Chapter 12

What’s For Dessert?

Beatrice did not have time to think; she did the only thing she could. She reached out to grab whatever she could before she fell from her chair.

The pleasure that came from the small bite to her neck was like nothing she had experienced before. It was better than the kiss the previous night, and she did not think pleasure could be greater than that. At that moment, she wanted him to take her right there and then to show her what ultimate pleasure felt like.

Her back arched, and she threw her head back as the Duke continued to kiss and nip her skin. She felt an immense pressure in her core, like?—

The dam from my dream. I remember it now and the way he made me feel.

Beatrice could only hold on for dear life as the Duke’s supple lips made waves of euphoria crash through her body, and she did not care about her dam breaking now. She was under his control now and would do whatever he bid her to do.

He finally broke the kiss, and she wanted to beg him to kiss her again. Instead, he stood before her, and she realized she was crumpling his pristine shirt in her hands. When she let go, he smiled and stood up straight.

“Leave us!” Edwin demanded.

It was only then that Beatrice realized there were servants in the room. They had served her soup and her main course, retreating to the corners in between, and she had forgotten all about them. Beatrice felt her cheeks burning, mortified about what she meant to do with the Duke in full view of the help.

She could not look at any of them, but she saw movement out of the corner of her eye as they vacated the room. The Duke left her side and went to the door to close it. Silence descended over the room when they were finally alone, and the lust she had felt a moment ago was replaced by nervousness.

It was one thing to be caught up in the moment but another entirely to be aware of what she was doing and where. She did not know what had come over her, but her husband had a way of commanding her soul as if he were a magician.

“We are alone,” Edwin said.

“We are.” Beatrice swallowed nervously.

“I could tell you of the things I have done, but I don’t think it would convince you of my cruelty,” Edwin said as he rounded the side of the table.

“Perhaps you have been cruel to others, and that is why they see you that way, but you have not been cruel to me.”

“So, because I have not shown you my failings, that means I am a good person?” Edwin asked.

“I don’t know,” Beatrice replied honestly. “But I do know you are punishing yourself unnecessarily. You saw what happened to your father and how it affected your life, and you try to be opposed to that. He was kind and good, so you try to be cruel and bad, but I don’t think that is what is truly in your heart.”

“What is in my heart right now?” Edwin asked.

He had stepped closer to her, and she waited until he stopped before her and gazed down into her eyes. His shirt was creased, and all she could think about was ripping it to shreds to get to what was below. Her neck still tingled with the memory of his lips.

She could see what was in his heart but was scared to voice it. He wanted her, he wanted to ravish her, and she wanted him to do it—that was what was in her heart.

“I don’t know what is in your heart,” Beatrice responded.

“No, you don’t,” Edwin agreed.

Beatrice did not know whether he was about to scold her and toss her out of the room or undress her and give her what she was not prepared for.

“What do you want from me?” he demanded.

He was breathing heavily, and his nostrils flared, but he was not angry. Of course, he was right about how much she knew. She was assuming he was not angry based on what she knew of him, but what did she really know?

“A family?” Beatrice suggested.

“No, not in the future. What do you want from me right now?” Edwin clarified.

“I-I don’t need anything. You have been more than kind,” Beatrice stammered.

“Tell me what you want. I want to hear it from you.”

Beatrice was silent.

“I can see it in your eyes. I saw it from the moment you walked in here, awash with excitement. I want to hear you say it,” the Duke demanded.

Beatrice held his gaze. He was not angry, she was sure of it. He had the same wants, needs, and feelings as she had.

“I want your lips again,” Beatrice breathed. “Not only on my neck, but on my lips.”

Edwin nodded. “You want my lips?”

“I do,” Beatrice whispered.

“Then you shall have them,” Edwin replied.

He moved quickly again, like a wild animal claiming its prey. Beatrice did not have time to move or say anything before his eyes locked on hers, and once again, she was powerless to resist. And once again, her hands went to his shirt, clawing at it.

He cupped her head in his hands, and she melted into him. The intensity with which he kissed her was breathtaking, and she was weak-kneed for a moment, not moving except when he moved her. Then, her instincts kicked in.

She placed her hands flat on his chest, wanting to rip his shirt but knowing he was the one in control. He pressed his lips to hers, pushing them open, and his tongue pushed past hers. The fiery passion turned into something deeper, and the staccato movements were replaced by a flowing river.

Their hands moved languidly over each other. Beatrice ran her hands up and down the Duke’s clothed chest, and the Duke moved his hands from her head to her neck and then to her shoulders.

She wanted to freeze time. There was nothing she wanted more than to put her hands on the Duke and have his hands explore her, but she needed time to take it in. Her tongue danced with his while his fingers caressed her collarbone, and it was almost too much to deal with.

She stilled her hands and wondered how she had ended up here. In so many ways, it was troubling, but here, now, at this moment with the Duke, it was everything she had ever hoped for. She was married to him, and he did not love her, nor did she love him, but there was something undeniable between them. A force of nature that could not be stopped.

Never had she felt this way with anyone, and in her wildest dreams of what it would be like to be with someone (loved or unloved), she did not imagine the small bursts of passion that bound themselves together to produce the feeling deep inside. At that moment, in the middle of that kiss, Beatrice did not care what her life was like. All she cared about was being in the moment.

Edwin’s tongue pressed against hers, one final assault, and then he pulled back. Beatrice could finally gasp and breathe, but her relief did not last long. His lips and tongue were back on her neck, and all she could do was close her eyes and try not to fall from the chair.

