The Duke Identity: Game of Dukes, Book 1 Page 16

  He raised his head. His hot gaze studied her face, and, touching his thumb to her lower lip, he murmured, “Not done yet, sprite?”

  “No, I am. That is, I just, um, did.”

  Her cheeks flushed as she contemplated how to answer his question. All Pretty Francie and the girls had said about a woman’s pleasure was that it was a rare occurrence. Tessa knew what she’d just experienced with Bennett was wondrous and extraordinary; what confused her, however, was that, even with her recent release, she wouldn’t mind…more?

  “I know you came, sweeting.” A smile entered Bennett’s dark eyes. “I’m asking if you want to do it again.”

  She blinked. “Is that possible?”

  The smile migrated to his lips. “For some women, yes. For you, absolutely.”

  “Does that mean I’m a wanton?” she said doubtfully.

  Although, if being a wanton meant that she could enjoy that extraordinary pleasure over and over again…maybe she didn’t mind being one.

  “It means you’re a sensual, passionate woman.” Tenderly, he tucked a tress behind her ear. “And I’m a damned lucky fellow.”

  His words made her heart swell. They also reminded her of another pressing reality. A reality that was, in fact, pressing against her thigh like a bar of iron.

  Summoning her courage, she said, “Bennett?”

  “Yes, love?”

  “Is there anything I ought to, um, do…for you?”

  Her courage was rewarded by a look of pure male longing.

  “Do you want to?” he asked intently.

  “What’s sauce for the goose.” Humor struck her, and she couldn’t resist adding, “Or, more apropos to the situation, what’s sauce for the hen is sauce for the, um…cock?”

  He stared at her. Then his shoulders rocked with laughter.

  Rather pleased with herself, she said, “Will you show me what to do? How to please you?”

  “You do please me, just by being you. But if you want to explore…”

  “I do,” she said, nodding eagerly.

  “…then do to me what you liked me doing to you.”

  She thought about it. “But I liked everything.”

  His grin was slow, wolfish. “Then I’m even luckier than I realized.”

  A host of ideas crowded her brain, all of them bold, brazen.

  Exciting.

  “I want to see you,” she blurted. “Without the dressing gown.”

  Rising to his knees, he shed the garment. At the sight of his brawny virility, her breath jammed in her throat. He was like a living, breathing Titan: powerfully honed, no excess flesh anywhere, just slabs of muscle rippling on his big frame.

  Moonlight silvered the sinew twisting over his broad shoulders and bulging at his biceps. Whorls of dark hair covered his broad chest. The hair narrowed into a trail that drew her gaze downward toward his corrugated abdomen, the prominent vee of muscle that girdled his pelvis, the taut hollows of his hips. And there, hanging between his muscular thighs…

  Zounds. He was huge...everywhere. His long, thick cock jutted out like a heavy branch.

  She lifted dazed eyes to his. “You’re beautiful.”

  His lips tipped up. “Men aren’t beautiful, sweeting.”

  “You are,” she said with feeling.

  His eyes flared again, and the next instant he was atop her. His hard, warm, naked body pressed against hers for the first time, and she sighed at the heady pleasure. At the arousing contrast between them. She could lie there for hours, just feeling him, being close, skin to skin.

  “You’re soft as a kitten,” he said huskily.

  “You’re not.” Wonderingly, she ran her hands over his shoulders, the ropes of muscle shifting beneath the sleek skin. Feeling the pulsing heft of his erection against her belly, she wetted her lips and noticed how his gaze followed the movement. “You’re hard…all over.”

  He bent his head, spreading her lips with his tongue, thrusting into her mouth. She drew eagerly on his offering, sucking it like a sweet, and his growl filled her throat. As they kissed, his body moved over hers, his hair-covered chest titillating the tips of her breasts, tingles shooting to her sex. She moaned as his rock-hard thigh wedged into her cove. He nudged deeper, and she could feel her dew slickening the friction.

  “Devil and damn,” he said in a guttural voice. “You’re ready again.”

  Was she ever. But there was something else she wanted to do.

