Page 67 of Stolen By the Duke of Stone

There. Like that. His length—so thick and so hard—slid against her core, where he had pressed his mouth the last time, and she moaned.

More like that.

“You will be the death of me,” he muttered, and continued along his way, albeit more slowly.

When she rolled her hips against him, he paused, his steps seeming to stutter as he climbed the last few steps.

Could she find her peak just like this? He dropped his arms, allowing her to press more firmly against him, just where she needed him, and the pleasure rocketed through her.

Yes, she needed this; she desperately needed this. Just more, more, more.

“Andrew,” she choked, almost a sob.

One hand splayed across her backside as he guided her to move against him again and again. Jessamine rolled her hips, unashamed of the needy way she wanted him. In this moment, they were united in their desire, if nothing else.

More.

He took a few more steps, and the friction became even better, even more delightful, everything she ever could have needed. Her breath came more quickly. As they moved, Andrew moved her across him, though by his soft groans, he was not unaffected by it, either. How he ever managed to keep walking despite the distractions, she didn’t know.

They reached her bedchamber, and she barely noticed their surroundings as he laid her down on her back on the bed, his body weight pressing her into the mattress. She wrapped her legs back around his waist, holding him where she needed him.

She never wanted him to move. If they could, she would remain there for the rest of the night. His length against her core.

His breath came harshly by her ear. His fingers found hers, winding through them, pressing the backs of her hands by her head as he was now the one to roll his hips. Delicious pressure, wonderful friction. She felt hot and liquid against him.

“Andrew,” she whispered. “Don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” he said, and he kissed her fiercely.

She lost herself to the demands of his tongue and the slow rock of his body against hers.

Distantly, she understood that they were still too clothed—she might have pulled her skirts up around her hips, but he still wore his breeches. And yet, even despite that, this was just as good as their previous encounter, albeit in a different way. Before, she had been splayed out before him, and he had feasted on her. The pleasure had been meltingly good, but there hadn’t been the intimacy that came from his mouth as his body worked them both. She heard his pleasure in the rasped quality of his breath, could feel the tension in his body.

She let her hands explore his shoulder, putting all the pieces of him together. Every line, every curve, every muscle. Everything that made him who he was—she explored it all. And all the while, he wound her tighter and tighter. It wouldn’t take her long now, she knew.

His fingers found her throat, squeezing lightly. The possessive gesture, though in reality his hand did not obstruct her breathing in any respect, was enough to tip her over the edge. Her peak crashed over her, sending her world white, overwhelming her with heat and pleasure.

When she finally came back into herself, Andrew was still lying on top of her, his chest heaving, his length still hot and hard against her core.

“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice strained.

She thought again of the last time they had come together, and how then he had not found satisfaction, either. And so she gestured for him to get off her, which he did immediately.

“What is it?” he asked.

Slowly, gaining in confidence, Jessamine ran her hand down his body. He wanted her, she reminded herself—and he would want this, too. All she had to do was discover exactly what he liked. His length was so different from anything she had experienced herself, but that was all right—she would discover the differences, and then she would be able to learn him the way he had learned her.

Step by step. Touch by touch.

His fingers closed around her wrist as she reached the button of his fall. “Jessamine, you don’t have to.” His voice was hoarse.

A rush of affection cascaded over her, in part because of the warmth still in her veins, but in part because he seemed so implacable, so stern on the outside, but when it came to her, he always put her first.

How had she never seen it before?

“Let me do this for you,” she murmured. “I very much want to bring you pleasure the way you did so for me.”

His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, and his fingers loosened around her wrist, giving her leave to move. She found his length, running her fingers along its girth, feeling him for the first time. He felt as though he swelled under her hand. A pinprick of moisture bloomed on his breeches at his head, and she smiled to herself.