The Duke I'm Going to Marry(74)

She smiled as she trailed her fingers softly across his bare chest. “Your skin is like gold silk. You’re all muscles and silk, Ian.” She ran her thumb across his taut nipples. “And the gold hairs across your chest shimmer like rays of sun striking the water.”

His body jerked.

She smiled again, a devilish smile as she ran her tongue across one nipple in a slow, sensual circle.

He let out a low, throaty growl. “Where did you learn to do that?”

“Do you like it?”

Hell, yes.

“That’s how I lick the clotted cream off my strawberries.”

“I love strawberries. Clotted cream, too. My turn.” He eased her onto her back and ran his hand under her shirt. His shirt, she’d only borrowed it.

Dillie stayed his straying hand. “Not yet. It stays on until you tell me a big secret.”

“Or you change your mind.” He dipped his head to her breast, at the same time cupping it in his large hand. She had great breasts. The soft mound nicely filled his hand. He stroked his thumb lightly over her nipple, pleased when it quickly peaked. He took the hard tip into his mouth and used his tongue to tease through the crisp linen fabric.

He had a mouthful of the fabric. He wanted to taste Dillie’s skin, not the damn shirt. She shuddered, obviously not expecting the sensation, and arched toward him, scraping her fingers across his bare shoulders. “Ian, wait! Oh, blessed crumpets, stop!” She paused a beat, twisted her hands in his hair and held him to her breast. “No, don’t stop. Not yet.”

He swirled his tongue across her nipple.

“Wait!”

He drew back slightly, but did not remove his hand from her breast. Her heart was wildly pounding beneath his palm. She was excited, confused. This was her first time, so he was going to be patient. He didn’t wish to scare her. But so far, making love to Dillie was like playing with a wild ferret. Frustrating and unpredictable. “Dillie, we don’t have to do this.”

She groaned and laughingly kissed the top of his head, for her hands were still twisted in his hair and his head was at eye level to her breast. He liked the view. Would like it better without the shirt between them. “Yes, we do. I want to. Problem is, I don’t know what I’m doing. Will you help me, Ian?”

It took him a moment to catch his breath, for her casual kiss had sent him reeling. It was a careless, affectionate kiss. Gentle. Accepting. “I’ll help, but you must let me take control. You said earlier that you trusted me. Do you, Dillie?”

She let out a breathy sigh that ruffled his hair. “I do.”

Now, if only she would repeat those words when the minister read their vows.

“You can’t question me,” he warned.

Another breathy sigh. “I won’t.”

“Or talk at all.”

“But—”

“No talking. You just said you trusted me.”

“I still do, though I’m reconsidering,” she said with a teasing grin. But she had that Dillie tender look in her eyes, and her body was leaning toward his, so he knew that she wasn’t going to refuse him anything.

“One last thing. There is one word you can always say to me, and I’ll stop immediately. Just a simple no. All right?”

She nodded.

“Good.” He wasted no time in slipping the shirt off her body, his hands riding up her thighs, and then over her waist and higher to push the fabric off her slight shoulders until there was nothing to impede his view.

He let out a soft breath. She was perfect, soft and round in all the right places, yet sleek and firm wherever she should be.

He brushed his fingers over one nipple. It turned pebble-hard within a few strokes.

He tossed the shirt to the foot of the bed, not caring where it landed. He was too busy staring at Dillie. He even liked the blush that ran from her cheeks to the tips of her ears. “Don’t cover yourself,” he whispered when she tried to draw the counterpane over her shoulders.

“But Ian—”

“Sweetheart, you’re beautiful.” He ran his hand through her long, damp hair, brushing it back so that it fell over her shoulders and across the mattress. He trailed his fingers along her soft, pink throat and downward over her breast. “Beautiful,” he repeated in quiet awe, and meant it with all his heart, for she had an innocent sensuality about her that he found irresistible.

He took her nipple into his mouth, and swirled his tongue over the smooth, peach-scented skin. He eased her flat on her back and carefully moved his leg between hers, always aware of her injury and the fact that she hadn’t taken anything to stem her pain.

When she tried to reach for him, he took her hands in one of his and pinned them over her head because he knew she’d otherwise distract him, asking what she should do and where she should put her hands to pleasure him. It wasn’t his turn to be pleasured. Not yet. He’d fly off like a cannonball shot from the massive cannon of a frigate if she touched him, he was that hard and ready.