  “Wait,” she said breathlessly. “It’s my turn to pleasure you.”

  “If you give me any more pleasure, I’ll explode.”

  “That’s the general idea, isn’t it?”

  She tasted his laughter when he kissed her again. Kissed her so hard and deep and long that she nearly forgot what she’d intended to do. Until he took her hand, dragging it down the granite-hard planes of his body to his manhood. Her breath caught as he wrapped her hand around his rampant arousal, her fingers barely circling the thick, heavy stalk.

  “It’s so big,” she blurted. “How do you walk around with this?”

  “It’s not usually this way.” Humor glinted in his eyes. “Unless I’m around you.”

  She liked that. Liked that she could arouse him. It made her feel feminine and powerful. Intrigued, she ran her fingertips up the rearing shaft, feeling the raised veins, the virile pulse. She swept her thumb over the wide tip, and satiny moisture seeped from the tiny hole at its center.

  He folded her fingers firmly around his turgid shaft.

  “Like this,” he muttered.

  They lay on their sides facing one another, and he taught her how to touch him. The pace and pressure he liked. How to squeeze the tip of his member and bring her fist all the way down to the root. The act of pleasuring him, of pumping his hard cock, feeling that supple slide of skin over the rigid core, made her dizzy with desire. He reached between her thighs, and she moaned as she felt herself drenching his fingers.

  “Keep frigging me,” he rasped. “I’ll pet your pussy, and we’ll see who comes first.”

  His wicked challenge set her aflame. She grasped his cock tighter, and it pulsed, a spurt of slickness easing the drag of her fist. Their mouths collided in a hot, hungry tangle of tongues. Her thighs tightened as she felt his long finger slide down her swollen cleft, circling the place where she ached to be filled.

  “Please,” she whimpered.

  She felt him nudge deeper, deeper yet, and then his finger was inside her, and her muscles clenched on the unfamiliar yet exquisite sensation.

  “Goddamn, you’re small. Tight,” he said hoarsely. “Does it hurt, love?”

  “No,” she moaned. “Do it more.”

  With a sound that was part-groan, part-laugh, he obliged. His finger thrust deeper and deeper, and she panted as the tension in her coiled tighter and tighter. Then his thumb circled her pearl as he simultaneously caressed some high, transcendent place inside, and she catapulted over pleasure’s edge.

  “So bloody sweet,” he growled. “Ah, God, you’re going to take me with you…”

  His hand trapped hers against his cock. His hips surged upward, and, even floating and boneless, she realized how much he’d held back. Now he unleashed his passion, driving his huge erection into their combined grasp. With each powerful shove, her pussy clenched.

  Then his mighty body tensed. His shaft burgeoned, straining the limits of her hold. With a groan that sounded like mountains moving, he climaxed. Her breath held as he shuddered, load after load of creamy heat shooting from his cock, splattering his lean belly and drenching her palm.

  He collapsed onto his back, dragging her on top of him.

  With her cheek pressed against his thundering heart, a thought occurred to her. She giggled.

  “What’s so amusing, sprite?” his voice rumbled.

  She raised herself up to look into his sated eyes. “Since I came first, I finally beat you at something!”

  His roar of laughter was her reward.

  18


  Bennett was waiting for her outside the breakfast room at eight o’ clock the next morning. Despite the fact that he’d gotten little sleep, he was the picture of male vitality. His dark hair gleamed, his strong jaw was freshly shaven. Dressed in his usual stark attire, he was wearing the boots she’d given him. He was beyond handsome, every inch a gentleman. And having felt every inch of that big, hard body against hers just a few hours ago, she felt a quiver in her belly.

  “Good morning, Miss Todd. I trust you slept well?”

  At the primal gleam behind his spectacles, which matched not at all with his polite enquiry, Tessa tried unsuccessfully to fight down a blush. “Quite well, thank you. And you?”

  “Like the dead,” he murmured. “’Twould seem that recent activities wore me out.”

  “I don’t recall you lacking in stamina,” she returned under her breath.

