My Divinely Decadent Duke Page 17

  He swept her into his arms. “Yes. Here you are. Do you like my kisses?”

  She giggled. “Yes, they make me feel warm all over like a fresh-baked apple pie.” Her smile widened with glee.

  Mirth escaped his lips. “I don’t believe my kisses have been quite compared in that way. All over, Cassandra? From the top of your head to your pretty toes? Like this?” He coaxed her lips open and his tongue found hers.

  “Hmm,” she murmured. “That’s nice for starters.” Her tone had turned brazen.

  Gordon helped her rise from the settee and settled her in his arms. She was still wide-eyed; there was no fear. His hands unfastened her wrapper and it cascaded to the floor. His fingers removed the fichu at the top of her corset, and he stood back to admire the splendor before him. The light from the fire danced over her casting its magical glow.

  His steady gaze bored into her in silent appreciation and invitation.

  “Gordon, I’m half-naked, but I feel warm. Is that how it happens?”

  “It?” he teased. “Definitely a good indication. Turn around for me.” His gaze devoured her body. “Such perfection. I don’t know anyone who has a more splendid wife than I.”

  “Have you seen them all naked then?”

  “Nay, not all.” He brought her into an embrace. His lips kissed a sensitive spot below her right ear. Gordon then moved to her neck, to the cleft at the bottom of her throat—soft and silken.

  “Oh,” she moaned.

  Gordon continued to the top of her breasts, one side then the other. “While I adore this creation of yours, I would like to see it gone from you. Thank you for the front fasteners.” He grinned.

  Her hands moved to hide herself.

  “No, don’t shield yourself from me—ever. Not when we’re like this, Cassandra.”

  Quicker than a wink, the corset joined the wrapper on the carpeted floor.

  He knelt before her, and slowly, sensuously removed her garter, rolled the silk stocking down and off her foot. His lips worked their way up her inner thigh. The other leg received the same homage. Nor did he did neglect the other inner thigh. Her moans encouraged him.

  He stood and led her to the bed where he urged her to recline on the soft linen sheet.

  “I don’t know what to do,” she whispered. “I don’t want to disappoint you.”

  “My sweet, I don’t believe you could ever disappoint me. Just relax and let your body take over. Release your mind. Unleash your desire. Think beautiful thoughts, and let me adore you.”

  Gordon devoted his time to the area just above her core, circled his tongue in slow, easy motions. Her hips moved in search of something. His lips found the moist nest of curls at the juncture of her thighs, his tongue delved into the petal-soft folds of her womanhood.

  The sound of her gasp urged him on. By now, his member ached to be in her hot sheath, yet he was determined to have her peak—to know the joy of passion, and not deflower her. That would come later.

  “Do you intend to stand fully clothed?” Her voice was so curious.

  “No. Yet in the eyes of such perfection, my imperfect body pales.”

  “Why not let me be the judge of that?”

  It was another good sign she was comfortable with him, though his patience waned, his passion waxed. He removed the scarf and placed it on a chair arm. He enjoyed the way she watched his every movement, like the proverbial Cheshire cat. Slowly, he turned and uncinched his belt, the better for her to examine him. When he faced her, it wasn’t his arousal she gazed upon, but his tattoo.

  “I’ve heard talk and even seen pictures in the school library about such inking, but never have seen one face to face.”

  “Perhaps you mean body to body?” His mouth curled into a salacious smile.

  “How? Why? Did it hurt?”

  “I wouldn’t know, Cassandra. I was quite out of my mind with island fever. It was a dark place at a dark time with a dark witch doctor.” He lay on the bed next to her and related the story of his tattoo, the journey from the island to England, and his good friend, Tomas, as his caretaker.

  “May I touch it?’ she asked, shyly.

  He nodded.

  She worked her fingers up his arm and they hovered over his tattoo. “No other woman should know what lies underneath your shirt else I’ll be forced to take a dagger to her.”

