Page 63 of In Service to the Duke

Unable to bear the deviance in his gaze, I close my eyes and tip my head back, needing some bit of relief from the intensity. However, the moment I do so, he stops what he’s doing and lifts back up. This time, there is no smirk on his handsome face.

“You will watch me as I pleasure you,” he growls. “I need to see your eyes, your face, and expression as I make you come.”

There’s an odd desperation in his voice, something I cannot understand. What little I do know of the duke, I’ve never known him to be desperate for anything. It makes me feel a little emboldened, knowing he desires me this much.

Once he knows I’m not looking away, he dips back down and grips my hips, pulling them forward until my legs drape over his shoulder. I should be incensed at his actions out here where anyone can see, but I’m far beyond caring. The need coursing through me is far greater than the need for propriety.

Again, I press my fist against my lips as a moan threatens to escape. The pleasure he brings me has no words. There’s nothing I can compare it to except my dreams. Only, now that I’m fully awake, this is better than anything I could have concocted in my drug-addled brain.

With my free hand, I drop it down to his head, needing to ground myself. The moment I grip his hair, he groans against me. The vibrations pour over my body, making me tingle from head to toe.

Blackport growls as my fingers dig into his scalp. But somehow, I know it’s not in anger. He’s enjoying me just as much as I’m enjoying him. He devours me as his fingers dig into my backside, bringing my hips up to his mouth so he can feast without hindrance.

My insides clench as he drops his head lower, dragging the tip of his tongue down until it breeches my opening. Gasping, I tense for a moment, unsure of what to think of his actions. In some ways, I’ve already become used to him touching that aching bundle of nerves.

This, however, is almost too much for me to handle. But he doesn’t stop. Instead, he wraps his fingers around the back of my thighs and opens me up further. He spears his tongue into that opening, giving me just a hint of pleasure, as if showing me an example of what’s to come.

With that, I melt, my legs splaying on their own accord. I’m no longer frightened. In fact, the only thing I worry about is making a noise and causing him to stop. He freezes, his body going ramrod for a moment.

Did I do it wrong? Was this not what he wanted from me? Shame and guilt infuse my body, edging out the elation making me giddy not barely a moment ago. It was stupid of me to think he wanted me in this way. That he was going to make me his wife in that hidden way only whispered about behind closed doors.

Pulling back, he gives me a heated look before lowering my hips back down to the hay. Desperation floods my insides as I once more try to spread my legs, showing him I’m perfectly satisfied with whatever he wants to do to me. Maybe I didn’t show him my willingness enough.

But he continues to hover over me, refusing to touch me or even look at me. His eyes lock onto a spot somewhere past my head. It’s as if he’s no longer seeing me.

“I- I was quiet,” I whimper. Hurt and anger laces my tone as tears burn in my eyes. “I did what you told me to do.”

Again, he holds his finger to his lips. “You did,” he murmurs, dropping a kiss on my inner thigh. “And that is why I’m going to take you away from here and give you what you really need. Groomsmen mill about, preparing to come in. You must act as if you have fainted. Hurry.”

Drawing my legs closed, I finally gather enough clarity to hear sounds from the outside world. Fear spikes through me as Blackport arranges my clothes and exits the stall. Can I do this? Can I be believable?

I close my eyes and turn my head to the side, forcing my breathing to slow. I can’t chance them hearing the rapid beating of my heart. Moments tick by like hours until I hear a soft shuffling nearby.

“Miss Gillet!” his voice cries out in feigned panic. “Are you in here?” I almost rise, answering his call when I hear him talk to another. “Check those stalls and I’ll look over the horses. She couldn’t have gone far.”

CHAPTER 28

EMMA

The sounds are frantic as they go about from stall to stall, each of them calling my name. For all his anger at my supposed deceit, the duke seems to pull off this farce rather well. If he hadn’t been in between my thighs not that long ago, I would actually think he was worried about me.

It’s as if a niggle of poison darts through my heart, painting him in this most nefarious light. But as much as his actions cause me emotional pain, I cannot refute the fact that my body sings under his masterful hand. Again, a cramp doubles me over, sending a shaft of fear through me.

I cannot let anyone else know what’s happening to me. For the duke to not want us to get caught, it means he doesn’t plan to marry me after all. Is this just his duty then? To get me past my heat then send me to some other household?

The very thought steals my breath as I realize this might be my last interaction with him. I can’t let myself think about that right now. To show him I honestly mean no ill will, I will play along even as my heart splinters into a thousand pieces.

Rolling over onto my side, I make sure my skirts cover everything and hold myself as still as a statue. Blackport doesn’t come near. It’s probably too dangerous. Instead, it’s the scent of another which invades my nostrils. One of the groomsmen, if I’m remembering correctly.

“She’s here,” he calls out, turning me over.

I flop into his arms as if boneless. It takes all my wits to not lash out and give up the ruse. But I don’t want him touching me. I want Blackport. It’s his scent and his scent alone which can give me comfort at this time. All the others smell rancid in comparison.

Whether it’s because they’re betas or because my soul truly craves his, I cannot say. But the moment the hands shift, and the duke’s scent envelops me, it’s as if my body releases all the tension it’s holding onto. When he draws me into his arms, I lie there, limp, all tension draining from me.

I don’t have to pretend when he’s nearby. The only thing I have to worry about for the moment is not turning to snuggle into his heat. He’s so warm it’s as if I’m in front of a fireplace.

A soft whimper threatens to bubble up my throat, but I refuse to give it voice. I’m so close to having them believe what he wants them to. Though I cannot see, I can smell the acrid stench of anxiety as he rushes me out of the barn.