Page 115 of A Scottish Bride for the Duke
She giggled and looped an arm around his neck. “I’m yers,” she whispered, and those words cut through the last of his restraint.
“I must have you,” he said, oddly desperate. “Will you let me?”
In answer, she held out her arms to him, and he settled himself between her hips. Looking into her face, he held it in his hands as he thrust inside her.
Isobel didn’t know precisely what it was she had done that had made Adrian turn from a man hazy with love to a man consumed, but she couldn’t say she minded. He pounded into her with the sharp edge of desperation, as though he could not have her fast enough.
But even as his body betrayed him, belying his urgency, his lips were soft as they pressed against hers, and between ragged breaths, he assured her again and again that he loved her, that he adored her, that he was hers just as she was his, and that he would do anything to protect her and the life they shared together.
She felt another release barrel into her, and hooked her heels up against his thighs, encouraging him to make love to her faster, harder, to bring her to her peak before he inevitably reached his own. They’d made love enough times that she knew the signs he was getting close—sweat beaded his brow, and his eyes lost focus.
“Not yet,” she urged him.
“You’re close?” When she nodded, he groaned and dipped his head into the pillow. “I don’t know if I can?—”
“Please.” Her words felt disjointed.
“You drive me utterly wild, Isobel.” He kissed her neck clumsily, but his own movements felt as though they were disjointed, too. As though they were both coming apart at the seams.
This was what came of feeling too much. It all came spilling back out.
She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, holding on for dear life as he sank into her as deeply as he could. Just enough that he stroked every part of her that craved that roughness, while still being tender with her.
How she loved him. This was happiness. This, here, with him. And although his promises would need to be earned, she would give him the chance to earn them.
Patience, her mother had written. She would learn to be patient with him, so long as he tried with her.
They were a team. A unit. They would approach things together, not from two opposite ends of the spectrum.
She believed him in that. And she believed he loved her. No man could have taken to his knees before her and not said the truth.
Her chest felt as though it was going to break apart. Pleasure reached a crescendo inside her, heat and light coalescing between her legs, and she pushed at Adrian’s chest until he paused and looked down at her, a line between his brows.
“Keep going,” she urged. “I just want to see yer face.”
Understanding dawned over him, and he pushed inside her again. Once, twice, the muscles in his arms bulging as he held himself above her body, and she knew she was lost. Knew she would never find herself again without him. The beautiful planes of his face stood in harsh relief as he held himself back, waiting for her pleasure.
When it broke over her, it was transcendent. She became something new, broken apart and reformed in the space of a single moment. He slowed within her, staying with her, eyes fixed on hers as she fell apart.
And she had the privilege of watching him, too, as he cracked, glorious pleasure spilling from between his seams. Saw his eyes flicker, the tension in his jaw tighten, urgent desire playing across his face as finally he reached his own climax. Still seated inside her.
She felt him swell, felt the rush of heat, and kept her gaze on his face the whole time.
She had never known such intimacy. It near broke her heart, but in the best kind of way.
“I love you,” she whispered.
He rested his forehead against hers. “I think I near gave myself a heart attack,” he said, the quiver of a laugh in his voice. “You turned me inside out, Isobel.”
She smiled with womanly satisfaction. “I hope I can do so again.”
“I have no doubt you will. And soon.” He kissed her tenderly. “But you will have to wait at least a little while for me to recover.” He collapsed on her, though holding himself in such a way that he didn’t drop too much weight on her. “You have broken me.”
“I rather suspect most men would wish to be broken in such a way.”
“I wish them luck in finding a wife as wonderful as you.” His hand cupped the back of her head. “Tell me you’re mine.”
“I’m yers.”
