Free The Duke's Bedeviled Bride (Royal Pains Book 2) by Nina Mason

playfully at the plump heel of her thumb. Then, meeting her distracted gaze with the sweetest of smiles, he said, “A rose by any other name would taste as sweet.”
    “Do I taste pleasant on thy tongue?” If the smell was any indicator, she would have thought her womanly folds tasted closer to fish than flowers.
    “You are nectar, dearest, and I the busy bee who delights in drinking deeply from you.”
    Satisfied, she lay back and gazed dreamily at the canopy of branches overhead. The sun winked down at her from a deep blue sky. Sweet bliss washed through her, partly owing to the day’s perfection, but mostly due to her husband’s practiced devotions.
    How many women had he been with? How many men?
    She blinked the thought away, not wishing to sour the sweetness of the moment with hurtful contemplations.  
    With a slow-moving hand, he caressed from her ankle up the long line of her leg, around the curve of her knee, up the soft skin of her thigh, above her stocking. He then lifted the leg from the puddle of her skirts and placed the limb over his shoulder.
    “Do you not wish to watch, my wee voyeur?”
    Her gaze cut to where he lay betwixt her thighs, his long hair tousled, her leg tossed over his shoulder in wild abandon.  
    Anyone could come upon them.
    Wicked delight sizzled through her at the idea of being seen in such a posture. Maybe she was an exhibitionist as well as a voyeur.  
    She caught Robert’s eye, ready to ask, but the words ran away at the sight of his knee-weakening smile. As their heated gazes locked, he slid one exploring finger along her private petals—a pirate drawing a treasure map.
    Pleasure tiptoed through her, whispering sweet promises. She closed her eyes to better savor the honeyed sensations.  
    His tongue took the place of his finger, pleasing, teasing, tormenting. Robbing her of breath and thought. The pleasure coursing through her body was equal parts wickedness and divinity, blasphemy and blessing.  
    “Oh, Robert.” She lifted her hips, offering herself to him. Surrendering her will. Putting herself in his care. Trusting him, body and soul.
    He accepted her oblation, closing his lips around her bud. He proceeded to suck, lick, and nibble in masterful combination until, disengaging his mouth, he uttered a one-syllable command.
      “Watch.”
    Her eyes flew open. She met his intense gaze down the length of her torso. “’Tis better if I close my eyes.”
    “Better for you perhaps, but not for me. I want to see the fruits of my labors reflected back to me in your eyes and expression.”  
    “Very well.” She sighed in surrender. “I shall watch if doing so pleases you.”
    He set his mouth to her again, and she did watch, her gaze locked with his. As the pleasure built to a fever pitch, she twined her fingers in his silky, lavender-scented tendrils, eager to taste the tempting fruit hanging mere inches beyond her grasp.    
    He redoubled his efforts, his tongue and lips and teeth working in perfect concert, lifting her higher and higher on wings of unbearable pleasure. Then, she fell from the sky in a shower of sparks.
    A roman candle.
    Nay, a comet—bright and long-tailed, like the one seen a few months ago over Rotterdam.  
    She tangled her fingers in his hair, twisting, pulling, and holding him there as she writhed against his mouth, squeezing from his lips and the moment every last drop of heaven possible. He watched, eyes dancing, as she returned to earth, her feet finding solid ground. She smiled at him and stroked his mussed dark mane, her mind still floating amongst the clouds.  
    He opened his mouth and said something, but the squeal of hinges covered the words. The garden gate. Holy Mary. Someone was coming. As alarm shattered her bliss, Maggie looked to see who approached.
    There came a man and a woman up the knoll toward where they lay beneath the cluster of trees. She squinted, straining to make out their features. They were nobly dressed in velvets