Page 113 of Stolen and Seduced By the Duke

He groaned in response and opened her thighs wider. He took off his mask and threw it. He placed his head between her legs. He kissed her womanhood.

He worked patiently, never rushing, his lips warm against her skin as he alternated between firm kisses and gentler licks. Margaret closed her eyes and allowed her head to fall against the bed, thinking that there was something almost absurdly comforting about discovering that the formidable Duke of Ravenfield possessed such capable techniques.

"You are very good at that," she whispered, relaxing further as his tongue traced another slow circle.

Pierce glanced at her with quiet amusement and continued the massage. "I shall remember that," he replied, his voice low, and Margaret smiled because she knew precisely what he meant.

Then she felt the pulsing growing low in her belly. It moved through every limb as she reached a height.

"Oh! Oh Pierce," she shouted as an explosion shivered through her body.

She felt a release of complete bliss. Pierce moved up the bed and set himself beside her, placing soft kisses against her breasts as she quivered.

She reached for his throbbing shaft and began returning the favor, sliding both hands along before gently kneading. His rod was solid beneath her fingers.

As he groaned wildly, she worked up and down, using her thumbs to press along. Pierce watched her while moans escaped him, and Margaret felt a little thrill of satisfaction at knowing she could offer him pleasure as easily as he offered it to her.

"I must have you now," Pierce said.

Pierce moved between her thighs and placed his hands upon her hips, and entered her slowly. She arched her back up as he guided his manhood inside of her.

He began with slow, soothing strokes. His palms pressed gently into her hips, and Margaret felt herself sink deeper into the mattress with every movement.

He worked carefully, easing himself in and out of her. The pressure was neither too light nor too firm, and Margaret found herself breathing more slowly as the last remnants of tension seemed to melt away as she gave her maidenhood to him.

A shiver travelled through her, and she gave a soft, contented laugh.

"I believe I am yours," she whispered.

"That is precisely what I expect you to be, mine," Pierce replied, his hips continuing their unhurried rhythm.

Margaret smiled, feeling an almost overwhelming sense of bliss spread through her. It was not merely the physical pleasure of being soothed; it was the knowledge that Pierce was taking care of her, paying attention to every small comfort without her needing to ask.

Warmth seemed to move through her from head to toe, followed by little shivers that made her limbs tremble pleasantly. She felt utterly satisfied, not restless or uncertain, but peaceful in a way she had rarely experienced.

Then another wave built inside of her as he began to move faster and faster.

"It is happening again," she moaned.

"Good, I want it too. Release, do not hold back, Duchess," he said.

With those words, she moaned with bliss. She felt Pierce tense as his groans grew louder, faster, and he released his seed.

Pierce stopped and drew her gently into his arms. Margaret curled against his chest, too comfortable to protest when he pulled the blankets around them. She listened to the steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek and thought that perhaps this was what she had wanted all along, not grand declarations or perfect romance, but someone who she could have complete wild abandon with and then simply… be held.

Her eyes grew heavy as his arm settled securely around her waist. She managed one final sleepy smile before surrendering to the warmth of his embrace, and within moments she had fallen peacefully asleep in the arms of the man she had just given herself to.

CHAPTER 29

Pierce woke before the sun had properly risen, when the darkness beyond the bedchamber windows had begun to soften into the pale grey of dawn. For several moments he remained perfectly still, his eyes adjusting to the dim light as he listened to the quiet breathing beside him.

Margaret lay curled beneath the blankets, her dark hair spread across the pillow, her face peaceful in sleep. He watched her longer than he intended, struck by how different she looked when she was not teasing him, arguing with him, or challenging every order he gave her. In sleep she appeared remarkably vulnerable, and something deep within his chest tightened at the sight.

My wife.

The thought came with a strange finality now, because there was no longer any uncertainty between them. Margaret was not merely the woman he had married because circumstances had demanded it, nor simply the mother Hugh needed, nor the solution to a problem that had threatened to consume his household. She was his true wife now that they had consummated the marriage, and the realization unsettled him precisely because it mattered so much.

He had spent years believing that attachments were weaknesses a man in his position could not afford, yet one look at Margaret sleeping beside him was enough to make every one of those convictions seem foolish. They would raise Hugh together, he thought, and he would make certain that the boy grew up surrounded by safety, affection, and the certainty that his father would always protect him.