Page 73 of The Truth About Love and Dukes

He stretched out beside her on the bed, slipping the red envelope beneath his pillow, and when he turned toward her, she felt the hard erect part of his body pushing against her thigh. “Henry?” she said again, feeling a sudden frantic need for reassurance.

He lifted up to rest his weight on one arm and look into her eyes as he reached out and caressed her face. “God, you’re lovely,” he said, his hand sliding down, his gaze following as his palm glided over her breast, along her ribs, over her stomach, and down her thigh. “In fact,” he said, laughing a little, “I think you are, truly, the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”

Suddenly, his hand stilled at her hip, and a shadow seemed to cross his face. “If you want to call a halt,” he said, his voice a harsh whisper as he looked into her eyes, “you can, Irene. It would be . . . easier for me if you did it now, rather than later.”

She turned her head and kissed his palm. “I don’t want to call a halt.”

“You might,” he said. “Before the end.”

“Why would I?”

Instead of answering, he slid his hand beneath the pillow. He retrieved the red envelope, opened it, and removed what was inside.

“Is that . . .” She paused, lifting her head to have a better look, but he had already tucked it into his palm.

“Yes,” he said and began easing his body on top of hers, moving slowly as if to give her plenty of time to change her mind, until he was fully settled between her legs, and she felt him, hard and erect, against the place he’d kissed so intimately moments ago. His hand slid between them, and after a moment, he touched her where he had before, caressing the folds of her most private place with his fingertips, stirring those amazing feelings again. She lay back, closing her eyes, but his voice prevented her from sinking into the passion his caress always seemed to evoke. “Irene, listen to me. Look at me.”

She obeyed, opening her eyes.

“There will be pain for you,” he said. “There’s no way around that. But if, at any point, you want me to stop, say so, and—” He paused and kissed her, hard. “And I’ll stop. I promise. All right?”

His voice sounded strange, strangled and harsh, and his breathing had quickened, but she was not afraid. “I don’t want you to stop,” she whispered, and as she spoke, any vestige of panic faded away. For she wanted this. More now than ever.

He moved, and she could feel the hard part of him rubbing against her. The place between her thighs seemed keenly sensitive to sensation now, and the hardness of him felt scorching hot against her, and deliciously sensual. She moaned, her hips pressing up against him.

“Irene?” His voice was urgent now as lifted himself above her, resting his weight on his forearms. “I can’t hold back any longer. I’m coming inside you.”

Inside? Her eyes flew open to the vision of his face, taut and unreadable above her, but before she could utter the question on her lips, she felt him pushing against her. Into her.

She sucked in a startled gasp as her body stretched to accommodate this large, uncomfortable invasion. He went still, hovering above her, waiting. She knew what he waited for, and she nodded, urging him on, her hips lifting.

That seemed all he needed. Suddenly, with a rough sound, he gave a powerful thrust of his hips against hers that brought the hard, erect part of him into her fully, and though he’d warned her, she couldn’t help crying out at this sudden assault. He caught the sound of her pain, capturing it in his own mouth with a kiss, as her arms tightened around him. He stilled again, kissing her, deep, slow kisses as he brushed his palm against her hair. Then he pulled back, and began kissing her everywhere he could reach—her throat, her cheeks, her mouth, even the tip of her nose.

“It’ll be all right, Irene. I promise it will.”

But even as he soothed her, the pain was receding. “I’m all right, Henry,” she whispered, and tentatively, she moved beneath him, trying to accustom herself to him coupled with her in this way.

He buried his face against her neck and began to move within her, quickening his pace, and as he did, his thrusts against her grew stronger and deeper, and she knew he was feeling the same sort of pleasure he’d given her. She pushed upward, tightening and flexing her hips, and when he groaned in response, she smiled, beginning to like this part. The pain had eased to a mild soreness deep inside, nothing intolerable, and she worked to move with him, trying to match the rhythm of his thrusts.

His breathing was ragged, and his hips were pushing hers hard into the mattress with quick, urgent thrusts. Irene began to feel again that wondrous pleasure that he’d given her before, but even hotter and deeper.

But then, suddenly, shudders rocked him. He let out a hoarse cry, thrust against her one last time and went still, his body covering hers, breathing hard against her neck.

She caressed him, liking the feel of the hard, smooth muscles of his back, and when he lifted up and looked into her face, she found herself seized with an overpowering tenderness that was like nothing she’d ever felt in her life before. It squeezed her heart and made her want to laugh and cry. It seemed to fill her very soul.

So this was what it was to be a ruined woman. She felt no regret and no shame. She just felt an overwhelming happiness that bubbled up within her until she couldn’t contain it, and she laughed out loud. Being ruined felt ripping wonderful.

Chapter 18

“Irene?” Henry lifted himself above her, looking dubious. “You’re laughing?”

“Well . . . yes.” She’d confounded him, she could tell. “I’m sorry, if that’s a rude thing to do at a moment like this. It’s just . . . I don’t know what all the repression and censure is about, honestly.” She paused, laughing again. “This is glorious. Why don’t people do this all the time?”

That made him laugh, too, a deep, hearty laugh, and he liked the sound of it. “Many people do,” he said, cupping her face with his palms. “Believe me, there are people meeting in hotel rooms and bedrooms all over London as we lie here talking about it.”

Her laughter faded as she studied his face. “What about you? Have you been with many women? Besides your wife, I mean.”

“No, not many. I mean, enough to know what I’m doing. But not enough to be cynical about it, thank God.”

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