Why Do Dukes Fall in Love?: A Dukes Behaving Badly Novel (13 page)

He wrapped his arms around her, as he’d been longing to since he entered the room only a few minutes earlier, and drew her
against him. Him leaning on the door, and her leaning against him, all the warmth and soft curves of her pressing into his
body.

“Is this better?” he said in a whisper. Willing his cock to stand down, just for a moment, so he wouldn’t scare her.

She nodded. “It is. I want this, I do. I’m”—and she laughed, but it was more of a rueful laugh than anything humorous—“just
not very good at this. You’re going to have to help.”

And wasn’t that something to make his cock pay attention all over again?

“I will, Cheltam. Leave it all up to me.”

And with that he pushed her away, sliding his hand down her arm to take her hand, leading her to the bed and sitting her down
on it, kneeling on the floor in front of her.

She gazed down at him, her eyes wide and dark, her tongue reaching out to lick her lips. Soon it would be him licking her
lips. And other places. He couldn’t wait.

Only he had to wait, didn’t he, since he wanted this to be satisfying for both of them. To be everything he’d only just begun
to realize he’d been thinking about from the first time he saw her.

He placed his hands on her ankles, feeling the delicate bones under his palm, rubbing his fingers on her instep, feeling her
start to relax under his caress.

“I’m fairly certain I’ve never had a duke at my feet before,” she mused after a few minutes.

“I’m fairly certain I’ve never knelt at any woman’s feet before,” he replied in a soft murmur. “But I seem to make an exception
for you, Cheltam. From being my female secretary to letting your daughter talk me into bringing her to an exhibition to having
you dine with me because the alternative is far less pleasant.” He hadn’t thought about it beyond the rudiments, but she’d
changed his life the moment she’d entered it. There were so many things he hadn’t realized before. That he was lonely, that
he longed for the kind of connection it seemed he had with her.

And now things were about to change, irrevocably, between them. Or so he hoped.

He kept the pressure on her feet, then moved up to her ankles, rubbing them until he heard a soft moan. He felt his throat
grow tight, and he swallowed before looking up at her.

She had her eyes on him as well, and now he could see the frank desire in her gaze, how her lids drooped over her eyes, how
her mouth was parted, her lips still red and swollen from their kiss.

“Do you want me to go on?” he asked, sliding his hands up her calves to her knees. Pushing her dressing gown up so it rested
on her thighs. And then his hands were on her thighs just above her knees, and he had to resist the urge to just push the
dressing gown all the way up and taste her there, just under the dressing gown. Right where her thighs parted. Would she already
be wet? He felt his jaw clamp as he held on to his admittedly hard-pressed self-control. Self-control he’d never had to question
before, not until now.

She glanced down at his hands, her eyes widening as it appeared she’d figured out just what he meant. “Oh,” she said, only
it didn’t seem to be as much a conscious statement as an involuntary utterance.

“Can I take that as a yes?” he asked, wanting to tighten his hold on her legs but knowing that he absolutely would not push
her beyond where she was willing to go.

Unless she asked him to.

“Mm-hm,” she said, that pink tongue licking her lips again.

“Excellent,” he said, pushing his hands farther up her legs so her gown was now tangled at her waist.

Baring her to his gaze.

He felt her tremble, and he glanced up again. Keeping his eyes locked on her face, so he could say what he should before he
absolutely couldn’t. “You’re certain?”

She blinked, and he could have sworn she rolled her eyes. “Am I not making myself clear, Hadlow?” she asked in the tone he’d
come to expect from his secretary. His very bossy secretary. “I want this. I want you,” she clarified, and she reached her
hand forward and touched his cheek, grazing her knuckles on the stubble that had come in since he’d gotten shaved that morning.

He turned his head and bit her index finger, then drew it into her mouth, sucking and licking the digit as he smoothed his
hands over her thighs. Her smooth, soft thighs, so womanly under his hands.

So close to right there where he was longing to touch. He heard her gasp, and then she put her hand on his head, gripping
his hair until he had no choice but to stand up and crawl onto the bed, careful not to crush her, but lying so his leg was
between hers, his cock right at her hip.

Her fingers remained entwined in his hair, her gaze locked on his mouth. He put his hand on her shoulder, then slid it down
to her elbow, pausing as he met her eyes. He moved his palm to her breast, and watched her eyes close and her body shudder
as he caressed it. He could feel her hard nipple through the thin dressing gown, and he brushed against it, once, twice, until
she gripped his wrist and pushed his hand so it was pressing against her breast. Hard.

She wriggled, throwing her leg over his. And then shuddered again as her mound made contact with his body. She let go of his
hair only to reach around his waist, tucking her fingers into the waist of his trousers. “These should come off, Hadlow,”
she said in a husky voice. She ran her fingers around the waist until they reached the front of him. And then she slid her
fingers down so they were splayed between them, her palm on his length, beginning to rub his cock with enthusiasm if not skill.

