Page 91 of A Bride for the Forbidden Duke
He said her name like an undoing as she hollowed her mouth, allowing him to have a tighter place to thrust. She imagined it was her most intimate part again—for he had buried himself there many times since that first night, and she craved it endlessly.
Yet this… This allowed them to be closer, her nose pressed to his hipbone, and his hands in her hair, holding her closely. She kept one hand behind her back but the other remained on his wrist, just wanting to have that connection to him. Henry sped up his thrusts, his length finding a home in her on every movement. His face, twisted in pleasure, was something she did not look away from, not once.
His thrusts were powerful, controlled, just like him. They did not loosen in pleasure nor grow slack the closer he got to his climax. She welcomed it when it came: a burst of pleasure as he emptied himself into her with a long groan, grasping her face, her head, fisting her hair as the rolls of his hips grew shallower as his desire ebbed.
By the time he slipped from his mouth, Veronica was aching, and Henry’s gaze only grew darker when he noticed her flushed chest and heavy breaths. Tears gathered in her eyes, and he brushed them away.
“I must confess. I am truly enamored by you,” Henry said, and then he brought her face up to his in a hard pull, his mouth hungry on hers.
He twisted her, so she lay back on the rug, the softness of it like a balm against her back. His hips slotted against hers, utterly naked, and he tore away the remainders of her robe that caught between them.
“Touch me,” she begged, her chest heaving, brushing against his. “I am yours.”
“Then bare yourself for me,” he growled.
And so she did. As Veronica lay back, she let her arms drape through her mane of hair, spreading it around herself in a way that had his eyes alighting.
In the candlelight of his room, he looked sun-kissed, a statue similar to that of the Greek ones in the garden, Herculean and handsome. And he washers.
His mouth dragged down her skin, from mouth to throat and then throat to navel, setting her body alight wherever his tongue mapped. He devoured her, biting, leaving little pink marks everywhere as if there was not an inch of her that he could not bear to claim. His hands roamed her: thighs, ankles, gliding up her calves, her ribs, her breasts, her arms. He parted her legs, sliding his hands beneath her backside, and grinded her aching core against his thigh.
“Can you come from this?” he asked.
His brows rose, almost in wonder, at how she circled her hips for the pressure she sought.
Veronica let loose a pleased sigh, nodding. “Please guide me,” she gasped out.
He never once let go of her hips as he pulled her back and forth over his thigh, and when she was nearing that edge of pleasure,Henry slipped two fingers into her heat, and Veronica let out a mewl loud enough to wake the whole house.
Henry tucked her legs around him, spreading her with his fingers as he braced himself over her. She grinded into the friction, gasping as she gazed at him.
“You are so loud, Duchess,” he groaned, mockingly berating her. “Whatever will anyone say if they hear you?”
“I—I do not care.”
He spanked her thigh. “Very unfitting of a lady of your stature.”
“If I am loud, then they shall know the man making me so,” she countered, moaning through a laugh as he gave a particularly quick curl of his fingers into her core.
His name tumbled from her lips in a high moan as pleasure shuddered through her.
His mouth slotted over hers as he draped himself above her. “I shall never stop pleasing you,” he swore. “I shall never stop until everybody knows exactly who lets you drown in such desire.” His eyes bore into hers, dark and dangerous, the shadows flickering behind him. “If I am your undoing, Veronica, then you are certainly becoming mine.”
It was those words—the full meaning behind them that she found herself wishing foolishly for—that had her crestingthat edge and falling headfirst into pleasure. She cried out, tightening around his fingers, as she flooded him. Her hips canted up to grind even harder as she gasped, quickly growing overstimulated.
And through all, Henry watched her, pleased. He withdrew his hand and guided her to lie back on the rug properly. Boneless, Veronica reached for him, tugging him down beside her. She truly expected him to get up and leave, to excuse himself for late night work or the washroom, but he did not. Instead, he let Veronica dance her fingers over his shoulders as she felt him slowly loosen the tension in his body.
“I suppose we should move to the bed,” he murmured. “But you are so warm, I cannot bear to disturb your relaxation.”
Veronica hummed, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “Then we shall lie here for a while. I do not wish to move.” To make her point, she draped her leg over his, feeling where he was already growing aroused again, but he did not move to seek more pleasure. She felt sated herself and thought to perhaps tease him in the morning.
“Your Grace,” she murmured.
“Oh, no.”
“What?” she asked, incredulous at hishere we gotone.
“You only use my title lately when you are teasing or you wish for something.” He turned to look at her. “And you have teased me delightfully this evening. So, what is it you want to ask?”
