The Duke Goes Down (The Duke Hunt #1) by Sophie Jordan

“Embarrassing?” he echoed, surprise lacing his voice. “There’s nothing embarrassing about this pretty quim.” He stroked a finger down her exposed flesh and she whimpered. “Or all the things I want to do to it.”

She moistened her lips. Curious. Intrigued. Tempted.

“Like what?” she heard herself ask, the question coming from some place deep inside herself where secrets and long-buried longings dwelled.

What was she doing asking such a thing? It was practically an invitation.

She was inviting him . . . this boy she once despised who was now a man that she . . . well. She did not know what she felt for him now. It was suddenly very complicated.

“Like this,” he answered.

Then his head went down, and his face was there, buried between her quivering thighs, his mouth directly on her, hot and ravenous, devouring her.

“Oh. My!” She arched her spine, using the flat of her palm to push up off her rock bed.

He flattened his hand on her abdomen, pinning her for his hungry mouth. The pressure of his lips and tongue on her was too much. His tongue was everywhere. Taking deep sliding licks on her sex, slow and savoring, before arrowing in on the little bud nestled at the top of her mound.

She had noticed it was sensitive before—when washing herself, but she had never given herself to exploration before. Clearly she should have done so because it was a marvelous button of flesh.

She cried out as his mouth landed on it, grazing with his teeth, flicking it with his tongue and then sucking deep until stars erupted behind her eyes and a fresh rush of moisture met his mouth.

He moaned in approval as she cried out, incoherent words bubbling up from her throat as a climax ripped over her. She gripped his head, her fingers tight in his hair, her legs splayed indecently wide for his head and shoulders.

He continued consuming her, his head bobbing relentlessly, pumping between her hands as his mouth devoured her.

“Mr. Butler,” she pleaded.

“Perry,” he growled, grinding his mouth deeper against her. The vibration of his name on her only sent her desire twisting higher.

“Perry,” she gasped, her head lolling on hard granite. “Perry . . . Perry, Perry!”

She could do nothing as another swell overtook her, bigger than the one before. Tears rolled from her eyes as his mouth continued to hum and suck against her sex.

She writhed beneath him, seeking relief, an end to the delicious torment. It was elusive, but near. “I can’t—” Her words died on a shriek.

He eased a finger inside her wet channel. Her inner muscles welcomed him, clenching around him as though welcoming him home. He curled his finger inward, stroking at some invisible patch of flesh while his tongue simultaneously laved and drew that little nub of pleasure into his mouth.

That was all it took.

She flew over the edge. A great wave crashed and broke free inside her and she was sobbing, shaking as she floated back down. Lethargy stole over her body. She melted into a puddle on the slab of rock.

He withdrew from between her legs, pulling her skirts back down.

He joined her on the rock, lying on his back beside her. “I told you.”

Her blissful euphoria dissipated. She turned her head to look at him.

His countenance was one of supreme satisfaction and she felt a twinge of disquiet at that expression on his too-handsome face.

“You told me?” she queried.

“Yes. I know about the giving of pleasure.”

His words dropped like rocks in her stomach. “So this was merely a . . . lesson?”

Mortifying heat rushed into her face. Well, he had done a splendid job making his point. She felt like a fool and had to resist the sudden urge to slap him. She curled her fingers into a fist, her nails cutting into her palms. Violence was never right.

He frowned, reading her expression and suddenly looking uncertain. “I . . .”

She did not wait for him to make up his mind about what to say next. She sat up abruptly, snatched her discarded drawers and scooted away from him, dropping down off the slab of stone with a slight oomft.

He said her name sharply. “Imogen.”

She looked up at him, resentment riding high in her chest. “Thank you for the lesson. You are quite right. You do have something to offer. You proved your point quite skillfully. So much so, in fact, that I will make amends and put an end to all rumors at once.”

He blinked. “You will?”

She nodded jerkily. Anything to put a stop to these interactions. Anything to send you on your way, back to sniffing at debutantes and paying me no mind.

“I will.” Somehow. “Your bride-to-be is indeed lucky.” She said that last bit with a heavy dose of scathing mockery . . . and a gnawing ache forming at the center of her chest.

His mouth opened and closed. Clearly he was at a loss for words.

Good.

She turned and left him like that. A haddock groping for words.

She started for home with a heavy sense of satisfaction at having the last word. There was that at least.

It was too soon to return to her house, but perhaps she could slip in through the back door and sneak into her bedchamber. Mrs. Garry would cover for her if necessary. Although coming face-to-face with Winifred and her husband no longer struck her as that horrible anymore. After what just transpired, it hardly seemed significant. Who cared what happened years ago? She had greater concerns in her life.