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He pressed a kiss to her forehead, and her heart clenched, then melted. She fought to shore up her resolve. Though she badly wanted to say yes, it would be a grave mistake. One she would probably never be able to recover from.
“Say yes, Emma.”
She gently disengaged from him and tilted her head to meet his eyes. The need that glittered there tempted her to step off the cliff of insanity. “I can’t,” she breathed roughly. The doubts and fears had held her too long, for them to be so easily dismissed. She did not want to accept his proposal without careful consideration. How could he blithely dismiss his duty to the title? He would need an heir and a capable duchess by his side. A smile slanted his wide sensual mouth, turning his hard-edged masculinity to a charming male. “Do you have any idea how much I've wanted you?”
She shook her head, unable to speak lest she betrayed the need pumping in her blood, and beating between her legs for him.
“I’ve craved you, Emma. For years. Be honest with me, how much do you want me?”
The words slipped unbidden from her lips. “You threaten all the beliefs I hold about my expectations for my life. You make me burn to live.”
Approval flared in his gaze, then his lips took hers, and Emma stopped breathing. His dark head lowered over hers, he kissed her. His tongue slipped past her lips, swept over hers, and arousal burned through her. He got her wet so fast, Emma was almost embarrassed.
He pulled her against him, seducing her mouth with scorching expertise. She was painfully aware of the hard bulge against her stomach, and how secluded they were. He broke away from her mouth to bite the side of her neck. She whimpered, overwhelmed by the pleasure darting through her.
He stumbled onto the sofa, and she went with him, climbing onto his lap, arousal, need, and his hands directing her. No. She screamed inside, knowing her kissing him did not mean she was caving, but she was unable to stop licking his lips, to stop thrusting her hands through his thick hair.
His fingers encircled her ankles, and pushed up, sliding against her stockings and taking her dress with it. Sensual weakness assailed her. He wrapped an arm beneath her hips, lifted her, and positioned her over his thick length. When had he opened his flap? His fingers traced the swollen folds of her cleft, and Emma gasped against his mouth as he parted her swollen flesh. He drew her down to meet the surge of his hip. She bit down on his bottom lip as he pulled her down. Though she was wet and welcoming the tight stretch was almost painful. A garbled whimper tore from her throat as his thrust impaled her deep and hard. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe, and couldn’t think, only feel. “Elliot.”
He began a slow, rocking motion. “Emma, my darling, ride me,” he ordered roughly.
Lust poured through her bloodstream, heating her from the inside out as she obeyed his command and rode him. Her knees bracketed his hips as she, at first, very clumsily, and then with more grace moved up and down his length, controlling the pace, the burn, wanting them to conflagrate slowly. He gripped her hips and buried his mouth in her throat with a deep groan as she clenched on him.
“Ride harder.” His words were a guttural snarl, his eyes narrowed with need.
His dark golden eyes burned with passion, searing away the slow control she wanted to take him with.
“No,” she said, and took his bottom lip between her teeth again and nipped. Hard.
The moan that slipped from him enflamed her. Sensual power tunneled through Emma, and she slid down with excruciating slowness over his thick length. His hands tightened on her hips as his eyes narrowed even further. She almost smiled at the carnal grimace that twisted his lips as she rolled her hips, clenching her walls and bearing down on his cock, even slower than before.
“You are fucking with fire,” he muttered, his voice filled with need.
The crude word sent a flush though her entire body. She gripped his hair, tunneling her finger through his strands, feeling his scalp under her fingertips. “Strange, my duke, I thought I was taking you,” she whispered, her lips touching the underside of his jaw.
His gaze burned into hers, and as she watched the fight for control, sweet power shifted inside of her along with need. She had thought she would never have felt his wildness again, this daring to be free. But something about now was even more than the night before. He knows it’s me. Her throat burned, and tears pricked behind her lids.
“Sweet mercy,” he said, kissing her like a starving man.
Emma gasped and clutched his shoulders tightly. He made love to her mouth, and she rocked on him with exquisite slowness, but with depth. With such depth, her core ached, and her nub burned for release. He stood with her and spun, gently lowering her onto the sofa, but never releasing her. They remained like that, only kissing, but she could feel him getting harder inside of her though he was not thrusting. She squirmed, wanting him to move, but he only ravished her mouth. She had no other way to describe the deep thrust and curl of his tongue against hers. He was making love to her mouth, mating their tongues together, burning them alive with desire. Emma whimpered at the sharpness of the pleasure rising in her.
They pulled apart, breathing raggedly. His face suddenly took on a look of cruel sensuality as he looked at her. Their night of passion at the masquerade ball swirled in his gaze, and the memory of the ways he had taken her crawled through her.
“Elliot,” she whimpered, nervous despite the delirious pleasure filling her. He was so wonderfully intense.
Her eyes widened as he dragged her to the edge of the sofa. He lifted one of her feet and placed it on the edge of the sofa, while her other foot hitched at his hips. There was only the slightest pinch along her muscles of her leg. The position splayed her wide, and as she looked down, she could see where they were joined. Heat suffused her face, and her heart raced. He pulled from her until he was poised at her entrance. She clenched, f
eeling empty, wanting to be filled with him.
“Look at me.”
She met his intense gaze as he thrust into her in one smooth lunge. The hard, abrupt impalement had her crying out at the sensuous burn.
“Hold me, Emma.”
She slipped her hands around his neck. Before she could draw another breath, his hips recoiled, and he slammed into her hard and deep. She wailed against his kisses. A sound that shocked her. Not even last night she had sounded so broken with lust. Within seconds, he commanded a deep, powerful rhythm that had her gripping him and panting for breath. Emma lost herself, to pleasure, to need, to lust. “Don’t stop,” she moaned. “Please don’t stop.”
“Never,” he promised.
