Page 62 of A Scottish Bride for the Duke
“See that you do.”
He released her, one wrist at a time, and she held them above her head as he turned his attention to her breasts. She had never thought much about them until now, had never realized what potential for pleasure they contained within them, and her breath came in a short, sharp gasp as he palmed one.
“I love these,” he told her, and pinched the nipple.
The sensation went straight between her legs, more of that lightning flashing and culminating in a deep ache of want that resounded through her.
“Keep your hands where they are.”
She strained to do as he said, battling the part of herself that wanted to deny him with the part that, secretly, shamefully, delighted in receiving his commands.
Here, and nowhere else, she enjoyed the power he had over her body.
He had asked to use her as he would, and now he was doing exactly that—and the thought made another pang of pleasure resonate in her body. Her breasts felt heavy.
His eyelids dropped, heavy-lidded, his eyes glazed. He brought his mouth to her nipple, sucking it into the wet heat of his mouth. Not for the first time, but she still rolled her hips, chasing the elusive pleasure that seemed so close and yet so far away.
Her body was alive with sensation, as though she had been asleep until this very moment, and now, with his weight pressing her into the mattress and his teeth grazing her nipple and his hands holding her hips steady so he could pound into her more strongly.
Her pleasure tightened like a bowstring.
“That’s right,” he told her, his breaths choppy, the praise low and dark, the words settled against her skin like velvet. “You look so pretty under me like this, my sweet.”
“Adrian.”
“Are you close?”
He pressed a kiss to her chin, then brought his hands back to her wrists, pinning her down. She tested the restraint, and found she couldn’t move. And still he moved in her, the angle fractionally different?—
Yes, yes, this was what she needed.
“Look at me,” he commanded. “You are mine.”
His. His. His.
She was his and he was using her as he saw fit, and that was going to result in an explosion that would rock her free from herbody. She already knew. He was chasing his own pleasure, but he was also chasing hers, taking pleasure in hers, and she hadn’t known until now what a wonderful thing it was to be so united in one thing. The same goal.
“Are you going to come?” he asked, sounding slightly strained.
“I—I think so.”
He brought his hand to her neck, pushing just enough that her breath scraped through her throat, just enough that she could feel the elevated pounding of her heartbeat in her head.
Such a demonstration of power and gentleness all at once.
It made her eyes roll back into her head.
She drew in a breath, ragged and wanting as she opened them again, and he watched her greedily—as though the sight of her so in his thrall, so under his control, brought about his pleasure so much more.
“Then come for me, Isobel,” he growled. “I want you to say my name when the climax takes you.”
She wrapped her hands around his arm, holding him as he pushed her closer and closer to the brink.
He liked seeing the way she held on—although she made no attempt to remove his hand. The pressure on her throat, not so much that she felt as though she was in danger, added to the pleasure of it.
She knew she would fall before she did, and looked up to see his face, finding him watching her as she finally tipped off the edge.
“Adrian,” his name was on her tongue as she fell, and she lost herself to the command of her body, the sensation sweeping through her in a wave of pleasure.
