Page 133 of The Good Duke
Simon ran his eyes over her beautiful features, now tightened with desire; a gleam of perspiration left a delicate sheen upon her rosy cheeks.
He’d never wanted a woman more in his life than he did Persephone.
He cupped the side of her face with his palm, and her eyes fluttered open. She peered back through those thick, dark, silky lashes. For all the ways in which her eyes these past days had contained a mystery Simon couldn’t make sense of, now, reflected within their depths was desire and some other type of longing…
A longing for…him?
He knew what he wanted that answer to be, and the realization didn’t bring the fear it ought.
Then, with the tenderest of touches, Persephone caressed her palm along the side of his face as he’d just done hers.
Hungry as he’d never been for another and never would be again, Simon increased his strokes. Frenziedly, she moved her lower body to match his fervor.
Simon’s breaths grew more labored, and his restraint suddenly fragile.
“I want you to come for me, Persephone,” he whispered as he pounded into her. She rose up to meet his urgent thrusts.
Persephone’s swollen mouth quivered; her gaze grew more intent, her eyes unblinking. She whimpered, “Please, do not stop.”
“Never.” He delivered that vow through tightly gritted teeth. “You feel so bloody good, Persephone.”
Simon angled her hips and leveraged himself higher and deeper inside her. Her body tensed and, screaming her rapture to the ceilings, Persephone came in great shuddering, clenching spasms that squeezed his cock.
And then it was too much.
With a low, feral groan, Simon flooded himself inside her.
He continued to ride her hard, wringing another climax from Persephone until all the life and energy drained from him.
With a gasp, he collapsed atop Persephone’s limp form. He managed to catch himself on his elbows to keep from crushing her, then drew her against his side.
Simon’s pulse pounded, and he stared dazedly up at his office ceiling. God, it’d never been so good as it just was now with Persephone. He’d made love to her as he’d longed to since she’d reentered his life, but instead of it being enough, his shaft stirred from a hungering to take her again.
He stole a glance at Persephone, and his erection swiftly withered.
Her features were a study in horror.
Horror.No doubt at having made love to a man who’d moments ago been courting another woman.
Simon made to speak, to tell Persephone that she was the woman, the only woman, he wanted as his duchess. And not just to leave behind in London, but to travel with him the same way they’d spoken of doing as naïve children who’d not realized the world didn’t permit men and women to become friends.
Persephone popped up from the makeshift bed they’d made of his desk. She attempted to rise.
“Wait, love,” he murmured, keeping her firmly but gently at his side.
Fishing out a kerchief from his jacket, he gently cleaned the remnants of his seed from between her legs. The moment he’d finished, Persephone jumped out of his arms so quick she nearly upended Simon.
A tense, awkward silence descended over the room. As Simon and Persephone proceeded to straighten their garments, neither of them spoke.
Persephone kept her gaze averted. Simon, however, stared at his former best friend turned lover. She deserved his reassurances. She needed to know he’d make her his wife, his lover, and partner in life.
When they’d finished, they faced one another.
They spoke at the same time.
“Persephone—”
“Simon—”
