Page 47 of The Dueling Duchess

Moving so quickly he was like a blur, he leaned over, slid his hands beneath her bottom, and lifted her with breathtaking ease.

Cecile held his neck with one hand and reached between their bodies with the other, positioning his thick shaft at her entrance. And then she held on to his shoulders and lowered herself slowly, taking him inside her inch by delicious inch.

“I think you’re trying to kill me,” he accused gruffly.

Cecile heaved a sigh of pure ecstasy and wiggled her hips slightly to take him that last bit deeper.

He groaned, giving her time to adjust to the exquisite stretch before he shifted her into a more comfortable position.

“Cecile,” he whispered, her name sounding like a desperate prayer, and he claimed her mouth with a deep, penetrating kiss.

She met his tongue, thrust for thrust, exploring him with a hunger that stunned her.

It was Guy who pulled away first, their chests both heaving.

He stared deeply into her eyes, his brown irises sliver-thin coronas surrounding the velvety blackness of his pupils. “Please don’t judge me by the next few minutes, darling.”

Cecile couldn’t help laughing at his plaintive tone.

She’d never had a playful lover before. It was rather lovely to laugh with a man when he was deep inside your body.

He flexed his hips, nudging something deep inside her—something that was almost painfully pleasurable—and she gasped, all her laughter gone in a heartbeat.

“Too much?” he asked, his voice strained.

She shook her head. “More.”

Cecile was not a small woman and she’d never had a lover hold her in his arms without so much as her toes grazing the floor.

But Guy’s powerful body undulated beneath her hands and tightly clenched thighs as he worked her in slow, unhurried thrusts, the only sign of any strain the sweat that beaded on his forehead.

She tilted her head back and closed her eyes, luxuriating in his measured stroking, the angle of his pelvis grinding against her sensitive flesh in a way she knew was not accidental. She was in a state of partial arousal just standing across from him, so it didn’t take long for her climax to build, her pleasure escalating, but only to the edge, where he kept her erotically balanced, teasing her until she thought she’d go mad.

“Guy,” she begged, rocking her hips to take him deeper—or trying to as he held her in a viselike grip.

He gave an evil chuckle. “Open your eyes and look at me, Cecile,” he whispered, trailing light kisses over her lips. “And then maybe I’ll give you what you need.”

She forced her heavy lids up and glared into his smug, lust-flooded gaze.

“That’s a good girl,” he praised, his lips curving in the most infuriatingly erotic smile, his breathing raspy and harsh.

He began to pump his hips, giving her the deep, hard thrusts she’d been craving.

And then he stopped on an outstroke, leaving only his fat crown inside her. “Now beg me for what you want, darling.”

Cecile wanted to hit him over the head with something heavy and blunt.

But she wanted to orgasm more.

She flexed her legs, squeezing his waist and digging her heels into him until he gave a grunt of pain.

But still he didn’t move.

“Please,” she ground out, not caring how wanton she sounded and no doubt looked.

Guy chuckled. “That’s a good start—now tell me what you’re begging for.”

Something exploded in Cecile’s head at his words—she heard an actual pop and hiss—and weeks and weeks of pent-up, frustrated yearning for the maddeningly irresistible man collided with overwhelming hunger.