Page 23 of In Service to the Duke

I’ve already gone too far. My head is not right. Growling under my breath, I glance over my shoulder and watch as she stares at me, confusion knitting her brows together. Of course, she doesn’t understand. And it is not my job to explain it to her.

As I release her bonds, I watch as her lips quiver, a question hovering just out of earshot. “Say what it is you wish to inquire of me.”

“Did I do it wrong?”

I almost don’t hear the soft question through the thick emotion vibrating through her.

“No, my dear. You did nothing wrong. But know this. If I catch you in this room again, I will take that as a clear sign you wish to cast your virtue aside and allow me to do as I wish. I’m allowing you to walk away unscathed today. But mark my words, it will never happen again.”

“But-” On a gasp, she brings her hands to her lips, nearly smacking them with how hard she holds her words in.

With a soft chuckle, I bring them down. “Speak freely.”

“You are not angry with me?” There’s such uncertainty in her voice, a latent fear she seems to hold close.

For a moment, red flashes before my eyes. Who would dare cause her to feel such anxiety? But as quickly as it rears its head, I stomp it back down. She’s not mine to worry over.

“I am not angry with you. The words I say and how I say them are to impress upon you the seriousness of these interactions. Were I to ruin you… Well, let us not contemplate that. You are still untouched, and it is my duty to see that you remain this way until you are wed to another.”

My heart constricts at that last part, and I’m not sure why. I shouldn’t be pinning after this woman like some errant schoolboy with his first inklings of affection. It must be these maudlin emotions plaguing me since first hearing word of my mother’s illness.

Who am I kidding? I want her as desperately as I want my next breath. It has nothing to do with my fear of my mother’s death and everything to do with my craving this little vixen who stares at me as if I hung the moon and the stars. Only now, she looks up at me with a misery so intense it nearly makes me crumple.

“Oh.”

That one little utterance hangs in the air between us like a storm cloud. Her expression is crestfallen, as if I’ve told her the worst news she could ever hear. But it’s absurd. One of her station should not even wish to hope for the affections of one such as mine.

This is even further proof that I must be the stronger of the two and cast her aside. It really is for her own good… As much as it pains me to once more be the strong one, I have to do what’s best for both of us. God help me, I have little choice in the matter.

“It is what’s best,” I continue, infusing my voice with a conviction I do not feel. “I wish for you to leave the way you came. And if you know what’s good for you, you will not find your way back here again. I do not think I can control myself if you do.”

Giving me a slight nod, she slides off of the bed and rubs her wrists. On instinct, I grab them in my hands and examine her for any marks or injury. Just some slight redness.

It’s to be expected with bondage. Leaning down, I snake out my tongue and lap at the ragged outline of my cravat against her skin. Her soft gasp goes straight to my cock, making it jerk in the confines of my buckskin breeches. Why does she have to be so damned enticing?

She marks so beautifully. I cannot even begin to imagine how she’ll look after being trussed up in my ropes. Even now, in my mind’s eye, I can see the tantalizing crisscross of marks embedded in her skin.

My tongue would caress each indent, following them around her ample breasts and down toward her perfect quim, so dusky and inviting. A small growl of pleasure vibrates in my throat, drawing out an answering moan from her.

I should pull away and stop this now, but my body is as if it’s possessed. There’s something about her that’s so wholly consuming, threatening to pull me under. It’s not her heat. I should be able to smell that on her. Besides, she gave my butler her word she would be on suppressants.

Knowing him, he dispenses them to her daily to ensure no mischief can occur. He was all too privy to the disaster between Delilah and me, and I know for certain he will do whatever it takes to make sure it will not happen again. I can resist many things, but a heat is not one of them.

Before I find myself in a situation I cannot come back from, I jerk away. The action leaves Miss Gillet dazed, stunned almost, as she pulls her arm back toward her body. Again, I search her gaze for any sort of guile, anything to make her look like Delilah did.

But there’s nothing. Her breasts heave in the confines of her dress and corset as she caresses her wrist. This simply won’t do. I cannot have the omega mooning over me, thinking lovely thoughts about what might happen between us.

I am not lovely. I am not gentle. The sooner she learns this, the easier it will be for her to cast me from her thoughts. Wrenching her forward, I tip her over my thighs, precum pearling at my tip as her shocked shriek ricochets around the room. At least she’s finally obeying me and screaming as I ordered.

Prying her arse cheeks apart, I gaze down at her bottom hole, mesmerized as it clenches and releases. I bring my hand forward and graze her lips, a lurid groan rattling through my brain.

“Open.”

This time, she does not hesitate. She does as she’s ordered and wraps her lips around my fingers. She does not suck on them or do anything else a practiced woman would do. And for some reason, I find that far more erotic than any whore sloppily sucking and bobbing as she mimics the art of fellatio upon my digits.

It’s that innocence which compels me and nothing more. It has to be. To look any harder at my feelings will not end in pleasantries.

“Take your tongue and lap at my fingers. Pretend I am offering you the tastiest dessert imaginable.”