  His raucous laughter at her remark pierced the room. Cassandra’s slim hand reached out and traced part of the design. He also explained to her the symbolism of the lions, and explained that the witch doctor hadn’t been able to needle standing ones, but he could ink a full face.

  “I find fascination in this, my duke. It is smooth, like satin, rather handsome and also sensually barbaric. Yet another thing to admire about you.” She withdrew her hand, but her eyes held fast at the intricacies of the design.

  The ardor of the moment temporarily stayed, he plumped both pillows on the bed, and they lay without further conversation. He played with her silken hair. “The color of spun gold,” he told her. Then used the back of his knuckle to caress her soft skin. He drew himself to her and kissed her lips again, his tongue worked its magic. He traveled down the length of her body where his finger found the entrance to her core. He massaged her bud in slow devilish motion. Her hands raked through his hair when he slid in a second finger. She gyrated and arched her hips to him.

  “Give yourself to me, Cassandra. Trust me.” His words were slow and artful; his fingers filled her. When he removed them, he heard her moan. “Do you wish me to stop?”

  “No. Please don’t stop. I can’t endure much longer. Take this hunger from me.”

  He replaced the absence with his tongue and licked her into a frenzy, then used his fingers again. “Let go, sweeting. Let go. I’m here to catch you. Let me see sweet passion on your beautiful face. Give yourself to me wholly.”

  Then she screamed. “More. More. More.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Open your eyes, my angel. Enjoy the zenith. It is but the beginning of the two of us.”

  Cassandra’s labored breath muted as she returned to sanity—and his arms. She kissed him with a passion that stunned him! She would be so easy to love. Nay, he must remember he was a rake.

  His warm voice branded her heart with love.

  “What about you?” she whispered.

  “I enjoy my ability to pleasure you.”

  “Show me how I can do the same for you?” was her innocent request. “My romantic penny novels never quite explained the mechanics of what they did.”

  He guffawed a hearty laugh. “You are such an innocent. Mechanics? Clinical interpretations? When next we do this, you will know how to pleasure me. My member is not engorged or aroused. You have but to touch me with your long beautiful fingers and I will respond in kind.”

  “Show me,” she asked in sincerity. “I would rather have some of you rather than none.”

  “Are you sure you want to do this? Most aristocratic women do not. They leave it for the mistresses of their husbands.”

  “Consider me your mistress wife,” she said.

  “No, I don’t want to see revulsion on your face. In my library is a book that details the type of act. You may read it, and if you decide you are agreeable to do such, my body is yours to command. For the moment though, let’s have another drink, and let happen what will. Are you game, Cassandra?”

  “Yes. I am. Let me pour this time, Althorn. I have an idea.”

  “Gordon. I am Gordon. If you forget again, I will take you in my arms and tickle you.” He held her eyes. “But I digress. Is the idea from something you’ve read?”

  “Yes. I vowed to save it for my husband. Since I have no other husband around, you’re it.” She rose from the bed and poured fresh drinks. She handed him the glass; he took a swig and smiled. “You have marvelous lips, Gordon.”

  “So you say.” He riveted his eyes upon her.

  “Now, I’d like you to drink from me.” Cassandra returned to the be
d and held the glass in front of her. When he went to reach for it, she spilled a portion on her body.

  His eyes startled at the sight of her naked body slaked with liquor. He inhaled not only the scent of it but the moment of not only arousal, but a communion of sincere intimacy. “You’ve done this before?” he asked, his forehead furrowed. To him, it was precious, yet provocative. His innocent wife and the knowledge obtained from her penny romance novels served a sensuous moment to say the least.

  “No, I haven’t. I wanted to do this with my husband, whoever he was.”

  A smile played at his lips and his mouth explored at first in leisure, but leisure turned into an inferno of desire.

  “Then I shall be your guest.” His voice was a growl. Hungry lips sucked at the brew that puddled in her navel.

  “I adore your mouth and the hunger it invites. I-I-I like how I feel.”

  He proceeded lower.

