She did not fully comprehend his question. “Only as slow as you wish,” she answered, for it seemed the right thing to say.
No man had ever made love to her before. Not completely. There had been kissing, touching, teasing. There had been pleasure, to be sure. But there had never been another inside her. She had not wanted it after Adam. But she wanted it now, with Lucien. Only Lucien.
He moved. Thrust inside her, fast and hard. She had not been entirely prepared, and she stiffened beneath him, a burning pain tearing through her, momentarily supplanting the pleasure.
He stilled, his shaft buried deep inside her, her body stretched and aching all around him, and lifted his head. “You are a virgin?”
She was trapped in his glittering green gaze, and his face was strained, a reflection of the control he exerted to remain still within her. “Iwas.”
“I thought—” He stopped whatever it was he had been about to say and exhaled.
She knew what he meant. He had assumed she was an experienced woman, and he was not entirely wrong. She had done far more than was proper with Adam, but that had been years ago, and it had never been…this.
“It doesn’t matter,” she reassured him. Because it didn’t. Not what he had believed her to be, not her past, not anyone or anything but the two of them.
But he was not appeased. He frowned down at her, looking torn. “Damn it, Hazel, did I hurt you?”
“No,” she whispered, framing his handsome face in her hands. He was so beautiful in his concern for her, it almost made her heart ache to look at him. “You could never hurt me, Lucien.”
But as she said those words, she knew they were not true. Hecouldhurt her, but not physically, not intentionally. She had somehow, in spite of her resolve to keep what was happening between them relegated to the sexual rather than the emotional, allowed him to slip past her walls. He was inside her now in more than one way.
And now that her body had adjusted to the suddenness of his bold invasion, a new hunger pulsed inside her. She tested the instinct to move, moving her hips against his and bringing him deeper still. Pleasure and pain intertwined. She exhaled on a sigh.
“Do not move,” Lucien warned.
He ought to have known by now she never took orders. She moved again, undulating her body beneath his. The friction made heat unfurl in her belly. The need had returned, taking control of her. She pumped her hips against him.
He groaned and dropped his forehead back to hers. “Hazel.”
“Lucien.” She kissed him. “I told you I am no magnolia blossom. I want you to make love to me.”
At long last, he began a rhythm, withdrawing from her in long, slow strokes only to sink inside her once more. She could not be certain if it was her imagination, or if he had hardened even more. He was large, and each time he sank inside her channel, he filled her, the sensation exquisite almost to the point of pain.
They were kissing again, mouths fused, a messy, carnal kiss of tongues and teeth. Her body had never felt more alive. She was attuned to her every sense, ridiculously aware of all the places where they met, not just deep inside her, but elsewhere. Her breasts crushed into his chest, their stomachs melded, his lean strength against her softness, her inner thighs wrapped around him. He was so very masculine, dominating her, devouring her, pinning her to the bed, completing her.
There was no other way to describe his possession.
His questing fingers returned to her pearl, giving her just the right amount of pressure and stimulation. Her body had already broken open for him. He had introduced her to a raw, wicked pleasure, and she was still alive with it, tingling, ready to come again. Ready to give him anything.
To give himeverything.
When he dragged his mouth to her ear, kissing her there, his breath hot and harsh and desperate, and he issued a command, this time, she could not help but to obey. “Spend for me.”
And she did. Her inner muscles clenched on him, around him. The force of her climax took her by surprise. She cried out, slamming her hips into his, trying to drive him deeper inside her. So deep. Mewling sounds erupted from her throat. Sounds she did not even recognize as her own. A shudder rocked through her as he continued his pace, sliding in and out faster and faster, until suddenly he withdrew from her entirely.
Holding himself in his hand, he came with a roar of his own, spurting all over her belly. His breathing was as ragged as hers, his eyes intent upon her. She could not look away. Licks of pleasure still rippled through her body.
“Are you…well?” he asked hoarsely.
“Yes.” She watched him, trying not to ogle him and failing. She had never imagined a man could be beautiful. But the Duke of Arden was. There was not a hint of spare flesh on him. He was all lean muscle, angles and planes and sinews.
The way his eyes roamed over her made a new frisson steal through her.
“I like seeing you this way,” he said. “Naked and flushed in my bed, my seed on your skin.”
His admission was wicked and raw. She should be shocked.
“I like it too,” she said, realizing she did.
