The Dissolute Duke
But he knew that he would not, and when he took her mouth against his, another feeling surfaced which he refused to dwell on altogether.
He did not imagine she had been kissed much before because her full lips were held in a tight line and, as he opened her mouth with his tongue, her eyes widened.
Eyes of pale blue etched with a darker shade—eyes a man could lose himself in completely and never recover from.
Softening his assault, he threaded his hands through her hair, tilting her face. This time he did not hurry or demand more as the heat of a slow burn built. God, she smelt so good, like the flowers in an early springtime, fresh and clean. He had become so used to the heady over-ripe perfumes of his many experienced amours that he had forgotten the difference.
Innocence. It smelt strangely like hope.
Sealing his mouth across hers, he brought his fingers behind her nape. Closer. Warmer.
The power of connection winded him, the first tentative exploration of her tongue poignant in a way that made him melancholy. It had been a long time since he had kissed a woman who watched him as if he might unlock the secrets of the universe.
Lust ignited, an incendiary living torch of need burning bright, like the wick of gunpowder snaking down through his being. Unstoppable.
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