Page 48 of The Dueling Duchess

She wouldn’t have believed herself capable of the animalistic sound that tore from her tight throat. “Fuck me, you bastard.”

And then she bit him.

* * *

“Ow!” Guy shouted, every muscle in his body tightening at the sudden, sharp pain in his chin.

She pulled away at his agonized, unmanly squawk, a wicked smirk on her lips—along with a smear of his blood.

The desire he’d been holding by a tenuous lead snapped at the glorious, savage sight of her.

Guy spun her away from the bench and slammed her up against the built-in cupboard on the opposite wall. The loud crack of wood splitting filled the caravan but was overwhelmed by their raw, primal grunting as he drove into her, giving her every inch, and giving it to her hard.

Her blunt fingernails dug into his back like ten tiny bullets. “Harder.”

Somebody laughed insanely, and he thought it might be him.

Guy gave her the pounding she demanded, the muscles in his hips, thighs, and arse screaming as he plowed her.

Her climax, when it came, was almost enough to crush his cock and Guy lasted four more strokes before surrendering to his need, emptying himself deep inside her, his body spasming violently as he filled her time after time.

All the strength drained out of him, and his legs were like water as he staggered toward the front of the caravan, to the only actual bed, which was, predictably, mounded with garments.

Guy barely made it before his knees buckled and he dropped with a grunt, Cecile’s legs still tightly twined around his body.

She gave a half whimper, half growl as she released him and rolled onto her back. Guy slumped down beside her, the two of them jammed tightly together on the narrow bed.

He must have dozed because when he opened his eyes again the light that slanted through the narrow window across from him was the watery gray-gold of twilight.

Guy turned his head to the side and encountered a pair of hooded brown eyes. He’d noticed—while he’d been hilt deep inside her—that he could finally see where black met the beautiful dark chocolate brown.

Her expression was, for once, slack and relaxed, the look of a well-fucked woman. His favorite expression on a woman, as a matter of fact. And it looked especially well on Cecile, who rarely appeared either relaxed or happy.

“What are you smirking about?” she asked.

“Am I?”

“You know you are.”

He allowed his grin to grow larger. “That’s because I’m perfectly, utterly content.”

She snorted and turned to face the ceiling.

“What? Are you not content?”

“I’m an idiot.”

He saw the corner of her mouth turn down and wanted to groan. He hated post-coital guilt above all things.

Guy took her chin in his hand and turned her to face him. “Please don’t regret this, Cecile.”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry, my lord. I’m not wallowing in guilt.”

“But you regret it?”

She opened her mouth, met his gaze, and something in her eyes softened—not much, but it was something. “No.”

He felt his lips curving and made no effort to stop his smile.