When he entered her, there was nothing gentle about it. The angle made her cry out, and he answered with a guttural sound of satisfaction, gripping her waist hard enough to leave marks. His movements were relentless, driven by something raw and unrestrained, the careful composure of the duke stripped away entirely, leaving only hungry, desperate want.
"Say it," he demanded, voice rough and commanding as he drove into her with punishing intensity.
"I love you," she gasped, barely able to form words as he took her with an almost feral urgency.
"Again," he ordered, his control fracturing completely.
"I love you…" The words dissolved into incoherent pleasure as he pushed her higher, his pace merciless and consuming until finally the crest came, wild and devastating and she shattered beneath him, crying out as he followed with a ragged groan, still holding her captive against him.
Afterward, they lay tangled in the hush of their own creation, the candle burning low beside them. He brushed akiss across her temple, and she smiled faintly, dazed by the strangeness and the rightness of it all.
"That was…" Clara began, then stopped, lacking adequate words.
“Was it, after all this time, all that you hoped for?”
"Everything. The scandal, the struggle, your aunt's purple fury."
Gabriel laughed, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. "We should send Aunt Agatha a thank you note. Without her interference, we might have continued dancing around this for months."
"We should also thank Edmund for investigating my father."
They lay in comfortable silence, Clara tracing the scars on his chest while he played with her hair.
"We should have our matrimonial ceremony tomorrow," Gabriel said suddenly.
"We've discussed this. Three weeks for the banns."
"That was before."
"Before what?"
"Before I knew what we were missing. Now that I do, three weeks seems like torture."
"Everything seems like torture to you."
"Not this. This is the opposite of torture."
"What's the opposite of torture?"
"Bliss? Paradise? That thing where you made that sound when I…"
Clara covered his mouth with her hand. "We're not discussing the sounds I made."
He licked her palm, making her squeal and pull back. "We should definitely discuss the sounds you made, particularly that one when I…"
"Gabriel!"
"What? We're betrothed. We're allowed to discuss our mutual satisfaction with our physical compatibility."
"That's the least romantic way possible to describe what just happened."
"Would you prefer I compose a sonnet? ‘Ode to Clara's Extraordinary Sounds of Passion'?"
"I would prefer you never mention sounds again."
"Even the good sounds?"
"Especially the good sounds."
