Page 76 of Duke with a Desire

She did as he asked, parting her legs to reveal herself to him, still feeling slightly self-conscious as she did so, despite the lust that raged through her veins. But he stared at her as if she was the most wondrous sight he had ever beheld, eyes darkening.

“So beautiful and so wet for me,” he praised. “Did it make you that way, having my cock in your mouth?”

“Yes,” she whispered, palms on the cool surface of the table.

“You’re too perfect,” he murmured, and then he lowered his head, taking her pearl between his lips and sucking.

She cried out, back bowing, reaching for him. She wasn’t perfect at all. He was perfect. Perfectly gorgeous and perfectly wicked, and he knew just what to do to her to make her fly apart. He had introduced her to pleasure the likes of which she had never even imagined existed. It was impossible to believe she had lived five-and-thirty years without ever knowing the exquisite bliss Apollo had shown her.

He flicked his tongue over her, his fingers finding her entrance. Two slid inside her, deep and fast.

“Apollo,” she cried out. “More.”

He groaned into her soaked cunny, then glanced up at her, lips and jaw glistening from her wetness. “With pleasure, love.”

He returned his attention to her pearl, licking and sucking, nibbling with his teeth. A third finger sank into her, thrusting in and out, curling, finding a place that made her lose control. Her release slammed into her, sharp and wonderful. A flood of new wetness surged from her body as she came, and Apollo replaced his fingers with his tongue, licking up her spend as if it were the chocolate cake they had enjoyed for dessert.

He stayed there, kissing and licking her, teasing her, wringing out the last surges of bliss, until she was boneless and mindless, breathing harshly on the table and completely understanding what he had meant when he had said he didn’t know if his legs were functioning again just yet. She was reasonably certain that if she tried to stand, she would melt into a puddle on the floor next to the ruined remnants of their feast and her chemise.

Finally, he kissed her inner thigh and then startled her by wrapping his arms around her waist, hauling her against him. He held her thus, arms banded about her, and she embraced him, kissing the top of his head.

For a long time, neither of them spoke, content to simply hold each other, words rendered completely unnecessary.

Hours later, Apollo and Phee lay in bed, sated, bathed, and tangled together. Her head was on his chest, and he was idly sifting through the damp, sweetly scented strands of her coppery-red hair. They had just finished yet another scorching round of lovemaking, and he was pleasantly exhausted, body limp and boneless, the sweet rush of his release still coursing through his veins.

But he didn’t dare sleep, because he had no wish to hasten the morning and the time, inevitably, when they must part and go back to pretending they weren’t lovers.

“What are you thinking?” Phee asked softly.

“You’re not asleep?” he asked instead of answering her, shifting the heavy curtain of her hair to the side so that he could see her bare back and the gilded flecks adorning her petal-soft skin.

“Not yet,” she murmured, shifting slightly so she could angle a look in his direction.

Her upturned face struck him like a blow to the chest. It wasn’t just her beauty that was so arresting, though Phee’s loveliness was undeniable in itself. Rather, it was the lack of icy restraint and guard. Her expression was open, tender. He wanted to have the privilege of seeing her this way, stripped of all her guard and burdens, naked and pressed against him, always.

“What are you thinking?” he countered, still avoiding her question.

The answer was far too dangerous, and he had no intention of sending her flitting away like a startled bird when he only had this precious night remaining.

“Tomorrow night is the grand farewell ball,” she said.

Farewell. Damn, but he hated that word.

Oh, he knew well enough from attending Wicked Dukes Society house parties that there was often a farewell ball the last night of the festivities to mark a grand conclusion to the occasion. But he had never dreaded them. They had never seemed so finite and fatal as tomorrow’s did.

He stroked along the dip of her spine. “Will you save me a dance?”

A smile curved her lips and she caressed his chest. “I would save you every dance if I could.”

“Ah, but you could,” he pointed out, trailing his touch over the swirl of freckles on her shoulder blade.

At the moment, the very notion of standing idly by whilst someone else waltzed by with Phee in his arms was enough to make Apollo long to rip the arms off the faceless, nameless man.

Her smile turned sad. “How would that look to the other guests?”

“As if you are partial to me.” He followed a trail of freckles to her nape. “Which you are, are you not?”

She kissed his chest, directly over his thudding heart. “Of course I am, but I must exercise discretion.”