Any Duchess Will Do (Spindle Cove #4)

“Yes,” he said, sitting forward in his chair. “That’s it.”


He caressed her calf, running his hand up and down the silky curve. His thumb pressed against the hollow of her knee, and her thighs fell apart. As if he’d found some hidden lever.

He grabbed her by the hips, jerking her to the edge of the desk. His fingers traced the dewy folds of her sex, slipping over her aroused flesh. Such sweet, sweet torture.

“Take me,” she pleaded.

He clucked his tongue. “I shall do as I please. And it pleases me to taste you.”

As he lowered his head, she squirmed away, breaking the little scene they played.

“Griff, wait. No one’s . . .” She licked her lips, nervous. “No one’s ever done that for me.”

He raised his head. His smile was slow to spread and overtly wicked. “If you hoped to dissuade me, that was the wrong thing to say.”

He framed her hips in his hands and pulled her forward again, pressing his mouth to her core.

And as promised, he kissed her. There.

So shocking. So indescribably arousing.

She jolted in his arms, but his grip on her body was like iron. He was not going to let her escape this erotic embrace. So she reclined, limp, on the mahogany surface, surrendering to the inescapable bliss. She spread her arms wide, covering the full span of the desk. All the papers and correspondence were gone. At this moment she was his work. And he was attending to her thoroughly. Single-mindedly.

Masterfully.

His tongue explored her most feminine, intimate places with confidence and zeal. She relaxed her thighs, spreading herself for his kiss, trusting that he knew what he was doing.

And he did. Oh, he was good at this. A true champion. She had no basis for comparison, but she’d wager the entirety of her thousand pounds on the fact. If there were an order of knighthood awarded for proficiency in pleasuring women, he would have achieved the top rank.

He licked up and down her slit, savoring her as if she were most delicious course in a royal banquet. When he lavished attention on that tight, swollen bundle of nerves at the crest of her sex, she couldn’t help but moan. Then he parted her folds with his thumbs, using his tongue to delve inside her sheath. He moved his tongue in and out, in shallow thrusts that mimicked intercourse.

“Griff.” She writhed on the desk.

He didn’t pause to reply, but answered her by sliding one hand to her breast, squeezing and kneading her through the fabric.

She clutched at his head, shoving impatiently through layers of petticoats to weave her fingers into the lush, dark waves of his hair and grip tight. She held him fast to her, grinding against his hot, wet, talented mouth.

“Yes,” she panted. “Please, don’t stop.”

He wouldn’t stop. He showed no signs of flagging in the least. His every lick and thrust pushed her higher. She began to whimper, wordlessly begging him for release. He moved his head back and forth, nuzzling her pearl.

“Oh. Oh.”

She arched straight off the desktop, rocketing through an intense, soaring climax. He pressed the heel of his hand to her mouth, giving her that something she needed to bite and moan and cry out against.

Eventually the tremors of bliss subsided, and he let his hand slip to cup her breast again. For several moments she stared mutely up at the ceiling while he fondled her br**sts and dropped lazy kisses along her thighs.

There were no words she could utter. None.

“Did you enjoy that?”

“Yes,” she managed. There were no words, save that one. “Yes, yes, yes.”

“Do you believe that I worship every inch of this lithe, delectable body? Do you understand that I would take a saber to the kidneys before letting you come to harm?”

She nodded, breathless.

“Good.” His expression darkened. “Because now I’m going to teach you a lesson.”

He lifted her to her feet, spun her about, and then moved her toward the desk until she bent at the waist. Her breath rushed out as her br**sts met the unyielding surface of the desktop.

Behind her, Griff pushed up her skirts with brisk motions, gathering all the heavy fabric of gown and petticoats and shoving it above her hips.

His hand cupped her backside, and his knee nudged her thighs apart.

“This is what happens to serving girls who forget themselves with a duke. They get a firm reminder.”

At the playful sternness in his voice, Pauline felt the slope of her inner thighs erupt into gooseflesh. Her ni**les hardened against the cool, polished wood.

“Impertinent minx.”

His palm spanked lightly against her bottom, and she let out a breath that was part startled laugh and part sensual excitement. There was no pain, only a stinging pleasure.

“Saucy temptress.”

Another delicious smack.