The Duke's Tattoo: A Regency Romance of Love and Revenge, Though Not in That Order Read Online Free PDF

gentleman to crush her under his weight. So he lay on his back and drew her over him to straddle his hips. There, he teased her tight nipples with a lock of her own hair arousing her at his leisure. With his long fingers and broad, warm palms, he stroked her from neck to shoulders to breasts and belly, over her hips and down her thighs. She purred and arched her body into his languid caresses. He drew her down to him and suckled each tender peak till she quivered between his lips. She ground her warm, wet sex against the great ridge of his erection and he answered her moans with a low growl.
    Breathlessly, she begged him to take her, take her! In answer, his cock throbbed, growing more engorged, more demanding. But he would not do so just yet. He knew exactly what to do and did it with military precision, if not passion. He urged her body higher on his chest and held her against his lips. Her sex, musky with arousal, was ambrosia to a man denied so long. With a wicked tongue he dipped into her folds and teased her till she bucked against him, pressing for more. She begged and wriggled as he settled in to lap at her till her body gathered, tensed and climaxed spectacularly.
    Only then, as she leaned back against his knees, panting, did he lift her hips and slide her onto his aching shaft to find his own release. He flexed his hips to drive into her with deep, sure thrusts.
    With her legs straddling his hips, she goaded him, “Faster, faster!” She burst out, “Oh Lord, yes! Please! Yes! I could ride you forever, my stallion!”
    It was, he grimaced, a bit distracting that ‘stallion’ business. Flattering, perhaps, but really. He thrust hard a few more times and withdrew for a gentleman’s finish in the sheets.
    That was…very…nice. Pleasant, he thought. He lay still for a moment, strangely dispirited. Something was missing though he couldn’t articulate the shortfall. Or was it someone? Life had become too damned complicated if he couldn’t enjoy a good tupping and be satisfied with it.
     
”Forgive me,” the little virago murmured to him That Night, her unquiet eyes never leaving his.
    Damn her eyes. Rolling to the edge of the bed, Ainsworth passed through the curtains to stand. With his back to the widow, he slipped his smalls over trim hips, then his silk knee breeches and gathered up the rest of his clothes from hither and yon.
    As he dressed, Lady Comstock opened the bed curtains to peek at him in the dimness of the room. “Oh!” She exclaimed involuntarily, “Your scars! You’ve had a hard war, Your Grace.”
    “Many had a harder war, madam.”
    “Well, you needn’t feel self-conscious with me,” she purred. “Though your wounds are ghastly, there’s no need to hide in the dark.”
    “I thought they might distract you from your pleasure,” he said.
    “Hardly!” She sighed, “You were magnificent. Utterly magnificent. What a glorious ride!” She laughed again.
    “It was my pleasure, Lady Comstock.”
    Despite his formality, she still hoped for another encounter and so said, “
À bientôt
, Your Grace.”
    “
Adieu
, my lady,” he corrected gently and kissed the hand she extended.
    When he returned to Ainsworth House, his butler promptly opened the door.
    “No need to wait for me, Thatcher. I would’ve mentioned it had I known I’d be late,” Ainsworth said with a quirk of his lips. “Something came up.”
    “A fine thing, something coming up,” Thatcher mirrored his grin.
    “You’re smiling, Thatcher.”
    Thatcher’s smile vanished. “Begging your pardon, Your Grace.”
    “No, no. I only meant… That is to say, I don’t like the usual formalities. It suited my brother better,” Ainsworth said and patted Thatcher’s shoulder above the stump in a comradely gesture. “I meant no reproach.”
    Thatcher’s smile returned.
    “We must adapt, Your Grace,” the butler said. “The army won’t have us back. It’s just the way of things.”
    “Still, I wish…” Ainsworth