The Hidden Empress Stripping Her Secrets After Divorce novel Chapter 519

Lydia dazedly opened her eyes and looked up at him. Within those depths lay confusion, terror, and an indescribable vulnerability. She tried to speak, but her throat felt entirely sealed off, allowing only a muffled murmur to escape. Reaching out, she grabbed his fingers. It wasn't intentional; it was pure instinct. Her hands were scalding, burning like a furnace as she gripped his fingers tightly, refusing to let go.

"Hot..." her voice was hoarse, "So hot..."

The Duke's fingers slowly tightened. He stared at her for a long time. Those eyes, that face, that mole—she looked exactly like the woman from thirty years ago. His Adam's apple bobbed. He leaned over, bracing his other hand on the mattress beside her, coming so close he could see the individual tears clinging to her eyelashes.

"Do you know who I am?" he asked.

Lydia's lips moved, her voice soft. "Duke... Astor..."

The Duke's fingers trailed across her face, gently brushing over her lips. They were dry and chapped, slightly rough to the touch, but unmistakably soft underneath. His fingers lingered there for a few seconds.

"Do you know what you're doing?"

Lydia shook her head. She didn't know. She didn't know anything. All she knew was that her body felt like it was engulfed in flames, and he was the only one who could extinguish them. She held onto his hand, pressing it against her cheek. His skin was cool, feeling like ice against her feverish warmth, bringing a relief so profound it made her want to weep.

The Duke's hand paused. He watched her actions, watching her nuzzle against his hand like a small animal, and the light in his eyes grew dangerously dark.

"Don't move," his voice was deep.

Lydia froze. She simply looked at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears, confusion, and a heart-wrenching sense of dependency. The Duke leaned down and captured her lips with his.

It wasn't rough; it was a gentle, probing touch. Her lips were dry but incredibly soft. He pulled back slightly, studying her. She didn't pull away or try to push him off; she merely kept her eyes closed, her eyelashes fluttering wildly. He kissed her again, deeper and more forceful this time. His hand moved from her cheek to her shoulder, gently pulling at the neckline of her dress. The moonlight-white fabric slipped down, exposing her luminous shoulders and collarbone.

Lydia's body trembled. She could feel his hands tracing her skin—rough and calloused. She couldn't tell exactly where he was touching her, only that every point of contact sent a jolt of electricity through her, melting her defenses. She bit down on her lip, refusing to make a sound.

The Duke's movements were slow, treating her with the deliberate care of handling fragile porcelain. His hand settled on her collarbone, his fingertips grazing the skin to leave a faint crimson trail.

"Does it hurt?" he asked.

Lydia shook her head. It wasn't that it didn't hurt; she just couldn't articulate the feeling. The Duke's fingers trailed lower, undoing the buttons of her dress. The moonlight-white fabric pooled around her waist. Exposed to the cool air, goosebumps rose across her skin. She instinctively crossed her arms, trying to cover herself.

The Duke pulled her hands away, pinning them above her head. "Don't hide."

Lydia closed her eyes. Her body was shaking, though whether from cold or fear, she didn't know. The Duke's hands mapped her shoulders, down her arms, across her waist, and along her thighs. Every movement was agonizingly slow, as if he were memorizing every inch of her.