The Duke Is Mine - Eloisa James [95]
Poor Olivia was undoubtedly sore after the events of the previous night. He eased her onto her back, then took his time caressing those creamy, soft, intoxicating curves. She slept on; he began embellishing his touch with a kiss now and then. She stirred a few times, but it wasn’t until he had a hand exploring the delicate skin on her inner thigh, while his mouth inched closer to a sweet pink nipple . . .
She woke up.
She didn’t murmur a greeting. Instead she sat straight upright and shrieked, “Ohmygoodness, where am I?”
Quin wasn’t very good at answering questions at the best of times (unless, of course, they had to do with mathematics). Instead of answering, he reached up, pulled that luscious bundle of female flesh down onto his chest, and kissed her. Which made a feeling of possessiveness rage through his body again.
He let it happen.
It wasn’t logical. Wasn’t really him. It was powerful, though.
“Oh, Quin,” Olivia whispered, considerably later. She was flat on her back, and he was inching his way down her body, kissing as he went.
“Hmmm.”
“I love it when you growl in my ear.”
Quin thought about that. “You make me sound like a rabid bulldog.”
She threw her hands over her head in a happy stretch that signaled pure pleasure. “I don’t mean you growl like a dog. You’re—it’s as though you’re so happy to have me here.”
“You’re mine,” he said, matter-of-factly. “Of course I’m happy you’re here.” He nudged her legs apart.
“Just what are you doing down there?” Olivia asked, peering down at him.
“Kissing your thighs.”
She tried to pull her knees together. “Absolutely not. We must return to the house before your guests notice our absence. Thank goodness these birds made such a racket and woke us up.”
He lapped a little design on her thigh that made her shiver despite all her busy conversation, slid his tongue a little closer to her hot middle, caressed her breast in a way that he now knew drove her half mad with pleasure.
“Why, why, Quin,” she said, in that breathless voice he’d heard only a few times. “What . . .”
He ran a delicate finger over beautiful pink folds.
She sat up again. “No!” And she followed that up with a lot of babble. They had to go inside, they had to bathe and dress, they had to avoid his mother, they had to . . .
The one thing his beloved Olivia didn’t realize about him yet was that when Quin made up his mind . . . he got what he wanted.
The only way to stop the flood of words and anxiety was to pull her into a kiss. Since his hand had found its way to the softest, wettest place in her whole body, he wasn’t inclined to listen to protests.
Mind you, he wanted to do more than stroke her. But if he had momentarily lost self-control the night before, he had it again now. Olivia, sweet Olivia, needed to experience bone-numbing pleasure before he would venture near her again.
Finally he had her gasping and twisting against his finger and pleading, please, please, please. He ruthlessly rejected the urge to leap on top of her, and instead carefully pushed another finger next to the first . . . and that was it. She cried out, clutching at his shoulders, her whole body shaking.
It was so damned enticing that Quin actually had to stop for a moment and wrestle his own body back into submission.
She was everything he wanted . . . everything he could ever want.
He couldn’t ruin it.
“Quin,” she said, struggling for breath. “Oh, that. That.”
He nodded, rolling over and giving his body another little lecture. No, he would not rub against her.
“Your turn,” she said, looking like the brave little soldier facing a battalion of armed elephants.
That did it. His erection finally calmed enough that he could sit up. “Time to return to the house,” he said, looking around for his smalls. It was the work of a moment to put on his breeches and shirt. “We should go back before too many servants are up and about.”
“My knees are weak,” Olivia said. Her voice was throaty and sounded as though she was inviting precisely that which she was not.
“Up,” he said.
“You go,” she suggested.