“I ache,” she told him, pressing closer, seeking more. “Please.”
A guttural curse fled him. He kissed her throat, then reached between them. His fingers glanced over her, finding the tender bud that throbbed with awareness. “I will make you spend this way, with my fingers. This is how it must be, darling.”
How stubborn he was. But she was stubborn, too. Her hand traveled to the front of his trousers. The fabric was slick from her dew. He was long and thick. She grasped him.
“Isabella.” Her name was a groan on his lips. He bit into the sensitive cords of her neck.
“I want you inside me, Benedict,” she said, not knowing where the words came from. She scarcely recognized herself.
Her confession seemed to blast through the last of his determination to wait. His fingers left her, and then he undid the fall of his trousers. His manhood sprang free, hot and surprisingly smooth. She touched him for a moment, reveling in the way the breath hissed from his lungs at the contact.
He chased her hand away, dragging the blunt tip of his rod over her sensitive folds. Up and down he moved, making her quiver as he slicked her juices over himself. With his other hand, he cupped the base of her skull, raising his head to meet her gaze.
He looked as if he were in agony.
“You want this?” he asked, his voice strained.
She did not hesitate. “Yes.”
He kissed her then, long and slow and sweet as he slid the tip of his manhood lower, to her entrance. He moved. The invasion was sudden. Not entirely unexpected. But shocking all the same. He felt larger inside her, stretching her, filling her.
He broke the kiss, raising his head to stare down at her, concern and restraint evident in every tense line of his face. “Isabella? Shall I continue?”
This was different, so different than anything she had anticipated. It was so much more. “Yes.”
He moved again, slowly, another shallow thrust, lodging himself deeper. A pinch of discomfort accompanied his next thrust. Her fingers dug into his shoulders. She had known to expect pain. But the pain paled in comparison to the frenzy. She needed to answer the ache.
He kissed the corner of her lips, then worked his way to the pulse fluttering in her throat. Her heart was beating so fast, she feared it would pound out of her chest and fly away.
“Relax, sweetheart,” he commanded against her skin. “Let me in.”
She had clenched her inner muscles without realizing it. His words and the tender kiss he pressed below her ear soothed her. She relaxed, her legs opening wider. His hands found her hips, holding her still as he moved again. One deep thrust, and he was seated inside her.
All the way.
They sighed as one. His other hand slipped between their joined bodies, his fingers brushing over her swollen bud. Ruthlessly, he applied pressure there, and the bliss he had given her before rose like the waters of the Thames at high tide. Any twinges of pain she felt were chased away by the excruciating joy of him inside her, of his fingers dancing over her intimate flesh.
“Kiss me,” she begged, all her pride gone. She was still seeking, searching for more. For release.
He took her lips then, and he began to move again. Slowly, he withdrew, then thrust, then withdrew only to thrust again, striking up a new rhythm. It was a revelation. Desire careened through her, sparking from deep within and exploding everywhere. His possession of her was exquisite. He was inside her so deep, touching a part of her she had not realized existed, and she was coming apart in a new way.
In and out he slid, over and over again. His pace increased. So did her desperation. The sounds of their ragged breaths filled the chamber. His thumb glanced over her, and she was lost. Something inside her tightened, bringing him deeper, and she came apart in a thousand splintering shards of herself.
She cried out, and he sealed his mouth over hers, silencing her with another kiss. His tongue was in her mouth. Another furious pump of his hips, and he groaned, stiffening beneath her touch. A hot spurt of warmth flooded her as she clamped on him, holding him. Her legs were locked around his waist, her arms around his neck. She never wanted to let him go.
He broke the kiss, caressing her cheek gently, his gaze searing hers. “Isabella, I—”
A knock at the study door ended whatever he had been about to say. “Your Grace?”
Reality came crashing down upon Isabella. She froze, aware of the precarious nature of her situation. She had just been deflowered by the Duke of Westmorland on his study desk in the midst of the morning. And now someone was at the door.
He slid from her body as if he had been caught committing a crime, tucking himself back into his trousers and fastening them. “What is it?” he asked curtly.
As if he had not just been inside her.
As if her world had not just forever changed.
Stunned, the mind-numbing pleasure vanquished by the interruption, she flipped down her skirts and shimmied from his desk.Good God, where were her drawers?
