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Chapter Eight

H e knew he shouldn't, but he was at sea with emotion.

"Lola"—he choked on his words like a green boy—"may I please kiss you again?"

A lazy smile spread across her face and the moonlight reflected from her perfect white teeth. "You already kissed me quite thoroughly."

"I was holding back."

"Really?" Her tinge of sarcasm held an undertone of fear.

"I promise I won't do anything you don't allow. But… I—" A million thoughts flooded his mind. Reasons not to do this. A duke and the flower girl. He fell to his knees and begged, "Please tell me to stop."

She sat on the bed, but instead of pushing him away, she plopped backward and arched her back.

Edmund's heart stopped. Or perhaps he just forgot to breathe.

Before him, like a delicacy on a platter, lay the most beautiful girl in black lace, soaked through so the fabric clung to her skin.

"Lola." Her name was a benediction, yet it paled in comparison to her touch when she reached for his head and drove her hands through his wet hair.

Like a trained puppy, he leaned in, longing for her touch and rasping for air. He didn't remember being so aroused, ever. She took the lead; he was the royal duke at her knees.

Her touch grew more urgent, and she pushed his head down. She sprawled on the bed, brought her hips to the edge of the bed, and pulled his head to her thighs.

Edmund's heart galloped like the horses at the race tracks in his chest. He peeled back the dark fabric of her gown, relishing in her response underneath. She lifted one leg, then the other, to give him access to remove the layers of black lace until there were only the stockings, translucent and wet, held up with the garters.

She still had her slippers on, elongating her long legs into paths of sinful pleasure. As he kissed his way up from her ankles to her knees and higher, she whimpered. Resting on his haunches, he realized it had taken a beauty like her to bring him to his knees. She was unapologetically fierce, strong, and sincere. He made himself comfortable there, nuzzling her thigh and preparing to explore her secret places.

He hesitated before he lay his hand on the apex of her legs.

"Don't stop."

"Lola, have you ever… I mean… do you know…"

"I haven't, but I do know. Please don't stop." She arched her back and lifted her hips toward him.

"Are you a virgin?"

"Yes. Oh yes, but please don't stop now."

Edmund swallowed hard. He shouldn't take advantage of the innocent flower girl, but she felt as though she was meant for him. Every kiss had an air of belonging right where he placed it. She was so right, but he was so lost.

"Edmund, please. I've heard and seen more than the sheltered debutantes."

"But you've never been with a man?"

She shook her head. "I've never… ahem … I haven't before."

She propped herself up to look into his eyes as if she could discern the truth as if she saw directly into his heart. "I'm with you now. You're a man."

That was his undoing. She saw him, Edmund, not the duke, the transaction, the management of the estate. He wasn't just a bag of coins to her or a ticket to St. James Palace. He was a man, and she was a woman. And he needed to be with her more than he needed the air he breathed.

He parted her folds using his thumbs with as much curiosity as ardor. First, nuzzling her thigh, then he pressed a chaste kiss on her mound and another on her swollen pearl.

She moaned and called his name.

He held her hips with both hands and nudged her into the position, propping her legs wide open. When he spread her to his view, she rewarded him with a drop of her essence and welcomed his kiss.

He inserted his middle finger slowly, just a prelude. But she surprised him when she met his thrust and clenched her insides. He nibbled her pearl and she let out a cry.

"Edmund!"

Yes, say my name.

He wanted to forget himself, thrust into her, and ride her so long and so hard they'd collapse from exhaustion, but she didn't give him a chance to think about it.

She pressed his head down, inviting him to deepen the kiss.

He slid another finger in and moved more vigorously, running his tongue over every petal of her dewy softness as she rode his hand. He traced her shape, the perfect pink flesh of her, with his tongue up one side and down the other.

"More!" she cried.

He withdrew.

"More, please!"

"Lola, ‘more' means…"

"I know." She sat up and pulled him by the wet fabric of his shirt. She dug her hands under the layers, tugging at the fabric until the buttons went flying, and she found his skin.

He struggled to get out of his wet clothes, and there were hands everywhere, fighting the layers of fabric between them.

Until there wasn't.

A cool chill ran over Edmund's back as if the heat wave had broken and cooled his body from the outside. Or perhaps the burning desire for her outshone the heat… it didn't matter.

Nothing mattered anymore when he finally stood and stepped out of his breeches.

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