He could teach skill. He couldn’t teach enthusiasm.

Lowering his mouth to her body, he sucked her nipple into his mouth and licked, drawing the hard peak deep into his mouth,
squeezing her breast and shifting his leg so she had all of herself on him.

And then none of it was enough. He leaned up so he was on his knees on the bed and put his hands to the fall of his trousers,
beginning to undo the placket as he watched her face. “Touch yourself for me, Cheltam,” he commanded. He pushed his trousers
down so his cock jutted out from his smallclothes. He was pleased, in a ludicrously masculine way, to see how her eyes widened
as she took in the sight of him.

“And your shirt,” she commanded, sliding her hand down her body. Her fingers hovered above herself for just a moment, and
she bit her lip, looking unsure, until he placed his hand on top of hers and began to move both of their hands in rhythm.
“I’ll take my shirt off when you’re touching yourself,” he said.

“I—I never,” she began.

“There’s a lot you’ve likely never done, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t worth doing. Especially if it’s with me,” he said,
nodding to their hands. She moved, just a bit, and let out a soft moan that went straight to his cock.

If she didn’t know about that, then there was even more reason to despise the late Mr. Cheltam. That he had had this woman
in his bed and didn’t treat her with the kind of care that Michael was going to—well, he could tell she’d missed out a lot
on her marriage, and he was going to remedy that lack in her education.

After all, it was mutually beneficial, which meant it was an overall good to the world, and that was something he’d decided
on doing. Even though he had to admit that this particular overall good benefited only the two of them.

But it would make the world a happier place, of that he was certain.

And he was just the man for the job.

Edwina didn’t think she had ever felt this intensely before. Yes, she had felt intense emotion, but this—this was intensity
everywhere, from the tips of her fingers to her brain to places she knew she had but didn’t know could react like that.

She never wanted it to stop. She wanted it to stop right now, because if it continued, then it would eventually stop, and
she might spend the rest of her life mourning the cessation of it.

She lay on her back on her bed, the duke—Michael—half lying on her, his weight a welcome burden. He felt so strong and male
on her, and she wished she could just strip him naked and admire him. Which he might like as well, only she never wanted him
to move from this exact position. Unless it was to—well, perhaps she did want him to move.

He did move then, and she had the passing thought that he could read her mind, only if he could, he would see everything she
was imagining. Not that he’d be shocked; her most forthright fantasy would no doubt be tame compared to what a handsome duke
had done in his real life. But he would know her deepest desires, and if he knew them, then he might act on them, and then
she really would yearn for a return to this for the rest of her life.

If it weren’t for Gertrude, she might even suggest he just place her in a room somewhere where he could visit her and do this
to her, and with her, all the time.

He ran his hand over her stomach, frowning as his palm reached the fabric of her dressing gown. “This has to come off,” he
said in his normal commanding tone. He didn’t wait for her to reply, he just lifted her up into his arms and drew it off her
shoulders, yanking it off the bed and flinging it to the floor.

“Much better,” he said, his gaze traveling from her face down her body, lingering at her breasts, her waist, her hips, and
then—then there. He muttered something as he slid down her body, his hands gripping her hips, then going to her thighs, pushing
them apart as he lowered his mouth to—

Oh my God. He was not.
He was.
He absolutely was kissing her
there
, and her mind went blank for a moment, all sensation lost, until it returned with a vengeance, her whole body feeling warm
and vibrant and nearly on fire. If being on fire meant feeling entirely sensual and lost to the moment, right now, with thoughts
for nothing but this.

He groaned against her, and Edwina felt him lick her, there, causing her to shudder and sparks to travel over her skin. She
didn’t know if she could take it, the intensity, the feelings, all whirling inside her, making her squirm, making her gasp
and shudder and beg him not to stop.

That was she, wasn’t it? The one pleading with him, “Please, oh my, oh please, oh yes,” until her words deteriorated into
a series of noises, of meaningless sounds that were all she could manage.

And still he kept up his licking and sucking of her there, now thrusting a finger inside her, making the pressure build up,
spiraling into some peak she had never experienced before.

And another finger, stretching her, the increased pressure only adding to the overall sensation, the only sound in the room
her moans and the soft sounds of his tongue, his mouth, on her. She should have been embarrassed by those sounds, he had his
mouth on her
, she’d never known such a thing was possible, much less that it would feel so tremendous, but she couldn’t be embarrassed,
not when it felt so wonderful, not when it felt as though it were building, and she was floating upward on some blissful cloud,
driven by his mouth on her.

“Oh God, oh,” she said as she felt the journey reach a supremely satisfying end, her entire body shaking with the impact.
He lifted his head to look at her, his mouth wet from her, his eyes the darkest green she’d ever seen, his lips curling up
in satisfaction.

In a few minutes, or maybe it was an eternity, he spoke. “There is nothing lovelier than watching you climax,” he said, his
voice husky with desire.

