.
“No, you’re not going anywhere.” He pressed her down by the waist, his hardness pressing underneath her.
Marigold couldn’t focus on one thing, and she decided to let the sensations take over. His hand firmly on her waist, his hot mouth pulling her nipple, his hard body around her, he smelled dazzling.
“Yes, that’s a good girl. There she is,” he praised again, his breath cooling her wet breasts. “I should reward such a good girl.”
Marigold realized that it was not only his touches that made her feel so wound up. It was that low, deep voice praising her that made her body alive, open, wet, and ready.
He kept alternating between nibbling on her earlobe, kissing her neck, and licking her breast, as his strong fingers gathered her skirt up, baring her from the waist down.
“Spread your legs for me, sweetheart,” he instructed.
She didn’t even think about it. She obeyed, one leg settling on the couch as the other tiptoed on the floor.
“That’s it,” he cooed. “That’s my good girl.”
It should have felt wrong and debauched. But she felt no shame, just utter need. His fingers grazed softly over the skin of her inner thigh, raising goosebumps, eliciting soft moans.
“You’re so good,” he said, his voice in her ear, laden with desire. “So perfect.”
He licked the skin behind her ear as his fingers moved closer to her core. And then a gentle touch exactly where she needed him.
“Ah!”
“Yes.”
It was his turn to moan, pulling her closer to him. His one hand kept her in place while still teasing her breast. His mouth was almost glued to her ear, so she could sense every little gasp.
“So wet for me,” he growled.
And then his fingers moved more purposefully. He found an aching center. His fingers, slick from her juices, went over that small nub of desire.
“Oh, I…” she cried out.
“I know, sweetheart,” he hushed her in her ear, pulling her softly against him. “You are doing so well.”
His fingers moved faster, pressing harder, and she felt herself climbing into a sensation she had never felt before. Marigold let her head fall on his shoulder, her body melting in his arms but also, at the same time, tensing.
He turned her head, sought her lips, and devoured her, his tongue moving in sync with his fingers, all hunger and tenderness at the same time.
“Let go,” he snarled against her lips when she felt herself grind against his hand on instinct.
She felt white-hot desire burn through her, delicious sweetness filling her mouth, her body trembling uncontrollably.
“Yes, sweetheart,” he purred. “I’ve got you. You are safe in my arms.”
“Yes. Oh!”
“Let me see you come apart.” His voice got darker, deeper, needier.
She shattered at his command. She ascended high and then a free fall into a blinding sensation as her body arched. Her core clenched around him, and a long moan escaped her mouth.
“So beautiful,” he hummed. “My Duchess is so beautiful when she comes apart.”
He kissed and nibbled on her skin as she was coming back together, shaking, panting, a total mess in his arms. She was disheveled and naked with her cheeks inflamed.
Marigold closed her eyes, and she chose to believe him.