Page 71 of A Scottish Bride for the Duke
“A servant will knock. And I will tell them to go away.”
“Adrian—”
“You are fully clothed.” He moved her on him again. “And you are my wife. Not only will no one see anything they shouldn’t, but I am at perfect liberty to have my way with you.”
He thrust into her, and her eyes glazed. He loved seeing her like this, boneless in her pleasure, as though nothing existed in the whole world but him and the things he could do to her.
It could make a man mad, the urge to please a woman. And when the woman in question was so eager to be pleased, and so willing, so obedient whenever he had his cock in her, or his fingers inside her, or his mouth on her—it was a drug. Addictive.
If he had known what marriage could be like, then perhaps he would have entered the institution before—but then again, he doubted marriage with any other young lady would be like this. He doubted anything would be likethis.
“Adrian,” she moaned, moving on him faster now.
She came so easily, his fey girl, and he reveled in the feeling of it.
“That’s it.” He palmed her bottom under her skirts, urging her to sit fully on him, aching with need, the feel of her grinding against him pulling him closer to his own release. “There you go. Good girl.”
She shuddered against him, and he met her lips with his in a fierce kiss. She moaned again, movements frantic, and his balls tightened, the pressure beginning at the base of his spine.
Isobel brought him to completion so quickly, but he refused to finish before she did. That was a matter of male pride, and much as he wanted to be in charge of her pleasure, that still meant he desired her pleasure. Sometimes, he thought he desired it more than his own.
She cried out as she broke around him, and he buried himself deep inside her, holding her as she shuddered, whispering praise against her skin.
He loved the mindless way she lost herself to every climax, and the way she looked at him after, with pleasure-soaked eyes and a mouth swollen from his kisses.
This was every man’s dream, and he had her in his arms.
He held himself still inside her as she slowly came back to herself, trailing wet kisses up his neck.
“Was that good?” he asked, hardly recognizing his own voice; it seemed he, too, was pleasure-drunk.
“Mm.” She rolled her hips against him, and he bit back a groan. “You haven’t finished.”
“Not yet.” He caught her chin, tilting her head back so he could kiss her again, her tongue languid against his.
She felt so soft, and as he moved against her again, the sound she made—the sound gasp of pleasure—made him ache.
“I don’t want it to end so soon, my darling.”
He registered the word as he said it.Darling.
He had never called her that before. But she gave no sign that she had noticed, and he let the moment pass. There were other, more urgent things on his mind. The way she felt around him.
The way he wanted all of her. To taste her, to feel her, tohaveher.
He needed her. All of her.
“Isobel,” he said, thrusting into her faster now. “Are you mine?”
Her gaze met his, surprised, but a fire burning in their depth despite it.
“Yes, Adrian,” she said. “Aye. I am.”
“Say it.”
“I’m yours.”
He groaned as he pushed up inside her one final time, letting the warm clasp of her inner walls hold him as he spilled inside her.
