Page 43 of A Scandal for the Beastly Earl

“You’re perfect,” he rasped. “So warm... so tight.”

Arabella whimpered. “Lucien—please.”

He leaned down and kissed her, slow and deep, his body moving at the same pace as his mouth. She felt every stretch, every inch of him filling her, until there was no space left between them.

When he was finally seated fully within her, still and trembling with the effort it took not to move too fast, he rested his forehead against hers.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmured.

She reached up to cradle his face. “It’s not. I want all of you.”

His breath caught at her words. With a low groan, he began to move—slow and controlled, as though savoring each moment of joining. Inch by inch, he pushed deeper, until his entire length was sheathed inside her. Her body stretched to accommodate him, the fullness overwhelming and exquisite all at once.

Lucien leaned forward, bracing himself above her, but not pulling away. His chest brushed hers, their breaths mingling in the narrow space between them. And then he kissed her—not hurriedly, not with desperation, but with purpose. Slow and deep. Passionate. A kiss that said you’re mine and I’ve waited for this and don’t ever leave.

Arabella moaned softly into his mouth, her hands sliding down his back, drawing him closer. His thrusts were steady, each one drawing a soft cry or whispered plea from her lips. Their bodies moved in perfect rhythm, each roll of his hips matched by the arch of hers, as if they had done this a thousand times in another lifetime and were only just remembering how.

Later, much later, Arabella lay curled against him, her leg draped over his, their skin damp with the sheen of shared exertion. Lucien’s fingers lazily tangled through her hair while she traced soft, idle circles on his chest.

Neither of them spoke at first. The silence was not awkward, but reverent.

Eventually, she broke it with a wry little smile. “So much for separate rooms.”

His chest rumbled with laughter. "My carefully laid plans, destroyed by a storm."

"Just the storm?"

"No." He tilted her chin up to look at him. "You've been destroying my plans since the moment you dived into that lake."

"I fell into the lake."

"Fell, dived, threw yourself—the result is the same. My life hasn't been the same since."

"Is that a complaint?"

"That's a confession." He kissed her, slow and deep. "I didn't want a wife. I certainly didn't want to want my wife. But here we are."

"Here we are," she agreed, settling against him more comfortably. "What do we do now?"

"Now? Now we sleep. Tomorrow we can figure out what this means."

"And Cassandra?"

His arms tightened around her. "Let her come. She'll find things have changed more than she expects."

"Including you?"

"Especially me." He was quiet for a moment. "You know this changes everything."

"Does it?"

"You're in my bed, Arabella. My actual bed, not the rose suite in the east wing. That's not part of our arrangement."

"Then we'll make a new arrangement."

"Just like that?"

"Do you have a better idea?"