Page 70 of The Big Bad Duke

He touched her chin with his knuckles, teasing a path along her lower lip with his thumb.

Leila couldn’t take the sensation; it felt too good. Her eyes fluttered closed, and a small sigh left her lips.

She couldn’t control her response to Gideon’s touch, to the sound of his voice, to the heat in his gaze. It was as if her body no longer belonged to her; it belonged to him.

She had never felt anything like this with anyone else.

Yes, she’d been with men before. She didn’t want to think about those encounters—not now. Even calling them unpleasant was putting it mildly. At times, they’d coax a reaction from her body. A flicker of pleasure here, a gasp there. But it was rare. Disjointed. Disconnected.

Sometimes, when she was alone, she could bring herself to release during brief moments of stolen pleasure.

But this was completely different.

His touch set her alight. Her body refused to cool, refused to stop responding, as though tethered to his—his hand to hers, his mouth to her skin, every movement drawing a mirrored response from deep within her.

This time was different.

This time, she wasn’t alone, mechanically exploring her own body for a quick, hollow release. This time, she wasn’t forcing her mind to fragment—concentrating on isolated sensations, disparate touches divorced from their source—anything to distract herself from the men using her body while she stole whatever brief pleasure she could from their unwanted caresses.

This time, the hands on her skin belonged to the man she had chosen.

Not because kissing him would advance her mission. Not because seducing him would distract or delay him while she accomplished some darker purpose. Not because her body was a tool to be wielded in service of the Cardinal’s will.

She didn’t touch him because she was commanded to, or threatened into compliance, or because duty demanded she perform this intimate charade.

She touched him because her soul craved it. Because every fiber of her being yearned for this connection, this man, this moment of pure, untainted desire.

And she wanted more.

She wanted everything.

She wanted to experience every sensation her body was capable of in his arms, so if she returned to her previous life tomorrow, if nothing changed and she went back to serve the Cardinal or someone else, she could remember this feeling forever. This feeling when her body was her own and she gave it to the man who made her heart leap.

So that if she was required to be with other men, she would know that this man, the man she chose, had already shown her everything her body could experience.

His thumb traced her lower lip again, and she found herself pressing a soft kiss to the pad of it. The simple gesture made his breath catch, and she felt a surge of power course through her veins.

“Leila,” he whispered her name.

She met his gaze, and the awe she saw there made her heart swell.

Her name on his tongue, the look in his eyes told her that he chose her back.

It was her, Leila, that he wanted. Not just anyone.

She reached up and traced the strong line of his jaw, marveling at the slight roughness of stubble beneath her fingertips. Everything about him fascinated her—the way his eyes fluttered closed at her touch, the way his breathing deepened when she explored the column of his throat.

“Gideon,” she whispered against his skin, pressing kisses along his neck. She could taste the salt of his skin, feel the pulse of his heartbeat beneath her lips. It was intoxicating, this freedom to explore, to discover what made him sigh or groan. “I want to know all of you. Touch you everywhere.”

He pulled back to look at her, his hands framing her face. “I am yours…” he swallowed hard, tempering his raspy voice. “Tonight. I am all yours tonight.”

And that was enough. Something shifted in his expression, and he kissed her again, slow and thorough, as if he had all the time in the world to memorize the taste of her mouth.

When they broke apart, she began to explore him with newfound boldness. Her fingers found the fastenings of his shirt, working them open with trembling hands. Each button revealed more of his chest—strong, broad, sprinkled with dustings of silver hair. She pressed kisses to the newly exposed skin, savoring the way his muscles jumped beneath her touch.

She pushed the fabric from his shoulders, her hands smoothing over his fair skin. Her palms traced the contours of muscle and bone, learning the map of scars that told stories of his past. She pressed kisses to his collarbone, his shoulder, the hollow at the base of his throat, delighting in the way he responded to her touch.

“I want to see you,” he whispered, his voice rough with desire.