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forward from which she could not escape. It felt uneasy, uncomfortable, but no longer painful. Her hands relaxed on his chest and slid up to his shoulders as she grew used to the novel sensations. His hard belly moved across hers as he surged inside her, quite deeply and firmly this time. It was amazing the way her body now accommodated him. The sharp pain was gone as if it had never existed, and the moisture of her body eased his movements despite his large size. The only uncomfortable thing, she supposed, was that he was inside her, deep inside her, and did not seem inclined to leave anytime soon.
“Does it still hurt?” he asked.
“Not exactly.”
He gave a huffing sort of breath. “What does that mean?”
“Now it only feels…odd.”
“Does it?” He pressed his hips against hers as he kissed her. “Let me see what I might do about that.”
He moved again, a bit more intently, and rubbed one of her nipples at the same time. For a moment it was too much, too much to process, too much to concentrate on. How could she remain in control with him doing these things to her?
“Just let go,” he said against her skin. “Your body knows.”
Your body knows… He kissed her breast this time, caught her nipple between his teeth and worried it until it ached. She felt it not just in the one place, but everywhere. The sheath that contained him tightened around his length. He groaned and that groan triggered some instinctive response in her. She squeezed around him again, having a sudden and clear sense of her own power in this encounter. She slid her arms down his muscled sides to his hips, feeling him work his body against hers. He arched over her and moved a little faster, the base of his shaft rubbing right against the spot he’d teased earlier.
None of it felt like teasing now.
“Oh, no,” she said again, caught up in a blazing dance she’d never known existed. She felt his lips, his teeth at her neck, at her breasts. He stroked her hair and nipped at her ears, never stopping his forays in and out. It didn’t feel uncomfortable any more, his presence inside her. It felt rather grand, his long, thick shaft driving her closer and closer to some apex. There was more. More, more, more… She struggled for it, her body tossing and arching under his.
“Tell me. Show me,” he said, cradling her. “Teach me what feels good to you.”
She taught him with her moans, her rising whimpers and pleas. When his fingers pinched or stroked the perfect spot, she gripped his shaft within her and felt her own heightened pleasure in return. She was so close, so close to reaching the place he tried to bring her. He was a force above her, a power encouraging her when she started to feel lost. When he moved in her just right, at the perfect pitch, she cried out loud hoping he knew what she meant, for she couldn’t make words, not then. There, there, there, there, please, there… She clenched the sheets and then dug her fingers into his straining arms. “Please, don’t stop!”
The waves crested and seemed to converge in one great pool of pleasure, and then the pool overran its bounds and washed over her entire body. It was not like a clap of thunder, or an explosion, but a writhing thing that unwound and unwound until she thought she might lose herself in the release. She clung to him, the lofty Duke of Courtland, her new husband who had known how to do this thing to her all along. He drove in her hard and made a sharp, exultant sound. She understood he was reaching his own peak along with her, his own unwinding as he jerked between her legs. His knees braced against the bed as he lifted her and shuddered through one last thrust of his hips. She collapsed back, spent, exhausted. Astounded.
When she opened her eyes he was still hovering above her, watching her with a grim intensity that frightened her a bit. She reached up to touch his face, to soften it. “Court,” she whispered, testing the name on her tongue.
He turned his cheek into her palm and kissed her just above her wrist. “I told you you would like that part.”
Like it? She couldn’t believe it, that he could do these things just with his body and hers. At last he pulled back from her, out from that place she hadn’t wanted him to be. Her disappointment must have shown on her face.
“We’ll do it again, my love,” he said, stroking her cheek. “Never fear.”
“When?”
“Soon,” he said. “After you rest. After I recuperate and regain my wits.”
She craved for him to start all over, to do all of it once more immediately, but at the same time she was overtaken with a drowsy sense of satiety. Her eyes began to close. She didn’t want to sleep, for she didn’t want him to leave her. She forced her eyes open and reached for him, curling her fingers around his arm where she could still see the half-moon marks of her nails.
“Don’t go,” she sighed, huddling close to him. “It is a big bed.”
“I won’t go if you don’t wish me to.”
“Stay with me, please.” He ran his fingers up her arm and over her back in a slow, repetitive caress. His body’s warmth soothed her to a near-stupor. “You were right,” she said as she drowsed. “That last part was the best part.”
