Page 83 of The Captive Duke
“I know,” he said. “Trust me, Gilly. Do you trust me?” He moved again, his cock sliding over her sex, gliding wetly up, then down. She strained against him, frustrated and gratified and more frustrated still.
“You have to tell me, Gilly. Say yes.”
“Y-yes…”
Above her, he slowed, his thrusts became languid, and Gilly wanted to scream and pound on his back with her fists.
“You’re saying yes,” he whispered. “Yes, Christian.”
“Yes, Christian, but please God,now.”
She tried to flex her hips when he retreated, to change the angle so he’d cease this maddeningrubbingand join their bodies. That had to be what she sought, though there was no way to know anything for certain, not when she was so befuddled and overwrought.
“Oh, sweet, merciful feathers…Christian.”
He came into her body slowly, and she was glad now for the dampness easing his way, because his proportions challenged her to the point of near-pain.
“Relax, love. Take a breath, let it out. I won’t move until I feel you relax.”
But she wanted him to move, needed him to. She did as he bid, breathing in, then slowly easing the breath from her body.
“Again.”
He remained exactly as he was, poised above her, but his hand brushed a caress over her brow, then came to rest around the back of her head so her face was cradled against his shoulder. He did it again, more slowly, and the sheertendernessof his touch had Gilly sighing.
He pushed in deeper, and she sighed again until he set up a shallow rhythm.
“You can move with me, or not. I’ll last longer if you don’t, but not much.”
She wanted to ask what he meant, but he’d settled his mouth over hers, his kisses again lazy, and then…not so lazy.
Something in Gilly’s vitals began to hum, to heat up and spread out and take over her limbs and her mind. She lifted up to meet his thrusts, and tried to grip him when he’d recede from her.
“Ye gods…” he whispered against her neck. “Just holy… Ah, Gilly.”
His tempo picked up, but more than that, he stopped being so delicate with her, and Gilly’s body began to sing.
“More.” She meant to whisper in his ear, but the single word must have conveyed desperation, because Christian cast off any semblance of politesse and possessed her in fierce, carnal abandon.
She came undone, utterly, completely, unexpectedly. Somewhere betweenwhat on earthandoh, God, ChristianGilly’s body became a ravening, mindless creature of pleasure, surprise, and more and more pleasure. She keened into his neck, clung, shook, clawed at him, and started all over again when she felt the damp heat of his seed deep inside her body.
When the storm passed, he went back to petting her hair, and she experienced for the first time the post-coital intimacy of breathing in counterpoint to a lover.
“I had no idea,” she said, smoothing his hair back. “No earthly clue…”
“Ah, Gilly. You unman me all over again.”
He shifted to his side and pulled her into his arms, which caused his cock to slip from her body, and the sensation brought her pleasure, even as Gilly endured a sense of loss at Christian’s absence.
“Shall you weep now?” He held her close, his chin on her temple, and the very snugness of his embrace was reason enough to weep.
“Is it expected?”
“How does a man answer such a thing? From what I recall of my distant, misspent youth—you will note my tact—some women do, some of the time. I understand it now better than I used to.”
“You want to weep?” She cuddled closer, listening for his heartbeat. She couldn’t see anything of his expression in the dark, but she was newly wise to the nuances of his words and to the ability of her body to listen to his.
“Maybe I will weep a little, for joy.” He reached away from her. “Spread your legs.” She lifted a leg, awkwardly, and he tucked a flannel against her sex. “Lest my seed be so rude as to leave your body and mess the clean sheets, when it might be about putting my babe in your belly.”