  For her daring, she got a twitch of his lips. After teaching her how to pleasure him, he’d given her a third climax before sending her back to her room. In fact, he’d absorbed her senses so completely that she’d forgotten all about the hellfire until she was alone again. Which was why she’d sent a note this morning, letting him know she’d be down earlier than usual.

  “We have to talk.” Casting a glance down the empty hallway, she said in a hush, “About you-know-what.”

  Some of the humor faded from his eyes. She was learning to read his emotions better, and the deepening grooves around his mouth told her that he had discovered something.

  “Bennett, you promised you would keep me apprised—”

  The rattle of an approaching cart cut her off.

  “Not here,” Bennett muttered, opening the door. “We’ll talk inside.”

  Entering, they were greeted by Jeffries, the butler, and Will, the first footman. Light streamed through the tall arched windows, gleaming off the silver domes on the sideboard. The place setting at the head of the table was untouched, an ironed newspaper next to it. Grandpapa had not yet come down to breakfast. She and Bennett could have a few moments of privacy…once she got rid of the servants.

  She went to the sideboard. Lifting the domes, she released the delicious aromas of coddled eggs, bacon, deviled kidneys, kedgeree, and kippers. There was a selection of crusty rolls, pastries, and toasted bread as well, accompanied by an assortment of preserves.

  Turning to the grey-haired butler, she gave her brightest smile. “Jeffries, I don’t suppose Cook has any of her delicious lemon curd left? I have a craving for it this morning.”

  “I’ll send William to fetch some.” The butler nodded to the footman.

  Once William was out of the room, she said, “I was noticing that The Times is on the table.”

  “Yes, miss. That has always been the master’s preference.”

  “True, but just the other day, Grandpapa told me that he enjoys Bell’s Life even more than The Times,” she said innocently. “Wouldn’t it be lovely to surprise him with this week’s edition?”

  “I’ll procure a copy,” the loyal retainer said at once. “That is, if you wouldn’t mind…”

  “I can manage on my own.” She gave him a cheery wave.

  After the butler departed, she turned to Bennett. His firm mouth was quivering.

  She arched a brow. “What is so amusing?”

  “You. The way your mind works.” He shook his head. “And you wonder why I call you ‘sprite’?”

  In truth, she loved his pet name for her. Loved him, moreover. But she couldn’t get distracted.

  “We haven’t much time. You were home earlier than expected last night. I take it you’ve made progress?”

  He hesitated. “Yes.”

  “What have you discovered?” When still he paused, she prodded, “I’ve kept my end of the bargain, stayed at home and out of trouble. If you don’t want me investigating on my own—”

  “All right, all right. You win.” His eyes gleamed. “Again.”

  She’d found a brooding Bennett attractive. A flirtatious one was downright devastating to her senses. Although his reference to her “victory” last night quickened her pulse, she kept her gaze determined and steady on his.

  He sighed. “I’ve located a suspect. A man who I believe was connected to the inventor of the explosive. Tonight, I’m searching his house to look for any connection to the hellfire.”

  “Let me go with you,” she said immediately.

  “No.” His jaw set. “It’s too dangerous.”

  “Which is why you need me.” Her concern for him made her rush on. “No one knows the stews better than I do. Why, think how I helped you escape that first night—”

  “First of all, I won’t be in the stews. Second, as I recall it, I was helping you to escape.”

  “Not the stews? Where does the blighter live—Mayfair?” Her facetiousness faded at Bennett’s slight flinch. Blinking, she said, “The suspect lives in Mayfair? He’s a blue-blood?”

  “Devil take it.” Bennett shoved a hand through his hair.

  “Who is he? You promised—”

  “I ought to have nicknamed you ‘bulldog’ instead of ‘sprite’.”

  “‘Sprite’ is more flexible; ‘bulldog’ works less well for intimate moments.” Instead of arguing, she switched tactics. “After everything we’ve shared, don’t you trust me?”

  “That’s hardly playing fair.”

  “Please, Bennett.” Because he seemed to be responding, she worked up the courage to say, “I care about you. I couldn’t stand it if you came to harm because you were helping me.”

