Page 78 of The Wayward Duke
Caroline arched and shuddered in his arms, as desperate for him as he was for her.
He withdrew, then surged back inside. Pounded into her, forcing his cock deeper. He grasped at her hips, bruising pale skin beneath his fingertips as he guided her movements in time with each punishing plunge. The rhythmic drag and friction swelled exquisite pressure low and deep, threatening to shatter them both.
When her eyes drifted shut in bliss, Julian grasped her chin. “Look at me.” He would not allow retreat or half measures. Not from her. “Eyes open, duchess.”
Eyes locked with hers, Julian slipped his fingers between their joined bodies. Stroked her nub in relentless circles even as he thrust into her.
“I want to see you break.” His voice was a ruined rasp against her ear. “Now.”
Caroline’s body went taut. Her sharp cry was ecstasy and agony as she found her peak, shuddering through each merciless wave. Watching her come undone around his cock splintered the last of Julian’s control. His own release slammed into him with brutal force, and the world dissolved into fractured light as he spilled himself inside her.
*
Much later, after the long carriage ride ended, Julian sat beside Caroline in bed and peeled back the cotton bandage on her side, exposing the healing gash. He wet a cloth in warm water from the basin and dabbed away the dried blood, cleansing the aggravated laceration.
When the injury was cleansed to his satisfaction, Julian selected a tin of salve. He coated his fingers and leaned in again, keeping his touch featherlight. But Caroline still tensed, breath escaping in a pained hiss.
“I’m sorry for aggravating this,” he murmured. “And for losing control earlier.”
Caroline regarded him evenly. One pale brow arched. “Since when have I objected to you losing control? I believe I specifically requested you be more feral.”
“Be that as it may, your health is paramount,” Julian said. He brushed the softest kiss onto her wounded skin. A benediction. “I’ll be more careful in the future.”
“And I suppose making wild, animalistic love is off the table until I fully recover?”
A rough noise rumbled in Julian’s chest. He lifted his gaze to hers, wry amusement flickering. “If you’re angling for another round already…”
“I’m always angling for another round. I missed you.” She gave him a wry smile. “Did you miss me back?”
Missed her? As if his searing, visceral need to reclaim her was anything less than the desperate thrashing of a drowning man. Yes, he’d fucking missed her.
Julian exhaled slowly. “Every damned day. Of every damned year.”
Her palm found his jaw, turned his focus back to meet her searching look. Something tender moved behind those perceptive eyes. “I have a confession.”
He brushed his lips to the delicate skin of her inner wrist, overcome. “A serious one, I take it. Very well, then. I’m listening.”
She took a slow breath. Gathering courage, steeling herself. “I want to have children with you.”
Everything slowed. His pulse. His measured breaths. The world beyond their solitary orbit ceased to matter. There was only her words – impossible, unbelievable words – shattering the oppressive silence between them.
Julian searched her expression, awaiting the usual signs of evasion. But Caroline returned his stare without pretence.
“You’re sure, my duchess?” he managed at last.
She offered a tremulous smile. “Yes. I think I’d like that very much.”
Julian smoothed his knuckles along her jawline. Then he gathered her close – and kissed her.
Made promises etched silently into her skin.
32
The windows were dark as Julian stood outside the tenement in Whitechapel, not a single candle lit in the entire building – and somewhere in that place lurked the bastard who put a bullet in his wife.
“I want you to stay out here while my men and I go in.” Wentworth’s low voice at his shoulder.
“No,” Julian said. “I’m coming in with you.”
