Chapter 394: The Duke Reads Aloud

Chapter 393: The Duke Reads Aloud

Lyria’s POV

I remained still in my chair, the cat quiet against my hold, and watched as Duke Thorncrest turned the slender volume once more in his hand. Morning light fell across the side of his face, catching the faint curve of the smirk that had yet to leave him.

"Is this truly for educational purposes, Your Highness?" Duke Thorncrest asked. His voice was pleasant, though there was a quiet note of inquiry beneath it.

"W-why should it n-not be?" I replied. "My maid b-brought the volumes for precisely that reason. She s-said they might prove i-instructive."

He inclined his head slightly, as though he were prepared to concede the point, though the amusement in his eyes remained.

"Have you read any portion of it?"

"N-no," I answered truthfully. "I have n-not so much as o-opened one. You a-arrived before I c-could even examine the titles."

A quiet sound of consideration escaped him.

He lowered his gaze to the book once more before lifting it to mine.

"Would you permit me to read a passage aloud, then?"

I frowned.

The request was unexpected. Gentlemen did not ordinarily offer to read aloud in a lady’s private chamber, and I could not immediately discern what purpose he might have in doing so.

Yet there was nothing improper in his manner—at least, nothing openly so. He remained perfectly composed.

There was merely that faint curiosity in his expression, coupled with an amusement I could not quite understand.

Refusing him, therefore, felt somehow discourteous.

"You m-may do as you p-please," I said at length. "If that is your w-wish."

His smile returned, warmer this time, though there remained something faintly cautionary in it.

"Do not regret having granted me permission, Your Highness."

I held his gaze steadily.

"I d-doubt very much that I s-shall."

Something bright and mischievous flickered within his brown eyes.

I could not account for it.

There was certainly nothing remarkable about the book itself. At least, I had not thought there was. What possible mischief could he intend merely by reading from it?

He opened the volume with a quiet rustle of paper and began turning the leaves—not from the beginning, but some distance into the middle.

I watched the light shift across his hands as he searched. His lashes lowered whenever he paused upon a particular page, and the faintest crease appeared between his brows as he considered each passage.

At last, he stopped.

"Aha," he murmured, almost to himself. "I rather fancy this passage."

He settled more comfortably into the chair, one ankle resting neatly across the other, the book held open upon his knee.

Then he began to read.

"I pressed her back against the edge of her father’s great writing table, the polished mahogany cool beneath her. My mouth found the soft line of her throat and lingered there, tasting the rapid flutter of her pulse."

He paused only briefly before continuing.

"I marvelled at the realisation that she wanted me. She did not push me away—not once. Instead, she drew me closer. Lower still I went, kissing her, until I reached the soft swell of her breasts. Such magnificent creations they were. I filled both hands with them, feeling their weight, their warmth, the way they yielded so perfectly to my touch."

My fingers tightened ever so slightly around the cat.

"This was not my first time seeing them, nor touching them, but I would forever marvel at just how beautiful they were. How pale they were, and how pink and erect her nipples were... all for me."

I felt the faintest change in the atmosphere of the chamber.

There was a subtle warmth, as though the morning had somehow grown heavier.

Though, if I were being entirely honest, I suspected the change had nothing whatsoever to do with the room.

I felt warm.

Everywhere.

My pulse quickened.

Duke Thorncrest continued, though his voice seemed deeper than it had moments before. The change was slight, but I noticed it nonetheless.

For one absurd instant, I wondered whether there was the slightest possibility that he, too, was affected by what he was reading.

"She moaned for me—loud, unrestrained—and the sound struck through me. I craved to hear more of that sound from her, so I repeated the action."

His tone remained perfectly measured.

The words, however, were anything but.

"’More,’ she begged, her fingers tightening in my hair. I smiled against her skin, a need to claim her surging through me. ’No one would ever know,’ I told her, my voice rough with want, ’that her Highness, the esteemed princess of the kingdom whom people fear, would be begging a man of my station to—"

He stopped for the briefest moment.

Then he continued with the final word.

"—fuck her upon her father’s own table."

The word hung in the quiet room.

I did not look away.

I could feel the heat gathering at the base of my throat, and I became acutely conscious of the silence that followed his sentence.

How was this educational?

And, more troubling still, why did I want him to continue?

"Princess Cordelia did not care, though. She arched towards me, restless and aching. ’Just make this need go away,’ she whispered. ’Quench this thirst. I cannot bear it any longer.’"

His eyes remained fixed upon the page.

"’Do you want my cock?’ I asked her. ’Would that make your need go away?’"

Duke Thorncrest’s voice had dropped further still.

Each word seemed to linger longer than it ought, brushing against the air like the lightest touch of fingers upon bare skin.

I became aware of the soft rise and fall of my own breathing.

The gown against my skin suddenly seemed warmer than before.

Yet I still wanted to hear more.

I ought not to.

I knew that.

And yet, for reasons I could not explain, I found myself waiting for the next sentence.

"I kissed her again—deeply—tongues sliding together in a wet, heated tangle."