Page 85 of The Duchess Trap
Then, he stripped with quiet urgency, the soft sound of fabric falling away marking each breath between them.
In moments, his shirt and trousers were gone, leaving nothing but the warmth of his skin and the weight of his electric blue gaze, burning with something fierce and unspoken.
He seemed carved from restraint itself, power held tightly in check, the warmth of his skin a striking contrast to the cool command that usually cloaked him. His chest and abdomen were so finely drawn that she might have taken him for a statue wrought in marble—had it not been for the unmistakable heat that emanated from him, alive and near. The space between them felt suddenly, perilously small.
When at last he entered her, the world seemed to narrow to that single, breathless instant.
The sensation was unlike anything she had ever known, an ache and a wonder all at once, so intense it stole thought and language alike, leaving only the feeling of him and the unsteady rhythm of her own heart answering his.
“Are you all right?” he asked, though she could hear the restraint in his voice.
She nodded, “Yes, quite. Please… continue.”
He exhaled, as though in relief. “With pleasure, dear wife.”
His movements began slowly, each one drawing a tremor from her until breath itself became an effort. Then his rhythm deepened, quickened, gathering a force that stole her composure entirely.
All she could do was gasp his name as the intensity built, her body answering his with helpless urgency. The sensation of him, the rhythm they created together, the exquisite shock of such closeness…it was overwhelming and yet never enough. Her thoughts unraveled, slipping beyond words, until there was nothing left but feeling: the heat of him and the weight of his body.
“Breathe,” he murmured, the words low, steady. “Just breathe, darling.”
She obeyed without thought, drawn by the quiet certainty in his voice. His hand found hers, guiding her, anchoring her when the storm inside threatened to pull her under.
“That’s it,” he whispered, each word an unspoken promise. “With me.”
The world narrowed to the sound of his voice, the heat where their bodies joined, the rhythm that bound them together.
And then she broke—shattering into a thousand bright, soundless pieces—as his name tore from her lips, half a cry, half a prayer. The world vanished in that instant; there was only him, the fierce rush of his breath, the pulse that matched her own.
His release followed a heartbeat later, and she felt the warmth of it, the final merging of breath and body that left her trembling and undone.
He stayed there for a moment, their hearts still racing in unison, before easing beside her. His chest rose and fell as raggedly as hers, the quiet between them broken only by the slowing cadence of their breaths.
“Come here,” he murmured against her ear, his voice impossibly gentle.
He drew her close, his arms encircling her with a steadiness that made her eyes sting.
They lay together in silence after that, listening to the wind moving outside the shutters. His hand drifted through her hair until her eyes grew heavy.
“You’re incredible,” he whispered to her.
“So are you, dear husband,” she mumbled back, and he chuckled.
Heavens, she was so tired, but she could hear him laugh forever.
She tried to fight the pull of sleep, unwilling to lose even a heartbeat of this closeness, but resistance was futile.
Snuggled safely against her Duke’s side, Catherine’s quivering stopped, all her fears subsided, and she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
CHAPTER 24
“Are you awake?” The question came in a whisper, roughened by sleep.
Catherine opened her eyes to a wash of pale winter light and found Duncan watching her. He was lying on his side, one arm folded beneath his head, the other resting loosely across the coverlet between them. His hair was a little tousled; the line of his jaw bore the faintest trace of stubble.
“I am now,” she murmured, voice still husky.
He smiled faintly. “Good morning, then.”