  He stilled. A panicked feeling came over her. She’d exposed too much, too soon. She was just beginning to win him over and now she’d scared him away with her talk of feelings…

  “I’ll tell you his name if you’ll remember your vow to do as I say.”

  With trembling relief, she dipped her chin in answer.

  “Sir Aloysius De Witt,” Bennett clipped out. “He’s a scientist, a member of the Royal Society.”

  She frowned. “Why would a man like that be involved with hellfire?”

  “A title is no guarantee of character,” he said stiffly.

  “I know that. What I meant was why would a respected scientist make weapons for the underworld…oh.” The reason hit her. “For money?”

  “De Witt keeps up appearances, but I’d wager that’s a good guess. I plan to dig deeper into his financial situation, but, first things first, tonight I’ll search his house to look for evidence.” Bennett pinned her with a stern look. “You will give me your word to stay home and not interfere.”

  In her heart, she knew what was right. What she had to do. Surreptitiously, her fingers crossed in the folds of her skirts.

  “You have my word,” she said.

  Grandpapa’s voice boomed from the hallway. “We’re all set for the morrow?”

  “Yes, sir.” It was Ming’s voice. “All dukes confirm.”

  Grandpapa came through the doorway, leaning on his cane, periwig in place. “Good. Now I want extra guards…Tessie.” He caught sight of her by the sideboard. “You’re up early, ain’t you?”

  “What’s going on tomorrow?” Tessa said.

  He tromped to his seat at the head of the table. “Can’t a man ’ave ’is tea before being bombarded with questions?”

  “I’ll get your tea, Grandpapa.”

  Hurrying over, she sat next to him and reached for the pot. She made his tea the way he liked, with ample cream and two spoonfuls of sugar, a task she’d enjoyed doing since she was a girl. She bided her time while he blew on the hot beverage before tasting it.

  “Good?” she said.

  He grunted in answer. Slurped more tea. When he reached for the newspaper, however, she couldn’t refrain any longer. “What’s happening on the morrow?”

  “God almighty.” He scowled at her. “Can’t a man enjoy ’is breakfast in peace?”

  “You said you needed your tea, and you have it. Now what is going on? If you won’t tell me, I’ll ask
Ming.”

  She looked to her grandfather’s right-hand man, who stood a little way from the table, Bennett beside him. Ming’s expression remained impassive, but his eyes rolled slightly upward, as if to say, Do not drag me into this.

  “Ming’s silent as the grave ’less I say so.” Looking smug, Grandpapa shook out his newspaper.

  “Fine. Then I shall simply keep asking you until you tell me,” she said determinedly. “What’s happening on the morrow?”

  He drew his newspaper up higher.

  She pulled down the top edge. “What are the dukes confirmed for?”

  “Bloody ’ell, you’re wrinkling the damned paper—”

  She rose, palms flat on the table, her gaze locking with her grandfather’s. “I’m a Black. What happens to this family happens to me. I’ll ask again, and I’ll keep on asking until you tell me: What is going on?”

  “God’s blood, all right! Quit your yappin’,” her grandfather growled. “I’ll tell you.”

  She tilted her head, waiting.

  “I’ve called a meeting tomorrow at Nightingale’s. Ming ’as identified three suspects—three o’ the dukes—and I’ve invited them for a parley. Nothing to worry about.”

  Was he daft? How could she not worry? “You’re going to be in a room with a bastard who tried to kill you.”

  “Gor, that wouldn’t be the first time.” Grandpapa gulped more tea, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Wouldn’t even be the first time this week.”

  “That is not amusing. What if something happens to you? In the past month alone, you’ve been shot at, your home attacked. You’re not a c-cat, Grandpapa, you haven’t got nine lives.” To her horror, her voice quivered, heat rising behind her eyes. “I don’t have a good feeling about this—”

  “Ming’ll arrange plenty o’ protection.” He set a strong, age-mottled hand over hers on the table. His signet ring, the seal of the House of Black and a symbol of its power, shone richly in the morning light. “Now ’ow many times ’ave I told you, missy? A true Black’ll shed ’is blood afore ’e sheds a tear.”