Stolen by the Ruthless Duke (Stolen by the Duke #2)

Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

“ I was about to retire for the night,” Maxwell told Ophelia after he opened the connecting door. “What is the matter?”

Are you still avoiding me ? She wanted to ask, but that was not her intention when she knocked.

“I wanted to ask why you changed so suddenly around Lord Garrett,” she said. “He mentioned that you had not been formally introduced, so he could not have done anything to upset you. Yet, you were… not yourself.”

She recalled the feel of his possessive hand on her back, the way he had pulled her closer as if staking a claim on her. And even more, Ophelia had liked it. She had liked knowing that anybody who had been watching them knew she was his .

“I was perfectly fine,” he told her. “As always.”

“Then why will you not meet my eyes? You know I am right.”

“You are not. Goodnight, Duchess.”

He made to shut the door in her face, his voice guarded, but she moved closer. Her body stopped the door from closing. Stopped him from shutting her out.

“Wait,” she insisted.

Their bodies were close now, her chest almost pressed to the front of his body.

“Yes?”

He didn’t sound impatient. He sounded… tired.

Ophelia dared to wonder, was he aching at her presence the way she ached at his?

“You have still not told me why you married me.”

“So you keep reminding me.”

“Why does it amuse you to keep the secret? I deserve to know.”

“I have explained enough times, Ophelia. I am not a man who enjoys repeating myself.”

“You do not mind repeating yes or no when that is the only answer you deign to give.”

He spared her a longer glance, and his lips quirked up into the ghost of a smile.

“Do you wish to know what I think, Maxwell?”

Something passed over his face at the way she slowly spoke his name, as though the letters dripped from her lips, decadent in those two syllables.

“Do share,” he dared.

“I think that you were jealous of Lord Garrett. You could not stand to see your wife dancing and laughing with another man. It made you green with envy. If I were to dig deeper, I would suggest that it was because I chose to dance with him, but with you, it was only to save face. It was expected.”

She only meant her words as a taunt, a way to needle him. She did not expect the way he grabbed her wrist, pulling her close to him, closing that gap so she was flush against him.

He leaned in. “Yes,” he growled. “Yes, I was jealous.”

The admission surprised her. For a moment, she was stunned.

“I was jealous seeing you with him because I do not want anyone touching what is mine .” He pulled her into his room, and the door slammed shut behind her.

Her back was pressed against it, her breath knocked from her lungs.

“You are mine, Ophelia,” he told her. “My life has been dictated by duty and discipline. Self-control has shaped every muscle in my body, every thought I have, every action I do. For all my years, that has been my way. But you… You have come into my life and unraveled that control. It is something I cannot keep in check around you.”

“Then do not,” she whispered.

“You do not know what you are asking for.”

Heat coursed through her, and she could envision it: that power, all honed into her, focused on her body, pleasuring her.

Ophelia pushed off the door, only to find herself pushed back against it. Her eyes met Maxwell’s.

“Yes,” she told him. “I do.” Her eyes sought his. “Do not hold back, Maxwell.”

She did not know whether it was the request or the use of his name that made him snap, but suddenly, his hands gripped her waist, and he growled as his mouth met hers.

Her breath hitched as he kissed her. Aware she was only in a thin chemise, Ophelia hoped that he could not see how her nipples pebbled with arousal as his hands slid up her waist.

“These curves,” he murmured, kneading her sides, as if he craved every inch of skin, as if he could not grasp enough of her. “I dream of them. I have become well-versed in the way your garments cling to your body.”

He drew a finger down the neckline of her chemise, sliding between her heavy breasts.

“And these…” A groan escaped him. “Beautiful.”

His eyes flicked to hers. Ophelia gasped as his palms moved to cup her breasts. He was not gentle with her, a growl low in his throat as his thumbs brushed over her erect nipples, his palms handling her as if she was precious china.

“Ophelia, your body is a siren’s song, and I want to dive beneath the waves.” His voice was rough. “I fear I am already drowning. That I have been drowning for some time and I have not noticed.” He drew back, his eyes hooded. “The surface is far away, but I do not care, for I will venture to any depth if it means having you. Touching you…” Maxwell nudged the sleeve of her chemise off her shoulder. “Tasting you…”

“You wish…” Her voice broke. “You wish to taste me?”

“Yes. I will feast on you as and when I please. Do you understand?”

“I do,” she whispered.

He yanked the other sleeve down with more force. “You do not know how many nights I have lain in bed, wishing you would open that infernal door that has separated us.”

“And you have not wanted to open it yourself?” She asked breathlessly.

His eyes burned into hers. She shivered, swallowing as new sensations of pleasure danced over her sensitive skin.

“I have fought not to every single night.”

“Why?”

He pressed his forehead to hers. “Because once I do, I fear I will not stop.”

“Do not stop,” she whispered.

But as Maxwell pulled back to look down at her, his fingers fumbling with the skirt of her chemise, he only gave her a slow smirk.

“I have told you, I am bound by my self-control.”

“Who says you need it with me?”

He did not answer her—at least not with words.

Her skirt was yanked up. Ophelia hissed as the cool night air kissed her skin.

His hand gripped her thigh, his fingers grazing the inside. She shuddered as he wrapped her leg around his hip, his fingers pressing deeply.

His movements were rough, and she did not realize how much she needed him to treat her this way. As though she would slip away if he let go. As though if he handled her so roughly, he could pin her down and keep her with him.

Her mind emptied, narrowing down to that one grasp.

“Keep your leg there.” His eyes roamed over her face. “If your foot touches the floor, then you will be punished.”

He pulled away, letting his palm slide up the inside of her thigh.

