Page 65 of The Duke's Dream
His hand shook as he positioned her leg above his shoulder and guided his cock into her entrance. Poised above her, he flexed his knees. Her sheath took him—the head, then two inches. Hot. So tight.
She whimpered, her eyes shut.
William touched her damp eyelashes. “You said you would stay for this dance, Little One.”
“I didn’t know the partner would be so large.” She strained against him, her mouth opening in a silent moan. “Perhaps Sylphs are not made to fit Tyrants.”
She had been made for him. He just had to keep the beast chained.
With astonishing strength of will, William got his desire under control. Only then did he lower his weight to her. Murmuring endearments into her damp skin, he kissed her chin, her eyelids, her lips.
“Take me, Helene.” William licked her perspiring skin. “Let me take you to the moon again.”
She lay back, her legs relaxing. A powerful thrust, and he sheathed himself to the hilt.
It was as if he had divided reality in two.
Her channel pulsed around him, hot, moist. Pure bliss. Pleasure rippled through his nerve endings, his heart sending lava in his veins.
He stood still, hearing her panting breaths against his neck, and then worried her bottom lip between his teeth. “See how well the little Sylph fits the Tyrant?”
She huffed. “All I see is a cocky tyrant. Now what—”
He didn’t allow her to finish, penetrating her deeply. “Now we dance.”
She laced her arms around his neck. Their rhythm synced with the violin. He licked the candlelight reflected on her skin, and thrust, he inhaled the fragrance of her hair, and thrust, he tasted the nectar on her lips, and thrust, he burned in the moist heat of her sheath and thrust, thrust, thrust.
Like a faun claiming a nymph, he possessed her.
She was here, she was real, she was his.
Pulling her into the cradle of his hips, he surged deeper. She met him with a dancer’s grace, rolling her pelvis, building the fire between them.
His thrusts grew erratic. Desperate. The bedframe shook.
He had to rein it in. She was delicate.
William kissed her lips and her eyelids when he craved to bite, lick, and tongue her every inch.
The music changed—heavy, heaving, climbing with restless momentum. The violin trembled toward the climax.
He couldn’t hold on.
But she hadn’t come yet. He needed her to fall with him.
To come with his cock buried deep inside her. To taste this pleasure from him. To want only him.
Reaching between them, he circled her clitoris—stroking, flicking, coaxing. She mewled, her hands roaming his shoulders, pulling him closer.
Her cry came like lightning. She shuddered, her body tensing, then melting, and her sex clenched around his erection. William drank from her mouth, wanting to taste every ounce of her release. Then she lay back on the pillow, closing her eyes, her lips parting as she surrendered, her pussy milking him in the aftermath of her peak.
The lonely violin crashed into the coda.
William thrust once. Twice. And came, his seed pulsing out of him in long bursts. Panting, he collapsed over her, undone. The only music now was the soft sounds of their breathing.
He had her, Helene, his sprite. His heart wouldn’t calm down, but she was his.
She was still beneath him. Still glowing. Still here.
