Page 33 of The Duke Meets His Match

Her mind struggled to comprehend, but the tip of his finger circled her woman’s flesh and all thoughts shattered beneath an unimaginable pleasure. He dipped a finger inside, then withdrew to stroke and tease until she was writhing beneath his hand. The pleasure built to a fevered pitch. She needed a release that she knew only he could provide.

He ravished her lips, then trailed his mouth down the column of her throat. He kissed and licked her flesh like it was forever.

Impossible. He didn’t want her forever, and she didn’t expect it. One afternoon of heated pleasure would have to last her a lifetime.

He shifted and tugged, and the sheet slid to the floor. She caught a glimpse of his manhood—thick, long, and hard. She felt him then, all of him, pressed against her sensitive flesh. She barely had time to wonder before he thrust deep inside her. She cried out at the invading sharp pain.

He froze, his body rigid, his muscles tensing above her. “My God,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “You can’t be a virgin.”

She shook her head from side to side on the pillow. “It doesn’t matter. Please don’t stop.”

Something shifted in him and he tensed. She sensed a battle of restraint in every hard muscle. Her body began to ache for the erotic pleasure he’d promised her. Desperate for release, she wrapped her legs around his waist and squeezed her inner muscles.

“Damn,” he hissed. “You’re so tight.”

At last he began to move, slow rhythmic thrusts until her body accepted his fullness. A burning, then aching sensation leaped to life within her. Soon the hot sliding friction aroused her to a fevered pitch. She relished the weight of his body, his muscular chest brushing against her own sensitive breasts, the scent of his skin, and the pulsing fullness of him inside her. She ran her hands up his muscular arms and buried her fingers in his hair.

He took her mouth as he increased the tempo of his thrusts. “I’ve never seen anyone as beautiful in the throes of passion as you.”

The pleasure built and built. Her hips arched off the mattress to meet his thrusts. Then he reached between their bodies to stroke her flesh. She cried out as she was hurled beyond and her body exploded in a fiery climax.

“Chloe!” With a hoarse groan, he threw his head back and withdrew from her body. He shook, his face softening with an unexpected vulnerability, as he reached his own climax and his seed spurt across the linens.

He rolled to the side and pulled her into his arms. Chloe lay pressed against him, breathing heavily. She wanted to close her eyes and rest her head on his chest. He was a man who made her feel deliciously ravished, yet protected and safe at the same time.

Then he rose on an elbow and glared down at her. “Why didn’t you tell me you were a virgin?”

Chapter Twelve

At the harshness of Michael’s tone, Chloe’s lashes fluttered open. “You assumed I was experienced. I just never corrected you.”

“Why the hell not?”

She blinked at the face of his anger. “Would you have believed me? You know I’ve lied about my past for years. You’ve reminded me of it on more than once occasion.”

He had the good sense to look apologetic. “Forgive me. Clearly, I was wrong. But you should have told me. I don’t ruin innocents, and I never proposition them to be my mistress. God, the way I took you. I should have been gentler.”

She reached up to stroke his jaw. “It was perfect and I wouldn’t change anything about it.”

He looked at her curiously. “You’re amazing. I’ll never forget the shared passion between us. But I must warn you that I still cannot offer marriage.”

Her heart hammered at his admission. She knew the reason. Her past ensured she’d never be duchess material, but the question came out regardless. “Why? Because I am a thief?”

“No. I won’t marry anyone. Ever.”

She eyed him speculatively. “You’re a duke. You must marry and produce the next heir.”

“No, I don’t. I don’t give a damn about the title. It can go to a distant relative for all I care.”

She didn’t fully understand. All titled men knew of their duty to marry and produce an heir. Did he believe his episodes prevented him from having a wife? It was a foolish thought. Plenty of young ladies would be willing to marry a duke—regardless of sanity, age, hair, or even teeth, for the chance to be a duchess. And Michael’s striking looks turned ladies’ heads when he walked into a room.

“Even though I cannot marry, you must know that Henry isn’t for you.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. She’d known this, of course. She would never have been with Michael if she intended to continue to encourage Henry’s pursuit. But the fact that Michael had even brought it up made her angry. Was his opinion of her so low?

Apparently so. A man did not have to a like a woman to bed one.

Sourness settled in her gut.