“Patience,” he murmured against her skin, though his own body throbbed with the effort of restraint. “Let me love you properly.”
Damien’s mouth found her breast with hunger, his tongue circling the sensitive peak. The taste of her skin flooded his senses as Eleanor moaned beneath him. Every instinct screamed at him to claim her with fierce passion but tonight demanded something different. Tonight required the adoration of a man who might lose everything.
The way her breathing hitched when he found particularly sensitive spots, the soft gasps that escaped her parted lips—all of it fed the fire building in his chest, a conflagration of love and desperation that threatened to consume him entirely.
When Eleanor’s trembling hands found the fastenings of his remaining clothing, Damien nearly lost his composure. Her fingers worked with deliberate care, but the way she touched him—as though he were something precious rather than the ruinous man he feared himself to be—sent tremors through his body.
Her palms mapped the contours of his chest, traced the ridges of muscle along his abdomen until Damien couldn’t suppress the low groan that escaped him. The sound seemed to embolden her, her exploration growing bolder as she discovered the places that made his breath catch.
“Eleanor,” he breathed, her name a prayer and a plea as her hand gripped his engorged member and began to stroke just the way he’d taught her. For a moment he forgot all his troubles, his mind blissfully empty save for the pleasure building in his cock.
“I love you,” she whispered against his skin, her voice drawing him back from the edge of oblivion. “Damien…” she breathed. “I want to help you forget your worries.”
He raised a brow while her hand moved over his shaft. Without warning, she swallowed his cock.
He cried out, throwing his head back, not recognizing his own voice. Blood rushed to his member as her soft tongue licked the head, her lips moving over it with maddening tenderness. Her forced himself to open his eyes and watch Eleanor’s rosy lips stretch over his girth.
Panting and gasping for air, he opened his mouth, but no words came out. It was all he could do to lean back, close his eyes, and savor the sensation. Her hand slid over his rod with exquisite precision while the heat and friction from her mouth thrust him quickly to his peak. Damien’s long fingers gripped the back of her head to brace himself and thrust his rod deep into her throat. In the periphery of his barely conscious mind, she surprised him by relaxing and melting into him, taking him farther into her throat.
“Eleanor,” he cried out as all his senses became heightened and couldn’t be contained any longer. Too soon, he was swept away by the force of his orgasm, every single muscle contracting in his body as he braced himself against her delicate form. His shaft pulsed in her mouth, pouring every last bit of pleasure down her throat which she swallowed with relish. Just when he thought he was finished, she milked him more by gently sucking on his tip, eliciting a curse from him.
Once he was spent, he lay on the bed, taking Eleanor with him in his arms.
“Christ, Eleanor…” he said, shaking his head. He’d known his wife was competent but hadn’t dreamed her skills would extend to the bedchamber. “My duchess,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “My magnificent, maddening duchess.”
Eleanor’s laugh was soft and content. “My incorrigible, infuriating duke.”
Sometime during the night, they came together again. Their joining was slow, deliberate, weighted with emotions too profound for words. Damien’s eyes held hers as their bodies moved in ancient rhythm, the connection between them feeling less like physical joining and more like souls recognizing each other.
“I love you,” he whispered as the crescendo built with agonizing slowness, each movement deliberate and meaningful.
“I love you,” she replied. “Whatever fears are haunting you, whatever shadows are darkening your mood—they cannot touch this.”
The climax that claimed them both was devastating in its intensity precisely because it had been so carefully built, so thoroughly earned. Eleanor shattered in the space of heartbeats, while Damien buried his face against her throat, overwhelmed by the profound intimacy of their connection.
Afterward, they lay entwined in the candlelit aftermath, their skin damp with perspiration, their breathing gradually returning to normal. Eleanor traced lazy patterns across Damien’s chest while he combed his fingers through her disheveled hair with infinite tenderness.
“Whatever tomorrow brings,” she murmured against his skin, “remember this moment. Remember how completely you’re loved.”
Damien tightened his arms around her, pressing his lips to the crown of her head as he struggled against the emotions threatening to overwhelm him. The taste of her still lingered onhis lips, the scent of their lovemaking perfumed the air around them, and the weight of her trusting body against his felt like both benediction and torment.
“I’ll remember,” he promised. “Even if everything else falls apart, I’ll remember this.”
As Eleanor’s breathing deepened into sleep, Damien remained awake, holding her close and trying to memorize every sensation—the silk of her hair against his cheek, the gentle weight of her hand over his heart, her body relaxed against him.
The Weight of Truth
Damien sat inhis study, the morning light streaming through tall windows doing nothing to chase away the chill that had settled in his bones since the previous evening. His hand trembled slightly as he dipped his pen in ink, the simple action requiring more effort than it should. The blank sheet of paper before him seemed to mock him with its innocence—once he wrote these words, there would be no taking them back, no pretending Croft’s revelations had been merely the ravings of a desperate man.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon,
I require immediate clarification regarding certain claims made by Lord Croft. Specifically: Does Laura have a child? If so, what is known of the child’s parentage and current circumstances? Additionally, what is the true nature of my brother Dominic’s relationship with Croft—victim or willing participant?
Time is of the essence. I await your urgent reply.
Westmore
He sealed the letter with wax, his signet ring pressing into the hot puddle with finality. The footman dispatched with instructions for immediate delivery, Damien was left alone with the crushing weight of what he must now tell Eleanor.