His touch was both gentle and relentless, fingers creating a rhythm that built unbearable tension in her core. Eleanor gripped his coat lapels, her hips rocking against his hand as pleasure spiraled higher.
“Let go,” Damien commanded softly, his thumb stroking the most sensitive part of her while his fingers parted her slick folds, beginning their maddening dance of caressing where it ached the most. “Let me see you fall apart for me, love.”
The endearment was her undoing. Eleanor cried out as waves of pleasure crashed over her, her body arching and trembling as Damien’s touch carried her to heights she’d never known before. He held her through it all, his mouth pressing worshipful kisses to her throat, her shoulder, anywhere he could reach—anchoring her through the storm.
As the tremors gradually subsided, Eleanor found herself cradled against Damien’s chest, his strong arms wrapped around her protectively. She could feel the evidence of his own unfulfilled desire pressing against her hip, could see the strain in his face as he fought for control.
“I’d like to—” she began, but he silenced her with a gentle kiss.
“This was for you,” he said simply. “Only for you.”
But Eleanor’s hands were already moving, finding the fastenings of his breeches with trembling fingers. “Please,” she whispered against his throat, “let me give you the same gift.”
As his rod sprang free, she wrapped her dainty fingers around it, her eyes widening at his thickness. Damien released a deep groan as she licked her lips. Her hand began to move up and down over the full length of him, her grip somewhat hesitant. Holding her gaze, he leaned back and wrapped his strong hand over hers, gripping firmly as he showed her how he liked it.
As his breathing became more erratic and moisture gathered at his tip, Eleanor felt Damien release her hand, surrendering completely to sensation. She leaned toward him then, her lips brushing against his as she whispered, “Would you like me to suck on your cock?”
The bold words felt foreign on her tongue, yet thrilling in their power. She watched his control shatter at her offer, felt the tremor that ran through his powerful frame at her inexperienced but eager touch. When release claimed him, Eleanor marveled at the intensity of it—the way his body shook beneath her ministrations, the way her name escaped his lips like a prayer torn from the depths of his soul.
They held each other in the aftermath, Eleanor’s breathing gradually slowing to match his as the carriage carried them through the night. She rested her head on his shoulder, feeling her silken hair spill across his chest, savoring the intimacy of the moment and the knowledge that she had brought him such pleasure.
“Eleanor,” he said softly, his voice rough with emotion.
“Hmm?” She lifted her head to meet his gaze.
“You’ll be the death of me, Wife.” Damien’s smile was radiant as he gathered her closer, his forehead resting against hers. “Mybrilliant, maddening duchess. What are we going to do with this impossible situation we’ve created?”
“I don’t know,” Eleanor admitted, but for the first time since their arrangement began, the uncertainty didn’t terrify her. “But we’ll figure it out together.”
“Together,” Damien agreed, sealing the promise with a kiss.
The Surprising Partner
Eleanor sat inher study reviewing the morning’s correspondence when Sally appeared with an urgent message bearing Madame Rousseau’s distinctive seal. The sight of it made her stomach twist with apprehension—their new arrangement was still fragile, and Eleanor couldn’t afford for the brothel keeper to waver in her loyalties.
She broke the wax with careful fingers, scanning the contents with growing alarm.
Your Grace,
Lord Croft has begun making inquiries about certain lending operations near the docks. His men have been asking pointed questions about rates, clientele, and particularly about any competitors who might be undermining established practices. Three of the establishments you support have reported visits from his associates—visits that felt more like threats than business inquiries.
I thought you should know immediately.
Your devoted servant, R
Eleanor’s hands trembled slightly as she set the letter aside. Croft was moving against her network, testing her defenses in areas where she was most vulnerable. Her investments in the docklands were carefully maintained through intermediaries—respectable community leaders providing discreet funding to help individuals establish small businesses or escape predatory lenders. If Croft exposed her involvement, the scandal would destroy not only her reputation but the livelihoods of dozens of men and women who depended on her support.
She immediately dispatched a message to Thomas Walker, her usual representative in such matters. Walker was a former ship’s captain whose maritime injury had forced him into less adventurous employment—though he now managed Eleanor’s business interests with the merchants and small proprietors near the Thames. He was reliable, discreet, and utterly trustworthy.
But when he returned three hours later, his expression was grim.
“Your Grace,” he said, his weathered face creased with worry, “I’m afraid the situation is more serious than we anticipated. Croft’s men aren’t just asking questions—they’re making offers. Substantial ones. They’re trying to buy out your borrowers’ debts at rates that would leave the proprietors with no choice but to accept.”
Eleanor felt cold dread settle in her stomach. “And?”
“Two of them have already capitulated. Mrs. Morrison’s bakery and Miss Fletcher’s seamstress shop. They couldn’t afford to refuse Croft’s terms, even knowing what it means for their future independence.” Walker’s voice was heavy with regret. “I tried to counter his offers, but he’s operating with resources I can’t match.”
“What about the others?”