  “Oh, Gordon, It’s more than magical.”

  The feeling of her hands on his head stilled him.

  “Not yet. Goodness, you’ve a thick swollen masterpiece. Oh, my, I want to feel the length of you inside me.”

  Gordon couldn’t help but laugh at her description. Again, it was the influence of those penny novels.

  He experienced a moment of hesitation. “I will not impregnate you, Cassandra. It wouldn’t be right.”

  “Do you say you don’t desire me?” She cuddled the fullness of her breasts for him to see.

  “Dammit, I desire you like a love-struck schoolboy.”

  “Love-struck schoolboys grow up to be men.” Her fingertips skated over his bulge. Her hands tightened even more around his shaft. She continued the motion up and down his engorged flesh. “Oh, my. Straddle me. I am yours to command.”

  “We will regret this. I promise you.” Yet he could not contain the powerful longing overtaking his senses spurred by her pleas.

  “I will have no regrets of what I do with you this night. Remember, Gordon, you requested it. Do not leave me discontent.”

  He straddled her body, the liquor caused them to slip and slide together as one. She placed her hands on his penis, centered it over her entrance, and smiled Madonna-like clutching his buttocks and brought him closer.

  “You’re in league with the devil.” He hovered over her, his manhood centered at the opening of her hot essence.

  “This will hurt a bit. It pleasures me to know I’m the man to whom you have gifted your maidenhood.” He entered her with meticulous care, stayed himself, and then gently thrust. All the while, his kisses were meant to distract her from the pain. Her face grimaced, and then miraculously relaxed.

  The full length of him rested deep within. The clench of her core muscle tightened around his turgid member and tested him.

  He growled, “Are you with me in the moment?”

  “Yes,” she sighed, kissed him hungrily, and mated with his tongue.

  “I rather like this. Oh, Gordon, please don’t stop.” Her breaths quickened. She sucked in several deep breaths. “I am not a fragile maiden. I need you so.”

  Every muscle in his body quivered with intense desire to possess her. The wonder of the moment gripped his body and he held himself in her like a vise; her hands on his buttocks kept him firmly cocooned in her slippery softness. He experienced a craving to keep himself there forever.

  Forever didn’t last long. He thrust in and out with a sense of lust never before experienced. Until at the last moment, he withdrew from her and his seed spilled onto the linen he had at the ready as he roared in satisfaction. Her touch upon him was more than he could bear.

  More than exquisite.

  More than wondrous.

  More than ecstasy.

  There were no words to explain the awe of intimacy—with her like this.

  After many quiet moments, he arose from bed and went to the pitcher and awl, dampened a cloth and returned to her. “I’m going to rinse you, Cassandra. There is virgin blood on you. Allow me?” His voice was a soft invitation.

  She nodded.

  “Lay back,” he instructed and caressed her body with the wet cloth with a gentleness he didn’t know he possessed. He would never forget the look in her eyes as she followed his every move.

  Blue eyes so trusting, it crushed him. What had he done?

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Silence enveloped them both as they lay in each other’s arms, content and sleepy-eyed, her head rested on the glinted fur of his chest. Her passion for him had unlocked any fear. Cassandra didn’t know whether to stay or leave. She sat up and saw her wrapper tousled on the floor. He restrained her. “No, Cassandra. Don’t go. You’re the first woman I’ve wanted near me when I’ve awakened. Stay with me. The morning is still young.”

  A poem she read as a young girl, In Her Wildest Dreams, came to mind. It was written by a bright youthful woman at the school. She repeated it to him.

  Dark clouds brew,

  rumble and boil then

  pour their tear drops

  from sullen skies.

  ~*~

  Lightning bolts

  reflect in my lover’s eyes.

  Our bodies drenched,

  thirsty and parched,

  electrified by tongue-soaked kisses.

  ~*~

  Again and again

  Our cries melt into thunder.

  Your hardness, my softness

  like a lava flow, crystallizing life

  ~*~

  While we lay spent, breathless.