“Look at you,” he whispered, raising a finger to her lips. She could not help but kiss the tip, closing her eyes as he tugged her lower lip down. “You follow my orders for once. I did tell you I would find a way for you to obey, did I not?” He cocked his head. “Do you not like punishments, Ophelia?”

The question sank into her bones hotly.

She shook her head.

“Ah, I see,” Maxwell purred. “You enjoy being good, do you not? In this setting, at least. In my bedroom, you wish to be good for me.” He trailed his lips lower, dragging his finger from her mouth, down her chemise, to the apex of her thighs. “Say you enjoy it, Duchess.”

“I enjoy being good for you,” she murmured.

“It is a shame,” he said, tutting. “I half hoped you would be more defiant so I might deliver some punishment.”

Every thought flew from her head. What sort of punishment would this man give her in his bedroom? Instead of being horrified, Ophelia only found herself burning with arousal, especially as Maxwell’s hand slid between her legs.

“You have never been touched here.” It wasn’t a question.

Ophelia shook her head. His palm slid over her most intimate part, and she forgot how to breathe. Her heart rate sped up as she gazed at him.

Her husband held her gaze. “It is only right that your husband be the first.”

He kissed her deeply for a moment, and she could only whimper against him as her fingernails dug into his shoulders.

“Now, will you be good for me and allow me to pleasure you?”

The question reverberated through her, and she found herself nodding.

“I require words, wife.”

“Yes,” she gasped. “I will be good for you.”

Maxwell smirked at her, capturing her mouth in another searing kiss. Yet, she did not get a chance to focus on the kiss for longer than a moment because his fingers teased her directly, pressing in lightly.

Ophelia clung to him, not looking away from his face as he watched her. Beneath her chemise, he pressed deeper into her.

“How do you feel?” His voice was rough, and when he shifted closer to her, she felt the hard press of his length against her hip.

“Good,” she whispered, her words failing her as the Duke seemed to map her out with his fingers.

He knew what to do, where to touch, the right amount of pressure, and she moaned softly when he slid in one finger to the knuckle.

“ Full .”

He laughed darkly at her. “You are deliciously affected.” His mouth ghosted over her cheek. “Delightfully blushing.”

“You—you are?—”

You are skilled.

That did not seem enough, so Ophelia broke off, her voice fading into another soft moan as Maxwell pulled out and slid another digit into her with the first one. She was so full, with her husband’s fingers sinking deeper into her beneath her nightdress.

Her legs quivered as she sagged against the door, her hips moving against his hand. He placed his palm on her mound, allowing her to find some friction.

Her hand smoothed over the length tucked in his breeches, but he pulled away from her touch.

“No, no. Although I would love nothing more, I want this to be about you. I want your pleasure, and do trust me when I say that it will be more than sufficient later tonight to chase my own pleasure.”

“You will not let me?”

“Not yet.” He flashed her a smirk, looking smug.

This is all part of his power games. Yet, I find myself falling into them deeper and deeper.

If she had the choice, would she want to stop playing?

No. No, she would not.

Especially not when Maxwell curled his fingers just so and she could not help her shout of pleasure before he clapped a hand over her mouth.

“As much as I want to hear those noises spill freely from your mouth, Duchess, we have company,” he whispered.

Ophelia could barely remember her own name with how the pleasure clouded her mind, much less to be quiet. Still, she nodded behind his hand, and the next moment, she found two fingers working their way between her lips.

As scandalous as it was, Maxwell had his hands in rhythm with one another, both pleasuring her in different ways. She sucked on the digits in her mouth, her face burning.

“You are so beautiful like this,” Maxwell told her. “And I can tell how much you like it.”

Ophelia could only nod around his fingers, gasping when his other hand sped up, seeking more and more pleasure from her. He wrung it from her, and she knew that he would bring her to that final edge soon.

“You are wet, wife,” he told her, drawing his fingers from her intimate part before sliding back in.

Ophelia shuddered through a muffled, drawn-out moan.

Maxwell still did not let her lower her leg even though he did not hold it up any longer. Ophelia found that she had more control over how her hips rocked into his touch that way, and she craved the praise for doing as she had been told.

Maxwell slid his fingers from her mouth and tangled them at the roots of her hair, tugging lightly. The touch pulled her head back, and she choked on a breathless moan as he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to her neck.

“I want you to cry out for me,” he told her. “I care little for anybody who hears us. I cared moments ago, but you are my wife, and this is my house. I will have you sing for me, Duchess.”

She nodded frantically as his fingers grew more insistent in finding the peak of her pleasure.

“Can you do that for me? Be loud?”

“Anything you wish,” she gasped, grinding her hips to seek those last few lengths of desire.

How she wished for more—how this was more than enough on its own.

“Then be good for me and sing.”

The command rang through her right as her climax crashed over her. Ophelia’s hips bucked, her whole body going as tight as a bow pulled back to strike, and when her climax thundered through her, she could not stifle her cries even if he had commanded her to.

Pleasure and wet heat flooded through her.

“Maxwell!” Ophelia cried out. “Oh, Maxwell!”

Her voice cracked as he stroked her through it, his hips brushing against hers now and then as if relieving the ache he had.

When her pleasure had ebbed, Maxwell helped her lower her quivering leg to the floor.

“I had thought an orchestra provides the best musical performance,” he murmured, cupping her face in the hand he had tangled in her hair. “But I have been corrected tonight, for it is you, Ophelia.”

He did not give her a chance to answer, for he brought her mouth to his in a searing kiss, and Ophelia was confused by how much she had wanted this.

She wanted him , but she fell into the kiss regardless as he righted her chemise.