Page 85 of A Duke Changes Everything
Nick pushed deeper, giving her all of him. Her eyes widened, then she moved too, leading the rhythm, lifting her legs to get him closer. He took her mouth again and again as he buried himself inside all her heat and warmth, and he knew that she was where he wanted to be.
Always.
“Mina.” He called her name because he was lost. No more control. No more holding back. His release built inside him, but he needed her pleasure first. Reaching down between them, he stroked inside her folds, took her nipple into his mouth and suckled until she keened and trembled and melted against him. Only then did he let his climax crash in, a blinding burst of pleasure that left him dizzy and dazed.
Nick realized a moment later that he was still tucked against her, his full weight bearing down. He rolled onto his side, wrapping Mina in his arms to pull her along with him. She draped a leg over his possessively, fitting her belly against his hip.
Nick realized after a moment that his breathing was tight and shallow. He was waiting for it all to burst. For the bliss soaking his soul to fade away. For the odd wholeness he felt to dissipate like morning mist.
This was the moment when he usually departed. Hell, he’d already have been dressed and gone by now. But here, with Mina, he wasn’t sure he ever wished to move again. Her arms around him, her fingers sifting his hair, the taste of her still on his tongue—this was more contentment than he’d ever known in one and thirty years.
Far more than he deserved.
Nick woke with a start, as he always did from his nightmares. But the usual demons weren’t fresh in his memory.
Someone was gently rapping at the bedroom door. Normally, he would have shot out of bed or shot whoever dreamed of bothering him at—he squinted at the clock on the fireplace mantel—three in the morning?
He braced an elbow on the mattress to push out of bed and felt Mina. Or rather, the absence of her warmth as soon as he moved away from her. She was curled up, her back to his side, hands tucked under her cheek. He couldn’t resist kissing her shoulder, running his fingers through a curling strand of hair lying across his pillow.
He didn’t want to leave her. And more than that, he didn’t want her to wake and leave him, so he had to stop whoever was on the other side of the door. He pulled on his trousers and padded toward the threshold.
“Spencer?”
He was the only one with enough brass to bother him at such an ungodly hour.
“We have a situation, sir.” Trouble, he meant.
Nick slid the bolt and pulled the door open a crack to shield Mina from his factotum’s view. “Who is it? Can’t you get some of the men to deal with it?” They employed a handful of men to keep the club secure and members safe from themselves and others.
“You have visitors, sir.”
“Do you know the hour?”
Spencer bowed his head a moment and said quietly, “The young lady’s cousin, Mr. Iverson, and Lord Huntley. They insist on speaking to you. I asked them to wait in your office.”
Nick pinched the bridge of his nose and glanced back at Mina, who still slept soundly. He should have expected Fairchild to come after her when he’d failed to return her to Iverson’s. What his two business partners had to do with any of this, he hadn’t a clue.
Most of all, he didn’t want to involve Mina in a scene that would cause her even a flicker of regret for the evening they’d spent together.
“Give me a moment.” He closed the door when Spencer nodded and retreated.
Donning his shirt, he approached the bed once more. Just the sight of her made him want her again.
Instead, he left, closing the door quietly, and walked down the hall to face his trio of visitors.
“Gentlemen,” he said as he stepped in the room, and only just ducked a punch flying at him from the right.
Fairchild swung and missed and tried to swing again before Iverson restrained him.
“That’s enough.” Iverson’s shout echoed in the low-ceilinged room.
“Not nearly enough, Mr. Iverson. This man has absconded with my cousin with the claim of helping her and now he’s...” The young man swallowed and glared at Nick. “Ruined her.”
Nick sighed heavily and glanced at Iverson, who looked as livid as Fairchild, and then at Huntley, who looked as worried as if Nick had been sentenced to the gallows.
“This is badly done, Lyon.” Iverson spoke in that frighteningly calm way he did when he was seething beneath the surface. “Why did you not return Miss Thorne to my home last evening?”
“How’s her ankle?” Huntley asked quietly.
