His Duchess (His and Hers 1)

In a flash he captured her mouth while sinking his hands into the silky strands of her hair. He devoured her soft, pink lips and to his utter relief and satisfaction she returned the favor.

Incapable of anything but sensation, Taviston spun the two of them around until his backside hit the desk. Something crashed to the floor with a thud, but he ignored it. He collapsed against the wooden desk, pulling Victoria in between his legs.

She settled herself against him and poured herself into the most passionate kiss Taviston had ever received. He gave back all of himself, hoping against hope she would realize as much. He didn’t always do well with words but perhaps here, in the most intimate moment of their marriage, she would understand his heart.

Unexpectedly she withdrew her lips from his. Not daring to look at her face, Taviston continued to rain his kisses down her cheek and around to one of the minute little ears he so cherished. He flicked his tongue over the lower part of her lobe, and she shivered against him, setting his nerves humming.

After lavishing such attention on her ear that he could hear her labored breathing, he released it and skimmed his mouth down her neck and shoulder, nipping her creamy skin along the way. Hearing what might have been a moan, he relaxed the arm that encircled her, and she fell back an inch or two.

He untied the bow securing the neckline of her nightgown and pulled it down to reveal her breast. Her breath hitched as she sucked in air. He licked and tweaked her nipple with his tongue and teeth until she thrashed against his cock.

Neither of them had said a word in a while. He longed to whisper something of his feelings but feared using his voice would bring Victoria back to her senses.

Then abruptly, she pushed away from him. Taviston stifled a groan until she hoisted the hem of her gown, drew it over head, and discarded it without a care. She was everything he could have wanted.

Leaning forward, she touched her now red lips to his. It wasn’t a deep kiss, but it was enough to distract him from her true intent. Every muscle in his body tensed to the point of breaking when her palm skidded across the top of his shaft.

Victoria continued to stroke his mouth while her hand became bolder and bolder. As she ran her thumb down the sensitive underside, Taviston thought his tense muscles might snap in half. He grasped her shoulders with his hands and eased her back. A moonbeam from the nearby window lit her face. Satisfaction, but no smile, reigned there. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her hand reaching for him once again. He snaked his hand out and captured hers. Victoria raised her eyebrows and instantly Taviston remembered how, on their wedding night, he had promised that next time she could touch him as much she liked.

This was next time.

With only the smallest amount of reluctance he released her hand and it returned immediately to his cock. He braced himself against the desk, enduring the painful pleasure of her exploration. Still playing upon her face, the moonlight showcased first her open curiosity and then her increasing desire. She pulled her lower lip between her teeth and the blue of her eyes deepened into dark, steamy pools of midnight.

A moment before Taviston thought all might be lost, Victoria loosened her grip. With abandon she pulled him across the room. Stopping beside the bed she raised her hands to his shoulders. In one fluid motion she stripped his dressing robe off him. Victoria eased herself back onto the mattress; Taviston followed.

As he gloried in running his hands over every bare inch of his wife’s skin, a very small corner of his brain distanced itself from the sensual assault on the rest of his body and begged him to stop. While Victoria willingly participated right now, she would regret her actions later. Of a certainty. Passion and physical pleasure were not the paths to take to her heart and would undoubtedly spoil any progress he had made thus far.

But he couldn’t stop.

Not when she returned the favor and rubbed her hands over his fiery flesh. And not when she kissed and nibbled his lips and jaw. Especially not when she moaned with satisfaction as his finger slid into her wet core.

They lay facing each other, but the moonlight that had bathed her in beauty earlier did not reach the bed so he could not see the expression on her face. Soon enough though, he knew she was ready as her murmured moans became more insistent.

Taviston turned her gently until she lay on her stomach. She lifted her head in puzzlement momentarily, until he swept aside her hair and placed hot kisses on her neck. She relaxed and he moved over her swiftly, entering her tight, sweet passage from behind.

As fierce pleasure pricked his flesh, Taviston began to slide back and forth. He buried his head next to Victoria’s and gauged her pleasure by her every gasp. Teeth clenched, he kept the rhythm slow and steady, deliberately delaying both of their climaxes. Gradually he increased his pace and Victoria’s breaths escalated into short pants. As she reached the summit of her pleasure, he let himself go and climbed the last few feet with her.

After planting one more kiss on her cheek, he settled back onto his side, pulling Victoria in front of him. Retrieving the mussed bedclothes, he covered the two of them.

As his eyes drifted closed that pesky little fragment of his brain cried out in disgust, what have you done?

TRAPPED BENEATH A FALLEN tree trunk, Victoria struggled to free herself. Finally, she gave up in frustration and snuggled deeper into the warm and comfortable bed of leaves beneath her.

Her eyes snapped open. Since when were leaves warm and comfortable? She glanced down and realized that the “trunk” was covered with fine black hair. Her gaze traveled up to the well-defined shoulder which connected the heavy log to her husband’s sleeping form. He lay on his stomach, head turned away from her, with the aforementioned arm lying across her midsection.

A dawning horror moistened her eyes, but she blinked quickly, drying them. Easing out from under Taviston’s arm, she retrieved her nightgown from the floor and slipped it on. As she tiptoed to the dressing room door to perform her morning ablutions, she made the mistake of glancing at his face. So peaceful. So worry-free. Irrationally, she placed a feathery kiss on his forehead and then escaped.

When she came back into the room, Taviston was no longer sleeping. He wasn’t even in bed. He stood next to the desk, slowly flipping through her sketch book. Victoria silently ran through every curse word she knew.

Her husband blew out a breath. She had no idea if it was one of frustration, humiliation, anger. He slid his gaze to her. His expression was blank, with no hint of what he was feeling.

“You drew this.” He raised the drawing of the two of them gazing at each other with all that false love in their eyes. “You drew the sketches for Hither and

Yon.” It wasn’t a question, so she didn’t reply. She did not look away from him though. “I suppose I should be grateful you didn’t submit the nude one.”

She had to respond to that. “I would never.”

He nodded, though it didn’t seem to signify anything. Methodically, he placed all the sketches back into the book and straightened it on the blotter. Then he looked at her again. “You are quite talented.”