Page 95 of Stolen By the Duke of Stone

When he brought her to the edge, he held her there with slow, purposeful strokes, until she felt as though her entire body tingled with pleasure and frustration. And then, finally, he brought a hand to her bud, and that was enough to tip her over the edge.

This peak was far greater than her previous, made all the more intense by the slow, methodical way he moved inside her, sending so much sensation through her, she couldn’t breathe. All she could do was hold on as he rode her through it, and when the last wave faded into soft, peaceful bliss, he stiffened and emptied himself inside her.

Jessamine watched pleasure move across his face and held him tight and knew then that she would have done anything to live in this moment. Anything at all.

He stroked her cheek, damp with sweat, and kissed her forehead.

“And that,” he said, somewhat breathlessly, “was what I had been waiting for so long to do.”

Jessamine laughed. She laughed and laughed and laughed, holding Andrew safe the way she had always wanted.

And inside her, for the first time, was the potential for new life.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Andrew woke in his wife’s arms. For a long moment, he lay quiet, listening to her soft breathing.

They were just as naked as they had been when they’d finally slept, exhausted and sated. And it was already morning, light streaming through the closed curtains.

Morning.

He’d not had a single nightmare.

They’d slept together before, yes, and they’d even enjoyed a level of intimacy, but this morning brought… peace.

Not everything had been fixed—of course it hadn’t—but his body was tired and satisfied the way it hadn’t been in a long time, and she loved him.

Jessamine loved him.

He turned his head, taking in her dark hair tangled on the pillow, and the faintly blue tint to her closed eyelids. Her mouth was slightly open as she breathed, and he bent, kissing her on the very tip of her nose.

She didn’t so much as stir.

Gods, he felt years younger. Like the optimistic, sprightly young man he’d been when he’d been sent to the army for the first time. Before the world, and grief, had broken him.

The sun made its progression across the wall, and after perhaps another hour had passed, Jessamine’s eyes fluttered. She looked at him blearily, as though half unable to believe he was lying right beside her, her head on the crook of his shoulder, his arm curled around her, holding her against his body.

“Andrew?” she asked groggily.

“I’m here.”

“You stayed.”

“I’ll always stay. So long as you want me.”

She made a humming sound at the back of her throat, rolling over him more firmly. “I would never ask you to leave. This is nice.” She dropped a kiss on his chin. “How did you sleep?”

“Remarkably well. You?”

“Like a baby.” She grinned at him. “Although between us, I think we slept better than William.”

“I imagine so.” Andrew hesitated. “I wondered if we could speak about him.”

Jessamine’s entire body went stiff. She attempted to push back, but he held her in place. “What is it?” she asked, her voice tight with suspicion.

“Nothing bad, I assure you.” He ran a reassuring hand up and down her spine. “I have adopted him, but I thought we might refer to him as my son. And you as his mother. Once he grows up, he will know nothing else. Yes, we will tell him about Rebecca when he’s old enough to understand, but…” He hesitated. “I would hate for him to feel lesser compared to his siblings if we refer to them as our children but him as our second cousin.”

Tears drenched the sparkle in Jessamine’s eyes. “You would like me to be his mother?”