Page 96 of His Duchess of Scandal
As soon as the door was closed behind them, Hermia was tugging off his cravat, but he snatched it from her grip with a teasing shake of his head.
“Allow me,” he murmured. “If you agree.”
Hermia swallowed, her nerves fluttering. This part of their marriage was still relatively new, but it was no less welcome.
She nodded. “I do.”
Charles’s gaze was steady as he guided her to the bed and urged her to sit on the edge. He stood over her, holding the length of silk over her face so the end hung towards her. He did not push it between her lips, not at first, but he simply let the fabric brush over her mouth.
Hermia’s eyes closed, and she hummed at the taste and faint scent of lemon. When she opened her eyes again, she found herself pinned by those dark blue eyes.
“All the flavors of ices cannot compare to your taste,” he purred, his voice low enough to send delicious heat through her. “And I cannot stop craving you again.”
“You do not need to crave me,” she whispered. “Not when I am right here and willing. Not when I have thought of you every waking and dreaming moment. I wait on my side of that infernal door, yours to be claimed when you wish.”
“You make wicked promises, Hermia,” he teased, still running the silk over her lips.
She chased the fine feel of it, tipping her head back until he replaced the cravat with his mouth. The tang of lemon still lingered on his tongue, and she moaned softly. Her fingers slid into his hair, pulling him closer.
When the tide of arousal rose within her, she did not fight it.
Not when she was maneuvered and found herself astride Charles, his thighs parted beneath her own, his length aching and ready for her. She was in a daze, wanting and needy, uncaring that some layers remained. They would all come off soon enough, but there was simply the desperation they both chased.
They had time for slow, languid intimacy. But now, sheached—had been aching for too long.
When Charles guided her over the tip of his length, she let out a soft moan. But when he finally breached her, her moans grew louder. By the time his thick length was fully sheathed inside her, Hermia could scarcely collect herself.
Pleasure was a storm, and she was the eye of it.
Charles gazed up at her, a smile on his face, as dazed as her own. His hands gripped her hips, and she gasped as he thrust up into her. She had been astride him that night at Anton Bentley’sparty, and had somehow forgotten just how full she felt at such an angle. It wasobscene. But when he fit into her as though it was the only place he belonged, how could she ever disagree with such a thing?
“You are perfect,” he said quietly. His hand came up to cradle her face. “Utterly, beautifully perfect.”
Hermia’s first thought was to deny it, but with the way her husband gazed at her, she felt it deep down, however briefly.
Her hips began to rock into him, and his low moan only further stoked her arousal. With each moan he gave, each hard pant, her movements grew bolder.
She still felt vastly inexperienced, but seeing the evidence of his pleasure, how could she not grow in confidence?
He thrust up into her, coaxing her moans. They were breathy, soft, and she couldn’t help but smile as she matched his rhythm.
“Hold onto me,” he told her. “Or the headboard. Whichever you?—”
Her nails were already digging into his shoulders, and he snickered under his breath.
“Of course,” he muttered.
Hermia leaned into him until her breasts were pressed against his face. He sought the stiffened peaks, sucking one into his mouth while he pinched the other one, then switched.
The stimulation only made Hermia’s hips rock harder, her walls clenching around him.
“Charles,” she moaned. “Charles.”
“I know.” He brought her mouth to his, kissing her through another groan. “I know. Tell me how it feels.”
“It feels…” She gasped when he thrust up particularly hard. “It feels heavenly. It feels—” All coherent thought left her mind. “Big.”
Charles drew her mouth closer again, sucking on her lower lip. “And yet you take me so well. Like we were made for each other.”