Her voice was shaky. “Is that what it was?”

“You didn’t know.” It wasn’t a question.

She shook her head. He crawled up her body, and she realized he was still partially dressed, his trousers open, his—his thing
thrust straight out, enormous, and reminding her that he hadn’t—what was the word?—climaxed yet.

And she wanted him to, wanted him to feel as glorious as she did at this moment, wanted him to lose himself for a moment in
the passion of it all. If he could; could such a logical, measured man lose himself like that?

But she’d seen him after they’d kissed, heard how his voice shook. He could. And she could make him that way. She had that
power, even she, a poor widow whose only goal was survival, could bring this man to his knees.

Literally.

Which benefited her, of course, now that she knew what his being on his knees could do to her.

“Come here,” she said, surprised at how confident she sounded. Perhaps that was what climaxing did to her—she wouldn’t know,
never having done it before. Maybe she should just try to do it every day so she could conquer the world.

He smiled, a feral, sensuous smile that she felt all the way to her toes. “And what do you want, Cheltam?” he asked, his voice
full of smoky promise. A promise he’d already kept. Was there more? There couldn’t be more. Could there?

“I want you,” she said, and she paused, taking a deep breath as she found herself saying the words. “I want you inside me.”
And on me, and around me, and everywhere it is possible for you to be. I want to be subsumed in you, lost to your touch, and
feel, and scent.

But she didn’t say any of that. She didn’t have to; within moments, he was on top of her, bracing himself on his elbows, his
face mere inches from hers. So close she could see the lines fanning out from the corners of his eyes, the ones that showed
he could, and did, smile on occasion.

And she felt him there, too, a hard, hot reminder that he hadn’t yet finished.
Climaxed.

He frowned, and she panicked; had she done something wrong? Was he about to leave? Should she not have insisted he—but no,
she knew enough about men, although admittedly not that much, to know that any man would want to finish.

“I will be right back,” he said, kissing her briefly on the mouth. “I need something.” And he got off the bed, still not yet
entirely naked, but it was enough, or nearly enough, to see his naked back, the muscles flexing as he bent down to pick up
his jacket, pulling something out from the inner pocket.

He turned, and Edwina’s mouth went dry at the sight of his chest. She knew he was broad and strong, but she hadn’t anticipated
how the sight of him would impact her. How his wide shoulders would narrow into a slim waist, the muscles of his chest well-defined
but not bulky, a narrow line of hair leading down into—yes, well, and there was that, of course.

He was holding something, something she couldn’t identify, and she panicked all over again, feeling completely out of her
depth in this whole sexual encounter thing. He laughed at her expression.

“It’s a condom. I presume you don’t wish Gertrude to have a brother or sister.” He tossed the item on the bed and began to
remove the rest of her clothing, but even that wasn’t enough to distract her.

“But—but,” she sputtered, and he glanced up at her.

“You do know me well enough to know that I would plan for a logical event, don’t you?” His voice held a note of humor, and
she relaxed as she absorbed what he was saying. Of course he would be prepared. He was nothing if not logical, it wouldn’t
have made sense for him to be otherwise. No matter how odd it might seem for him to be striding around carrying condoms on
his person.

Only what if it wasn’t? What if this happened all the time?

“Cheltam, what is it? What’s going on inside your head?” He was now entirely naked, still erect, and now climbing back onto
the bed, drawing her into his arms, touching her with gentleness, not lust.

“Do you do this all the time?” she asked in a small voice. Not feeling at all confident, not at that moment.

He laughed against her hair. “Not all the time, no. I haven’t—that is, I haven’t done this at all since about a month before
I hired you.” He drew back and met her gaze. “Is that what is bothering you? That this might not be as important to me as
I presume it is to you?” He didn’t speak with anything approaching arrogance in his tone, just matter-of-factly. Of course
he’d know it was important to her, no matter that it was a temporary thing by necessity. And of course he would confront it
directly rather than just pretending it wasn’t something.

“Let me tell you. I haven’t had the desire for anyone else since I met you.” He lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her softly.
Softly, even though he was hard against her hip. “This is special to me, and I was hoping it would happen, which is why I
made sure I had something in case it did happen. Neither of us wants any complications.”

Of course not. No complications. Just this, this intensity, this meeting of mind and body, of shared pleasure. That is, shared
once he—

“Well, then,” Edwina said, letting a slow smile curl her mouth, “let us stop talking, then.”

“Your wish is my command.” As though she could tell him to do anything he didn’t want to do, but she wasn’t going to argue
with him, not when his hand was running up her body, his fingers plucking at her nipples, his mouth finding hers.

And then he groaned, and pulled her closer, reaching down to take the condom and put it on, his fingers shaking. Then positioning
himself at her entrance as she waited, biting her lip as she anticipated their joining.

How had she lived this long without this? And how would she live without it, when it was over?