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Silvester reared back, his hands moving to grip her thighs. Stella peered at him through her lashes. His smile was devilish, satisfied.

“Bullfrog,” she muttered, surprised by the hoarseness of her own voice.

“I own that,” he said promptly. “I’ll croak proudly about giving my wife pleasure.”

Her eyes flew open. “Silvester!”

“No, I won’t,” he said. “But here, in this bedchamber, between us? Damn right, I am proud.”

“Humph,” Stella said, relaxing into a warm puddle of satisfied woman again. “I suppose I’ll allow your superior smirk under the circumstances.”

He crawled over her on his hands and knees, dropped his head, and devoured her mouth. At first Stella felt too melted to engage, but then he lowered his body slowly onto hers, and everything in her woke up again, her skin tingling.

“Am I too heavy for you?” Silvester murmured, his voice gravel in her ear.

“No,” she said honestly. She wasn’t grasshopper delicate. Her body relaxed under his weight, and she felt lush and perfect, rather than awkward and heavy. This close, she didn’t need glasses to read his face.

“I like your face,” she muttered, palming it.

“I like everything about you,” he said throatily.

“Especially your ducal nose.” She kissed it.

His expression was hard to read. “Ducal nose, eh?”

“Yes, Beaky,” Stella said cheerfully. “I got that right, didn’t I? Or was it Duckbill?”

He shook his head.

“Did the nickname bother you?” Stella said, realizing suddenly that she might have raised a painful subject.

He scoffed. “If we must stay with waterfowl, I’d rather you didn’t call me a lame duck.”

She frowned.

“As was poor Thomas Nashe.”

Stella shifted teasingly, letting one thigh rub against his erection. “As you assured me, that doesn’t seem to be a problem you share.”

Silvester shuddered and then pulled back, one hand pushing her legs farther apart. The thick, round head of his shaft eased forward, sliding over her sleek folds before easing into her body, bringing with it a pleasure so keen that she gasped.

She tilted her hips, her fingers curling into the muscle of his shoulder. Silvester was sweaty, his chest heaving. She pulled at him. “Come closer.”

Silvester’s jaw was clenched. “Have to go slowly. Virgin.”

“Dildo,” she hissed, and yanked at him again.

Her husband barked with laughter, and braced himself against the bed, pulling her underneath him. Stella arched up with a shriek as Silvester surged forward, his hard warmth coming to a space that seemed to have been made for him.

Her legs curled around his hips as he rocked forward. Rumpled locks of hair fell over his forehead as he whispered, “Is it painful?”

“No,” Stella said flatly.

His eyes flared with raw desire.

She bumped up, inelegantly but urgently.

He kissed her with a scorching promise, holding both their bodies still, his weight pinning her to the bed, and then he began moving, pulling back and thrusting, burying himself inside her again and again. Feeling pulsed through her, as ferocious as the thrusts of his body.