Page 65 of His Enemy Duchess

He chuckled. “I’d take offense if I didn’t know what you meant. I was trying to be gentlemanly.”

“Don’t. For once, don’t.”

His eyes darkened with hunger. “If you insist.”

He pulled back to the point where she feared he was going to withdraw altogether, then plunged back into her, sending her soaring into a fresh realm of pleasure, the glide of him awakening an entirely new set of nerves she had not known existed. All linked to that crackling bundle, all branching off from the core of her, where a furnace of euphoria thrummed and glowed, building to an inferno.

Within a few minutes of earth-shattering, powerful strokes, she began to meet his thrusts instinctively, feeling him plunge deeper each time. It was intoxicating, and she could not get enough, her head spinning as their lips met in burning kisses and her hands explored what had been forbidden, running over his muscular back and the swell of his firm buttocks.

“Yes, husband!” she gasped, utterly dizzy with the magic of their lovemaking. “Yes! Like that… oh, my husband… yes!”

Thomas thrust into her with abandon, but not without attention to detail, his hips curving up with each measured stroke to create potent friction against her hidden pearl. And like his fingertipsand his tongue before, each brush stoked the fires of her ecstasy, until the flames were licking at the edges of her climax.

“Yes… oh, keep going… keep?—”

Her words were strangled by an almighty surge of untold pleasure, ripping through her with such blissful violence that all she could do was claw at his back and grip his arms to ride out the fearsome, glorious wave of it.

He kissed the cries of bliss from her lips, thrusting harder, adding fresh sparks to the blaze that had already taken hold of her. She could barely breathe, her neck arched, her back bowed, her eyes closed, her hips still urgently meeting his while her thighs shook and her head swam.

“Oh, Sophia,” he growled, nipping her shoulder as he suddenly stilled inside her. “My wife… my Sophia.”

The pulse of him drew out the pleasure he had coaxed from her, the wave rising and falling, rising and falling, until she hoped it would last forever. And as he thrust twice more, slowly and deliberately, she smiled against his temple as she kissed it, realizing that they had reached their conclusion together.

He collapsed on top of her, wrapping his arms around her. Still buried deep inside her, he nuzzled her neck and trailed lazy kisses up to her jaw.

“I think we should race again sometime,” he murmured, and she felt him smile against her skin.

“I doubt that would be sustainable,” she replied, holding him tighter, reveling in the sensation of his hot, bare skin against hers. “The horses would tire long before I do. It wouldn’t be fair to them to have to race every time I want this.”

“Perhaps not,” he mumbled, sighing contentedly.

They stayed like that until he became too heavy, and he rolled them onto their sides, keeping her close to him as they lay together before the fire. She rested her head against his chest and curled into his side, wondering if this was what people meant by feeling ‘safe’ with someone. She doubted she had everfelt so safe, wrapped up in his arms, in the privacy of his study, bound to him by vows and… a feeling she didn’t dare to voice.

It’s too early to know what it is,she told herself, though she felt it anyway as she draped her arm over his stomach and closed her eyes, the rise and fall of his chest lulling her into sleep.

He might have made me beg, but he won’t make me confess first.

She smiled, wondering ifthiswas the first day of the rest of her life. A life happier than she had ever imagined.

Thomas was gone when Sophia awoke, her hand reaching for the spot where he had fallen asleep beside her. Still half asleep herself, she frowned as her fingertips touched a piece of paper.

By the firelight, she read the note.

Sophia,

I did not want to wake you. You looked too peaceful. I am glad that I could give you what you wanted, but you were right—it was a borrowed night. A favor of which there can be only one. It cannot be repeated.

I shall see you in the morning.

Thomas.

She read it over at least five times, trying to find some of the warmth, affection, and passion in that short note. She found nothing but a stinging in her chest that made her flinch as if she had been struck. Had this been the ploy all along, to get her to feel something for him so he could brutally reject her? Was it the feud in a different form?

She didn’t want to believe such of him, but she did believe such of the Pratts, and he was one, above all else.

What have I done?

She shambled to her feet and threw on her dress, tossing the note into the fireplace before she ran out of the study, ran from any memory of what had happened and any foolish hope of what might have been. She had made a mistake—a gigantic one.

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