Page 58 of Duke of Pride

He smirked in triumph. “Come on,” he purred. “Let me hear it, and I will make you feel so good.”

She hated him. Hated how easily he unraveled her, how he knew how to control her. Hated that she needed this, needed him—all of him. Still, her eyes holding his, she refused to give him that one thing he wanted.

“There is the fire.” He kissed her deeply. “There is the passion.”

His kiss became a tempest, a storm, a whirlwind. She was utterly at his mercy, tangled around him, his hand firmly keeping her in place, every nerve ending his to tease. She had only to say that one thing, and he would make good on his promise. He would make her feel it all, take it all.

No.

She held onto that last semblance of control, the only shred of power she had over him. She rejoiced at seeing him undone by jealousy. He was going mad, thinking that someone else would touch her.

His fingers were on her once more, her slick wetting them as he slid them again and again from her entrance to that peak. Each time, the feather-light touch became more insistent. She pulled him closer, her thighs trapping him in.

“Say it, Victoria!”

His thumb kept swiping over her bundle of nerves, one finger teasing her entrance dangerously, sweetly.

“Stephen. God! Stephen! Just… I want…”

“That’s it,” he roared. “Say it, Victoria. Say it, and I will give you everything you want.”

He went still. He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t move a muscle. And he pinned her down so that she wouldn’t either.

Victoria let out a soft cry. If he were to stop now, she might as well die. Tears of frustration pricked her eyes. She needed him more than pride, more than logic. She wanted him more than her next breath.

“I won’t,” she choked out. “I won’t marry him.”

Stephen exhaled. For a heartbeat, the only sound was their ragged breathing. They were locked in a heated gaze, the weight of what was happening heavy between them, but no one was stopping. He leaned closer, his mouth curving against her skin.

“Good,” he whispered.

His fingers moved again—finally—but this time with devastating purpose. One elegant, strong finger dared more, sliding against her entrance, still not fully entering. But he didn’t need to. His thumb circled that aching peak that had become the center of her existence.

“Look at me,” he commanded.

Victoria’s eyes flew open, locking onto his. His gaze was dark with need, his lips parted, his breathing labored. He, too, was wrecked, ruined. Every stroke of his fingers mirrored the possessive hunger in his voice. When he pulled closer, she felt his need, hard against her thigh, and the shock sent a shiver from her head to her toes.

“This is so…” She barely recognized her own voice.

“You were good for me, Victoria.”

Her mind shuttered. His words were so wicked, so deliciously depraved, but they made her pant, made her wetter than she already was.

“So good.”

His voice curled around her like mesmerizing smoke, clouding her, and she inhaled him with each breath he stole. His touch became more insistent, rougher, faster. He released her hands, and she wrapped them around him, dug her nails into his shoulders, tugged on his hair, and searched the hot skin under his open shirt.

Pleasure twisted tighter, her thighs trembling around his wrist. His thumb pressed harder, his fingers slid against her entrance, and the world narrowed to that single point of contact.

“Stephen, I—oh God—please. I just want…”

“Yes, yes, yes,” he growled, lost, his body tense.

“Ah!” She was gone.

“Let go,” he urged, his mouth crashing onto hers. “I want to see you.”

A cry tore from her throat as pleasure detonated through her, white-hot and relentless. Her back arched off the bench, her thighs clamped around his wrist as waves of ecstasy rolled through her in dizzying succession.

---