The Duke's Sins | ongoing

The Passion of A Gambler

3~ the passion of a gambler

Even if the lift hadn't broken down, I'd still be where I was.

With my hands locked above my head, he pushed me further into the metal wall, the cool material colliding with the heat racing over my skin.

His lips crashed into mine and he grazed his teeth over my bottom lip. I gasped, allowing his tongue entrance as he marked my mouth. The taste of champagne and something dark seeped down my throat, his growl sending tremors down my spine.

"Oh," I let out a soft moan as he ran his hands down my figure. Pulling me impossibly close, he dipped his head into the curve of my neck, pausing to caress my sensitive pulse.

"Christ, you smell amazing." His grip tightened around my waist and I almost melted into him, his touch scorching me through the barrier of my clothes.

I revelled in the scent radiating off his own skin, the heady scent enveloping me.

A hammer-like sound echoed above us.

We rushed to smooth the crinkles of our clothes out, moving to opposite ends of the lift. I fiddled with the rim of my glove, my movements halting as a man lowered himself through an opening at the top of the lift.

"I apologise, Your Grace." The man lowered his head, "Please, allow me to escort you."

He stepped threateningly close to the worker, glaring at him. "Please do, and then tell whoever was in charge of the lifts to hand in their resignation by tomorrow morning."

The man nodded, his head bowing further down. And then the worker hoisted himself back up through the flap in the ceiling, a ladder protruding after him.

His darkened gaze found mine again. "Ladies first."

I swallowed, holding my dress in front of me as I took step by step up the ladder, the bright light of the hotel floor biting at my vision. He followed suit, giving a clipped nod to the huddle of men standing, ashamed looks cast over their expressions.

We were back to being respectable individuals, my hand looped through his arm as we walked casually through the corridors.

"He called you, Your Grace," I stated, unsettled by the title.

Any possible connections to royalty would screw me over. Hard.

A door clicked open behind me, his leather-clad shoes nudging against mine. "Doesn't matter."

I let out a startled yelp as he swung me over his shoulder. My lopsided view struggled to gauge the riches adorning every corner of his room. I caught sight of the chandelier, the gleaming beads of glass shrouding the room in a golden hue.

Just as my nausea began to rise, he dropped me onto a mattress. I stared up at the artwork painted over the ceiling.

I rose onto my knees. "Oh my."

The colours melded and stroked against each other in an intricate work of art, the signature at the bottom stealing my breath.

"Is it real?" I asked, glancing down at him only to see him gaping at me in awe. I blinked up at the painting before looking back at him. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I've never had anyone admire the artwork. Some say it's of peculiar tastes."

I ran my hands down his front, "I don't think so. I think it suits my tastes just fine."

Weaving his fingers through my hair, he tugged gently, tilting my neck back. His lips burnt soft kisses down the curve of my neck, pausing to caress my throbbing pulse. Warmth pooled in my core, the heat radiating between us enveloping me.