His caresses paused a moment, his fingers tightening against her. “The last part was magnificent, but I enjoyed all of it very much.”
“I did too. All of it was magic, really, wasn’t it?”
She felt his chest rise and fall against her cheek. His arms came around her to pull her closer, right against his body. “Yes, dearest. Magic indeed, but you are very tired now. We have a lifetime to make love. Close your eyes and sleep.”
“But—” She mustered up the energy for one last question. “Where did you learn to do that magic? Have you always known how?”
He didn’t answer. Or perhaps he did. Just before she drifted off, she thought perhaps she heard him say, “The magic came from you.”
*** *** ***
Benedict Thomas William Hawthorne. His Grace, the Duke of Courtland. He kept repeating his names and titles in his head, trying to remind himself who he was. His Grace, the Duke. Benedict Thomas William Hawthorne, a man of duty who never cared to be loving or emotional or affectionate. The Duke of Courtland, who would never become a lovestruck and ridiculous man.
Ah, well.
He would allow himself this temporary insanity. By God, he’d earned the right after this last couple of months. While the rest of the ton speculated and snickered behind their hands about what might go on in the Duke of Courtland’s marriage bed, here he was lying beside his wife in a state of exhausted bliss. Bugger the lot of them. He would allow himself to adore her because she deserved to be adored.
What courage she’d shown at their wedding. The pomp and crush had been intimidating even to him, although he’d always known he would go through it. A few months ago Harmony had been the reclusive daughter of a lesser viscount, and surely never imagined such a grandiose wedding in her future. His mother had alternately scowled and sobbed through the ordeal. She was disappointed in Court’s choice, like so many in the ton, but it didn’t matter now.
From the start he had wanted Miss Harmony Barrett, but never would have allowed himself to have her. Never. Which made all of this so much sweeter. Forbidden fruit.
And he had partaken of his forbidden fruit with the fervor of a man starved. He had never slept with a virgin before, but was aware there was an art to it. He had intended to be steady and reassuring, hoped only to complete the marital act without disgusting her. Somewhere along the way that strategy had changed to taking whatever he wanted, however carnal, and making her like it. How bacchanalian he’d been, spanking her, groping and kissing her, urging her to a frenzy of arousal. He hadn’t been satisfied until she’d tossed beneath him in the throes of ecstasy.
When she awakened and turned to him the following morning, Court prepared himself for withdrawal, for blushes and regrets, and her terrible realization that she was wed to a man of perverse lusts. She was warm and naked beneath the covers and he—he was stiff enough to bore a hole through iron.
He drank in her beauty as she yawned and stretc
hed. Lovestruck. You are a lovestruck fool. She smiled at him, sheepishly perhaps, and her eyes sparkled. There was no recrimination to be found.
“How different you look this morning,” she said.
He put a hand to his face, felt a night’s worth of stubble. “I have not yet— My valet—”
“No. I mean you look different…because of last night.” She blushed and slid closer, snuggling against his very front. He moved his hips back but there could be no disguising his aroused state.
“Oh my.” Her eyes met his. “I never knew men were fashioned so. I never imagined that…well…” She sighed, clearly flustered. “I can’t believe I never knew.”
Only Harmony would become indignant over it. He smiled to soothe her. “Now you know. For better or worse.”
She laughed and moved closer still. “How on earth could it be worse?”
I could never let you out of this bed again. I could become obsessed with you. I could never stop thinking about sex with you. “Harmony,” he said instead. “I want you again.”
She drew in a breath just before he kissed her, his hand curling possessively around the curve of her neck. He pressed his hips to hers, pressed the rude evidence of his words right against the loveliness of her belly. She clung to his shoulders, so open and trusting, which only made him want her more.
“Are you tender from last night? I don’t wish to hurt you,” he said, easing her onto her back. “I’ll try to be gentle.” He should have taken more time as he had the night before, lingered and caressed her, but he found himself touching her instead in all the places he knew would bring her immediate arousal. Her saucy, thrusting nipples, the heat between her legs. She dragged her toes along his calf and held his shoulders tighter. “Oh,” she breathed every so often. “Oh, no.”
