Page 28 of The Rake's Revenge
The way he smelled of that unique cologne, hints of leather, and earthy cigar smoke.
The way his groan of satisfaction sent a thrill of desire shooting through her limbs.
The way he tasted when his tongue took languid sips of her mouth.
The delicious pressure of his long, lean body as he tenderly bore her back to the down-filled mattress, the ropes of the bed creaking with their combined weight.
As they continued to kiss, he undid the lace ties of her neckline, exposing her creamy breasts. His breathing ragged, he tasted one red, erect nipple and then the other, sending shocks of unfamiliar sensations through her body until she trembled for more. Was it her imagination, or was he trembling as well? She wouldn’t have expected that from him, but she appreciated it.
She savored it.
She craved more.
Dorian shoved downthe coverlet to find the skirt of her nightshift had ridden up to her knees in her wriggling. Rather than immediately reach beneath her skirt, he skimmed his hand along her trembling thigh to cup her sex over her clothing, teasing the dampness with his fingers, creating agonizingly delicious friction with the fabric. Dorian was determined to make that night last, to savor her every sigh of pleasure and imprint the feel of her upon his memory, replacing old wounds with new and arousing memories. He took his time, valiantly ignoring the painful throb of his groin, focusing instead on Amelia’s pleasure.
He helped her to tear his shirt off over his head, giving her access to the skin of his well-muscled back, arms, and lean torso. He gasped when her fingertips trailed lower, tracing the blatant outline of his turgid length. The wicked smile on her lips nearly drove him mad before he kissed her so deeply that she forgot about torturing him.
Unable to bear another minute without knowing how wet she was for him, he finally moved up her skirt and caressed her damp flesh with his fingertips. She gasped at the contact, her legs falling wide and her hips bucking. She was already so close. “Christ above,” he groaned in delight. “What did I do to deserve such a responsive and utterly divine woman?”
Amelia whimpered at his words, causing another throb of need to pound through his body.
He caressed and teased her to a feverish height, sliding first one and then another finger deep into her slick depths as he rubbed the heel of his palm against the sensitive pearl of her sex. He stroked her inside and out in a steady, persistent rhythm. Her tight sheath fluttered around his fingers until she shatteredin his arms. He murmured gruff words of encouragement and praise as she trembled, while wave after wave of pleasure wracked her body.
Dorian fit himself between her thighs, rocking the thick ridge of his arousal against the cradle of her body, closing his eyes, savoring the sensation, until he felt her small hands tugging desperately at the falls of his breeches. Her knuckles brushed his cock through the fine fabric in delicious torture.
Balancing on one arm, he reached down and deftly helped her until he sprang forth into her palms. He forgot how to breathe when her fingers measured his girth, when she ran her palms and dancing fingers over the soft, impossibly taut skin. He groaned her name, his body quaking with restraint as she continued to touch and explore, guiding the broad head to the swollen folds of her slick cleft. Dorian took his cock in his hand, running it through the dampness as she hissed, “Yes.”
This was all the encouragement he needed.
He positioned himself at her entrance, bracing his weight on his forearms to bracket Amelia’s head. He was rendered breathless by the realization of a long-held fantasy, of finally possessing Amelia.
He stared into her passion-glazed eyes just as he began to flex his hips—felt the tense flesh resist his invasion and then relax, ever so slightly. No sooner had he begun to press forward than Amelia stiffened beneath him with a startled gasp. Her eyes grew wide.
Suddenly, she used a surprising amount of strength to kick him off her, sending him, startled, bouncing to the far edge of the bed where he slid off, falling through the curtains and to the stone floor with a great thud. There was a frantic rustle of fabric from back up on the bed.
He shook his head. “What—” he began, but was immediately cut off by Amelia’s shaky, unnaturally high-pitched voice.
“Darling! Could you not sleep with the storm?”
Dorian propped himself up on his elbows and listened.
“I—I came to see how you were faring. The thunder was so loud.” Archie had slipped away from the nursery and sought the comfort of his mother’s arms, but he was too filled with a lad’s pride to admit that he’d been the one who was frightened. “Would you like me to sleep with you?”
There was a very slight hesitation from Amelia.
The selfish part of Dorian—the part still throbbing with desire (though his abrupt tumble had caused it to wane considerably) willed her to give the boy a pat on his head and send him on his way. But his heart knew what her answer would be before she voiced it.
“Of course, darling.”
Dorian groaned silently, closing his eyes, his head falling back in despair as the bed gave a slight creak when Archie joined his mother. Dorian listened for several minutes until the boy’s breathing evened out. Only then did he dare to roll silently to his feet and fix his breeches. Quietly padding around the bed, grateful for the drapes that hung from the posts, he peered around to the gap in the curtains.
Amelia, wide awake, met his gaze with an apologetic one over the top of her son’s head, where it lay cradled atop her bosom. Dorian experienced an irrational wave of jealousy. She’d done up the ties of her nightrail—albeit crookedly—and the only evidence of their tryst was the high color on her cheeks, along with his shirt lying discarded at the edge of the bed. He moved to snatch it up, but she gave a little shake of her head, not wanting to risk having her son woken. He nodded his understanding.
Faye eyed him and, as if to add insult to injury, she padded over to the bed, climbed through the curtains, and curled up beside Amelia, her large head resting atop the hill of her hip. Dorian swore the dog was smirking at him. He ran a handthrough his hair and spun on his heel to leave. It took every remaining ounce of his control not to slam the door behind him in frustration.
So close.
He stormed down the hallway and let loose a violent curse when he turned a darkened corner too sharply and collided with the worn stone. Why hadn’t it been this difficult to locate Amelia’s chamber…?
