Her Mystery Duke by Natasha Blackthorne Read Free Book Online

him her name— shifted again.
The coverlet fell off her shoulder. He couldn’t resist reaching out and
stroking her arm with his fingertips. Puckers of gooseflesh greeted his touch.
She moaned again, a low, lingering, sensual sound that teased his sleepy senses
and sent lust flooding into his cock.
    He was so tired, so weak, that his arousal seemed somehow
distant. His spirit floated, detached from his body and yet he was aware of
every sensation, every pulse of his loins. The dichotomy of his experience left
him bemused. He moved his hand up and brushed against heated softness. He
cupped his hand and gently pressed. It was a magnificent breast, full, lush yet
still youthfully firm for all its bountiful development.
    Thinking was definitely overrated. He somehow found himself
tucked abed with an alluring young woman. What else could possibly matter?
Reality would likely intrude soon enough. He was probably sleeping on that
narrow, too short divan in his office.
    And if he wasn’t sleeping, well, daybreak would be as good a
time as any for questions and answers. It was strange how easily he accepted that
logic, but the cobwebs still hampered his mind and he was so damned weak.
    Yes, this must be a dream. Some peculiar fancy he’d not even
been aware of. A desire to bed a cheap little alehouse tart in her sordid
quarters. The wholly pedestrian whimsy of a gentleman who found himself closer
to forty than thirty and had been jaded by luxury. How strange when he’d
thought himself immune to such nonsense.
    Her nipple became firm, poking against the thin muslin like
a little pebble. He longed to feel it in his mouth and he pulled himself up,
his head spinning. It added to the piquancy of the moment. Then he leaned down
and put his lips around the straining peak. He laved the sheer cloth until he
fancied he could taste her bare nipple, like roses and honey.
     
    * * * *
     
    Sensation crept into Jeanne’s slumber. Wet warmth circled
her nipple. Fire shot from that hard little point to all parts of her,
especially into her lower belly. A caress on her thigh urged Jeanne to shift onto
her back and part her legs. The touch glided along the inside of her thigh.
    A skilled, teasing touch.
    David.
    She didn’t want to awaken. Not fully. If she did, then she’d
have to take responsibility. She’d have to think and right now she wanted only
to feel.
    As she lay on her side, facing him, he stroked her mons in a
feathery motion, traced the line where her mons met her thighs. A
stubble-roughened cheek scarped hers. Wetness trickled from her, her folds
swelled. She opened her legs, arched her hips, and pressed against his hand.
    He didn’t alter the speed of his motions but continued
lightly stroking, exploring over her outer lips.
    The bed ropes creaked. A log in the hearth popped. Carriage
wheels rattled by on the street outside. Long moments passed and yet he
continued. Teasing her.
    Wetness flowed from her core and slid over her inner lips.
Of their own accord, her hips began to dance, up and down. A long moan escaped
her. A sound full of longing. Of impatience. It startled her.
    A whimper escaped past her lips.
    “Shh…” His deep voice reverberated into her bones. He
stroked his finger over her slit, lightly, three times.
    “Please, please.” A shudder of self-disgust consumed her. Never, ever beg a man for anything. It only
gives him power over you. The selfish jackanapes have enough power as it is.
    “Don’t be so impatient.” She could hear the smile in his
voice.
    She bristled all over with indignation and pulled back from
his embrace then fisted her hands and beat at his chest. “You pompous arse.”
    The words came out before she could edit them.
    He stopped stroking her and laid his hand over her mons. “I
know, sweeting, I know.”
    What did he know? What could he know about lying with men
over and over, watching their intense pleasure, and yet never experiencing that
same release with them? Only alone. Leaving