The Duke moved from side to side, seeming to kiss the exact spots that ached for his lips, and every kiss was still unexpected and thrilling. It was as if he knew her body better than she knew her own. Her arms dropped to her sides, and she became like jelly under his silken touch. She hesitated to open her eyes again in case it was all a dream.

And with that thought, the pleasure ceased.

Beatrice moaned, breathing heavily through her mouth and feeling as if the entire room was spinning around her. She could not hear, see, or smell him. Her eyes were still closed tight, but she tried to hold on to the image of him ravishing her, for fear that she was in bed again and it had all been another dream.

With great hesitation, Beatrice opened her eyes. She let out a deep sigh of relief when she saw the Duke before her. She had not remembered her actions, but his clothes were disheveled. One side of his shirt was untucked, and it looked like one button had been snapped from the front. His hair was askew.

“Did you enjoy that?” Edwin asked with a smile.

She opened her mouth, but instead of words, only gasps came out. She nodded, seeming to have forgotten all the letters of the alphabet.

“Soon, you will feel pleasure beyond a simple kiss,” Edwin said.

Beatrice had feared and looked forward to when they would make love. She did not know what to expect; she only wanted to feel what he would do to her. Some had told her it was painful, but from her intimate times with the Duke, she understood that any pain would be eclipsed by pleasure.

“I can’t wait that long,” she blurted out.

Edwin smiled. “You can’t wait that long?”

“No,” Beatrice whispered.

“Tell me how much you want me,” the Duke demanded.

“I need you,” Beatrice whispered.

“If you knew me, you would know I am a man of my word,” Edwin replied. “I told you I would give you a week, and you have six more days. I intend to keep my word.”

Beatrice felt as if she had been told she was dying.

“Yet, that doesn’t mean we can’t have some fun,” Edwin added with a sly smile.

“What fun can be had?” Beatrice asked, trying to sound indifferent.

She worried he could hear the thumping in her chest.

Edwin answered with action. He swept his arm across the table, sending most of the dishes and cutlery to the other side, some clattering to the floor.

Beatrice looked toward the door in case someone might burst in. But then the Duke scooped her up into his arms and placed her on the wooden table. She felt warmth beneath her rear—some residual heat within the patch of wood. He did not have to tell her what came next—Beatrice lay back, trusting him implicitly even though she barely knew his character. Her body was too eager for what came next to worry about the sort of man he was.

His hands came to her knees and parted her legs. Cool air kissed her thighs, but it was quickly replaced by warmth again. Her body erupted in a small shiver of anticipation. She looked up at the ceiling, noticing the ornate carvings for the first time.

It is not often we take the time to look up and?—

“Oh,” Beatrice moaned. She clawed at the table, trying to grab onto something, but there was nothing except the wooden surface.

There had been no preamble, no warning, only the Duke’s mischievous face buried between her thighs. Her fingers flattened against the smooth wood, and she spread her arms out as far as they would go. His hands were warm on her legs, and she willingly submitted, needing him to pleasure her. Goosebumps erupted on her inner thighs as he took hold of her.

The position was set—the Duke’s hands on her thighs and his face in her intimate place. Only his lips and tongue moved as they danced across her entrance and clitoris.

Beatrice brought her hands up and fisted them in her hair as she moaned again. She was getting louder, but she had lost herself again. There could have been a dozen people in the room talking loudly, and she would not have noticed.

A flick of the Duke’s tongue and her back arched, pushing her core up into his face. He pressed his tongue fully into her wet cave, and it sent a spasm through her body.

She was back in a dream. It could not feel so good without being a dream. His tongue licked and lapped at her, his lips kissing her entrance and moving to the small tuft of hair above. His hands gripped her thighs, his left thumb gently rubbing her milky skin.

Beatrice became acutely aware of the sound of her breathing through her nose. She focused on it, needing some distraction to prolong what was coming. The dam was cracked, and it was only a matter of time before the water broke through and swept everything in its path.

Beatrice moved her hands to Edwin’s head, pushing him into her core as she got close. She feared he might abandon her in the final moments—she knew the thought was ludicrous, but she needed to be sure he would be there right until the end.

With her hands on his head, he moved with intensity, licking quicker and sucking instead of kissing. She pushed the back of her head into the table as an animalistic noise escaped her lips, and she arched her back.

“Yes,” she gasped. “Yes, don’t stop. Don’t?—”

Her core exploded, and liquid pleasure washed over her, drowning any words or thoughts or actions. There was only burning and pulsing ecstasy from deep within. Edwin’s face was still buried in her sex, but she couldn’t feel it now. Their bodies had become one, and she did not know where she ended and he began.

Her hands gripped his hair, needing to ensure he was still there. She lost control of her body, her hips bucking and thrusting, her torso writhing, falling back to the table, and then her back arching again.

She almost laughed at the intensity of the pleasure. There was no other way to experience the delight. And then there was.

“Oh, yes!” she screamed.

She clapped her hand over her mouth and let out another scream, and her back fell to the table with a light thud. Her body tingled. She no longer felt his tongue on her sex, but his hands still held her. She was thankful for that, as her head was spinning, and she would have fallen off the table if not for his steadying grip.

Beatrice breathed out fully through her mouth and opened her eyes to see white lights exploding like fireworks.

“I… I…” She was numb. “Goodness gracious!”