Chapter 14

14

The next night, Patience came to him again. Honest to God, he tried to protest, alarmed at the desire in his body to feel her against him again, at how much he craved to have her under the same blanket, in the same bed.

She only brushed him off. And Titan was no help. By the scent of raw meat and the crunching of bones behind the door, he guessed she'd found a way to his loyal beast's heart, too.

Then, to Dorian's weak protests, she slid into the bed by his side, her small body warm and full and soft. And as she sighed and melted against him, he simply didn't have the heart to send her away. The scent of roses in his nostrils, her skin like silk, her hair like the sun… Who could resist?

But it was the feel of her plump behind against his groin that was his downfall.

While she calmed down and was falling asleep against him, he was becoming aroused, his cock hot and hard, pressing into her flesh, so close and so forbidden.

Forbidden by his own rules.

Stupid him and stupid rules .

The first night, she had slept while he lay barely breathing, watching her serene face, hard as a rock after making her come but feeling no release himself.

The torture of feeling her body against him had him groaning in helplessness.

The second night, she was more restless, and even after half an hour she kept wriggling in his arms and against his body. His iron-hard erection prodded into her soft curves.

"What is that?" she asked innocently. "The hard thing? Do you have a stick?"

Very…very slowly, he exhaled.

"Not a stick, sweet girl."

"What then?" she asked breathlessly.

Good Lord forgive him, was she as soaked down there as when he'd spanked her?

Her naivete made him even harder, his cock pressed against the cushion of her arse cheek feeling like the epicenter of his very being. What would he not give to thrust against her chemise-covered arse, just to feel the pleasure and relieve this tension.

Not to mention sinking into her…warm, tight, untouched by anyone…

Fully and completely his.

But he couldn't. He had set this rule, no one else. How weak would he be if he'd break it?

"Something you shouldn't bother yourself with," he said.

"But—"

"Sleep, Duchess," he murmured, one inch away from her ear, her silky hair tickling his lips. "If you want to come to my bed tomorrow, you will sleep now."

It was the third night that he gave in.

Like always, she lay pressed with her back against his front, his hard cock nudged against the focus of all his desires—her arse. His arms were wrapped around her, the sweet scent of roses in his nostrils, her breathing calm.

Then, like a little fish, she flipped around and faced him.

Suddenly, her face was right against his.

His breath halted, his lungs unable to function. Her breasts were now thrust against his chest, her leg thrown over his hip.

"Turn around," he commanded, his voice strangled and raspy.

"I…er…I wondered if it would be against your rules if I get to feel the same sort of…pleasure. Er…release…like when you spanked me. Do you always have to spank me for that?"

He ground his teeth, attempting to suppress a groan. God, give him strength not to throw himself on her. "No. Spanking is not required for…that."

"Oh. It's just…"

As she trailed off, he swallowed, his cock twitching.

She'd be his downfall, he knew it. An innocent, sweet creature like her was one thing that could completely destroy him. And she would never know.

"What?" he asked.

"I'm so restless… As wet as then…down there. And I want…"

His jaw clenched so hard he thought he'd break his own bones.

His hand was already moving up the curve of her hip of its own accord. "What do you want, sweet girl?"

Her hand tangled in his hair. "Why do you have this bit of white hair? You can't be that old…not older than John would have been, surely?"

He swallowed hard and shut his eyes tightly. "My life has not been easy. I am not in command of the color of my hair. That's the only explanation I can give you."

He opened his eyes and glared straight into hers.

But her hands were soft caresses in his hair, and he couldn't help but melt into her.

His hand was already moving down her stomach, and she hitched her breath, tilting her head backwards, her eyes in a sweet agony on him.

"Is this what you want?" he asked.

He should stop. This was torture. This was taking him in a direction he had vowed to avoid.

"Yes," she said, her hips moving in a wave towards him. "Yes."

"Where do you want it?" he asked, knowing exactly where but enjoying the game.

She bit her plump lower lip, and he practically growled."There," she said as she took his left hand, surprising him, and guiding it down her stomach and right in between her thighs.

He could feel her through the fabric of her chemise, hot…drenched… This little minx was aroused, eager for him…for his touch.

If God had wanted to punish him, he was successful.

"Is it all right I want you to relieve this tension?" she asked. "It was wonderful last time."

Good Lord, if he had to suffer, she didn't need to. She was innocent. In some ways, it was his duty to make her happy…to bring her relief…and to abstain from it himself, no matter how much his cock was hurting wanting her and never being able to have her.

"It is all right," he murmured as his hand glided down her leg and hooked under her chemise and up her bare skin. "I will relieve it for you, sweet girl."

He must have been completely under her spell because he was not thinking at all. Had he been thinking, he'd stop. This was against everything he wanted this marriage to be. No sex. No intimacy. Pure coexistence to help her and her family.

To find redemption.

Instead, his hand had already found the wet, hot folds between her legs. She gasped at his touch, arching towards him. He played with her, completely lost in the face of her bliss. As he teased her folds, finding the already familiar hard nub, his own desire had his hips doing slight thrusts against her.

In this torture, he was lost. Watching her moan and hitch her breath, and cling to him, as he kept rubbing, circling, pulling at her clitoris, her wet arousal completely drenching his hand.

God, how he ached to plunge his cock into her, as she thrust her hips to meet his hand, to satisfy her desire. But, alas, that was one thing he would never do.

He wouldn't allow himself the gratification of her.

He could sense the exact moment she fell apart in his hands. He'd never forget these sweet cries of pleased distress, her fingers digging into his biceps, her breath on his neck.

As she cuddled into his embrace, face right against his heart, her breath and hair tickling his skin, he was still restless, aching, practically exploding with desire for her.

She was right in his arms.

But forever unreachable.

And so, indeed, she was his punishment.

Because he'd never stop wanting to bring her pleasure. Never stop wanting his own wife.

And yet, he could never truly have her.

Because once she knew the truth of what he had done, she'd never want to be in the same room with him again.