  Your soft touch,

  light as a raindrop,

  carries me to sleep.

  “It’s romantic,” he said. “I can see why you memorized it. It’s quite sensual.”

  “Oh, yes. All the girls committed it to memory and hid the poem from our school mistress.” She kissed the tip of his nose. “I’m fatigued, Gordon. This has been a special evening for me in many ways. Thank you, husband. Good night and sweet dreams. I know mine will be because they will be all of you.”

  “Don’t be surprised if you have company in them.” Gordon’s embrace was like iron. She struggled for a moment and then whispered, “I must go now. I’ll remember this for the rest of my life, even when I’m old and grey. You are a gentle giant of a man. Thank you.” The loss of his arms hit her like a pelting wind. Her hand reached to his cheek, and then she cupped his chin.

  A tear escaped against her will. She turned, wiped it away, retrieved her wrapper from the floor, and slipped out of his chambers, padding in silence to her bedroom where she closed the door and went to the mirror.

  She sat on the stool and stared. Her face wasn’t different. She looked the same, slightly flushed. Bestowing her maidenhood to him didn’t make her feel different. Possibly a little sore. Why didn’t she experience the loss more severely? There was so much she didn’t understand. All the new emotions overwhelmed her. Would everyone see it on her face? Would they wonder and snicker behind her back? Would he joke about it to his friends? Sweet heaven, what had she allowed him to do to her?

  She dared not look at her bed. It would bring memories of their lovemaking in his. It was lovemaking, wasn’t it, even though he didn’t utter the words? So many questions and so few answers. She could ask Samantha, but this wasn’t one of them.

  Unable to sleep, she placed the wrapper in the armoire, and selected a day gown, performed her ablutions, and then dressed. She ignored the soreness in her nether region. With all her duties, she’d no time for such worries.

  Much to her regret, she shooed away all thoughts of him. Lady Madelaine had progressed further than she could’ve imagined in the rehabilitation of her speech; she wanted to surprise the duke with their success. She and the dowager weren’t at that juncture just yet, but each hour and new day held promise. She left her room and checked on the children who were still asleep. Lady Madelaine hummed a tune in her chamber.

  Cassandra returned to her room and found a note from the duke on her desk.

  Dearest Wi
fe:

  I’ve been called away to Parliament for an urgent session. Normally, I would not attend, but as you know, I desire to be a better representative of my people. Chester knows how to reach me.

  If all goes well, and I expect it will, expect me to arrive in time to escort you to the King’s Ball.

  At your service, always,

  Your Devoted Husband, Gordon.

  “Humph, she muttered. “Wife. Husband. Oh, my.”

  Days flew by and it was now Saturday, the day of the ball. She’d asked Anna to attend to her needs in the evening. Gordon wasn’t yet home, but she did have a few hours to prepare.

  A knock sounded. She turned and her maid slipped in and told her she had everything ready.

  “I would so like to take a warm bath,” she told the servant. “At this late notice, can the water be heated?”

  “Of course, your Grace. I’ll just get the footmen to bring the tub into your room and we’ll have it ready. What aromatics will you require?”

  “Anything but cinnamon and spice for I smell like a cobbler dessert. Perhaps lavender and rose water?”

  Cassandra undressed behind her corner screen and stripped bare. Her wrapper would protect her modesty while the footmen filled the tub. She opened the adjoining room to Lady Madelaine’s to see how the dowager progressed. Soon they had another lesson under way.

  His mother could now utter short sentences and be understood. It brought joy to the both of them. They were cohorts in a conspiracy to surprise the duke. Seems Lady Madelaine took opportunities to speak to the children, especially Alicia, and so the young girl was brought into their confidence.

  Anna knocked, entered their room, and advised the bath was prepared. Fully aware of Cassandra’s plans, the dowager shooed her away and clasped her hands under the side of her chin, indicating she would go to sleep.

  “Very well, dear lady, sweet dreams. I will tell you all about the dance tomorrow.”