My Last Duchess, стр. 17

“Yes,” Ophelia said, breaking into a giggle. “This is so funny,” she added, allowing herself to say precisely what she wasthinking. “I never imagined laughing in bed.”

“Huh.” Hugo slid his hands to her front and then they curved around her breasts. “I don’t feel like laughing,” he said, voicerough. “I don’t mind if you do, Ophelia. Laugh as much as you like.”

Ophelia sucked in air, all impulse to giggle leaving her. His lips drifted across the curve of her right breast, lingeredjust long enough to make her quiver, and then closed over her nipple.

Sound rasped through her throat and her hands flew from behind her head, winding into his hair, holding him in place. Notthat he showed any particular wish to move. For long minutes his mouth caressed the curve of one breast or the other, returningto her nipples.

And Ophelia just let it happen. Behind her closed eyes, the world receded until nothing existed but a hot, heady pleasurethat melted into desperation. Reason and logic floated into the dark. Desire was like hot tea on a cold day: she actuallyfelt it slip through her body, warming her in places that hadn’t felt frozen.

But had been, obviously.

Gradually, she began feeling slightly anxious, nervousness thrumming alongside desire. She didn’t want to orient herself tothe real world. She wanted to stay in the warm darkness, her body twisting under his caresses, low moans coming through herlips.

But . . .

Peter would have stopped long ago, moving on to the next, for lack of a better word, activity. Surely Hugo would rather bedoing something else. Something less one-sided. Unfortunately, she was selfish. Self-interest choked the words in her throat.

Instead she clutched his hair more tightly, embarrassing noises flying from her mouth every time he tightened his lips orcurled his tongue around her nipple.

A shrill inner voice made itself heard. She and Peter had been considerate bed partners, and after hearing stories from otherwomen as a young bride, she had redoubled her efforts to express her appreciation for his kindness.

Yet here she was, taking without giving.

She forced her eyes open. Hugo had her breasts plumped in both hands. Far from looking restless, he was suckling a nipplewith an intensity that made another moan escape her lips. He looked as if he couldn’t stop himself.

Thoughts were going every which way in her head. A streak of pleasure was followed by a panicked protest that she ought todo the same for him. The breath caught in her throat, because he did something—that thing—with his tongue, and fire streaked down her legs. She couldn’t focus on his expression because she kept closing her eyes.Her toes curled and her legs shook and she almost felt as if . . . which was absurd.

Her eyes flew open again and she craned her neck. He didn’t show any signs of getting bored. But he must be getting bored.And she . . . well, she was ready for what came next. A good deal readier than she sometimes was.

Hugo lifted his head, making her hands fall from his hair, and met her eyes. “Stop thinking.” His tone wasn’t that of a dukeaccustomed to obedience. It was the growl of a man in the grip of pure lust.

For her.

Ophelia blinked at him. “I was just . . . I don’t want you to grow bored.”

Hugo broke into a chuckle.

“I thought you didn’t laugh in bed,” she said, her mouth curving up. She reached out to run her hands down his forearms. Theywere powerful, muscled. The arms of a man who could protect anyone, a child, Viola . . . Her mind wandered away from thoughtsof her child.

Ophelia didn’t need protecting and neither did Viola.

But Ophelia needed more of him. Fierce, base desire roared through her body.

Hugo reared up on his knees and shook his head. His hands settled on his hips and her eyes were drawn precisely where he,apparently, wanted her to look.

“If a man is bored, what happens to his cock?”

Ophelia managed to stop a flinch. She was a widow, not a maiden. She had to get used to bold speaking and words that wereconsidered fit only for sinful congress. Because that’s what she was engaging in: sinful congress.

He reached down and ran a hand over his private parts. Ophelia watched with utter fascination at the way his hand clenched,even twisted a little. The head emerged from his hand looking red and—

Ophelia lost her train of thought again.

“It would wilt,” Hugo said, because she hadn’t answered.

“I understand,” Ophelia said, though she didn’t. Not really.

“I was determined to find a third wife who was uninterested in bed sports,” Hugo said conversationally. “Or very experiencedat them.”

“I haven’t promised to be your wife!” She frowned at him. “I am experienced. I mothered a child, in case you need a reminder.”

“My first two wives were both inexperienced, to say the least. They both got the idea right away, though.”

Then he winced, because presumably he remembered just how expert his second wife turned out to be. Or how voracious. Or . . .

She ought to be solemn and sympathetic, but Ophelia found herself giggling instead. “I guess your teaching was a mite toosuccessful the second time around. Oh! I can’t believe I said that. I’m so sorry!”

Thankfully, Hugo’s mouth eased into a smile. “Either that, or the golden locks of a Prussian count cast mine into the shade.”

Ophelia didn’t need to glance at his thick head of hair to know which she preferred. “If we’re not discussing my previousspouse, oughtn’t yours to be taboo as well?”

“Certainly in the bed,” Hugo said. “Where was I?” He reached out, his eyes gleaming.

“You truly don’t mind?”

He raised an eyebrow.

“This,” she said with a wave that vaguely indicated everything above her waist. “I thought you’d want to do other things.”

“Have you ever heard of the poet Robert Herrick?”

Ophelia shook her head.

Hugo curved his hands around her breasts again. “Display thy breasts, my Julia—well, have to change that line, won’t we? Display thy breasts, my Ophelia, there let me behold that circummortal purity.”

Ophelia giggled, looking down at his hands and her breasts. “Circum-what?”

“Circummortal. No idea what it