Read Online Under A Duke's Hand by Annabel Joseph - Free Book Online

stroke her pussy. His
other hand squeezed her breasts and teased her nipples, caressing
them, maintaining them in permanent, aroused points. “That’s it.
Make yourself feel good. Let your whole body come alive with
pleasure, and when you’re ready, finish it.”
    “How will I know—when—?”
    “You’ll know.”
    Her hips moved with her exertions, and his
fingers surged into her sheath with a mounting, steady rhythm. He
watched her face, saw her bite her lip hard. He wanted to kiss that
poor, bitten lip. He wanted to kiss every inch of her and bury
himself inside her, but this erotic show was too magical to
interrupt. She gave a gasping cry, and the walls of her sex
contracted around his fingers. He pressed them deep inside her,
massaging, encouraging her climax to full fruition. Her feet curled
around his calves and her spine arched against his front. Then she
fell boneless in his lap, her ecstasy spent.
    “I told you that you would know,” he
whispered against her ear. He lifted her hand and drew her fingers
into his mouth, licking them, savoring her feminine scent. She
stared up at him with a combination of horror and shock.
    “You’re delicious,” he said. “You ought to
take a taste.”
    And like the world’s most innocent courtesan,
she opened her mouth and accepted the tips of his lust-slickened
fingers, licking them off until his cock was far past aching, and
his hand clean enough to thrust back into his glove.
     
    * * * * *
     
    Gwen sat in their private dining room at the
Dryesdale Inn, sneaking glances at her husband, uncertain how she
ought to feel. She wished she felt in love, but she did not feel
that, not in the slightest. She felt something more akin to
anxiety, and disbelief that she was actually his wife. Since they’d
arrived, the staff had done nothing but scrape and bow to the duke,
and hover, and bustle about bringing things and taking things away
before one could even ask them to do it. May I freshen your
wine, Your Grace? Is the duck to your liking, Your Grace? Shall we
bring more cranberry sauce, Your Grace?
    Gwen wanted to hate her husband, but somehow
she found herself in the same sickening thrall as the servants and
staff. How grand he was, how effortlessly commanding. His manners
were so smooth and all his glances were the speaking type.
    She wanted to defy his authority and stand up
to him, but she feared she hadn’t the power to do it. She was
terrified to make an enemy of him. For goodness sake, she’d licked
her own spendings off his fingers in the coach because he told her
to. He’d said scandalous things and described scandalous acts, and
she’d thought, I know I will do them. It seemed the whole
world bowed to his will, every groom, every servant, every lady and
gentleman. They all fluttered and nodded and murmured Yes, Your
Grace , and she knew she would do it too.
    “Your Grace. Your Grace?”
    The endless groveling. Gwen shut her eyes,
wishing she could clap her hands over her ears and disappear.
    “They’re talking to you, dear,” came the
duke’s voice. “You’re a ‘Grace’ now too.”
    She opened her eyes and blinked at the
liveried servant. “I’m sorry. What did you ask?”
    “He asked if you would like some smoked eel
and black pudding.”
    “No,” she said quickly. She’d barely touched
what was already on her plate.
    He waved a lazy, lace-cuffed wrist and the
eel dish was whisked away. “You should eat more of your dinner,” he
said when the servant was gone.
    “I’m not hungry.”
    “You’ll be hungry later. I’d like you to
eat.”
    That’s precisely why I choose not to
eat. Gwen knew she was being childish with these petty
rebellions. Even if she could find the appetite to eat, she was
sure he’d find her table manners lacking. He constantly scrutinized
her—and constantly found flaws. She took a small bite of duck so he
would stop staring at her.
    “You must cut with your knife and eat with
your fork,” he said. “Not stab the