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Lips danced over her neck, her shoulders. “I—” The word died on a crack.

Her eyes sank shut, her insides seizing. “Whatever you need. Do whatever you need.” Her shaky whisper hovered around them like an apparition.

So he did.

He shoved her toward her bedchamber. Yanked off her trousers. Spun her. Pushed her down until her chest lay flat against her bed.

A hand slid up and down her back, trembling fingers dipping over every indent of her spine. Like even in his torment, he was still attempting to soothe her. And all it did was make her want to give him this—whatever this was—even more.

His cock thrust between her thighs. Then he stilled. Just there. Waiting. His hand danced erratically over her skin, like it couldn’t decide where to land. His hips twitched, muscles like stone behind her. Something built in her chest, a thrum, anticipation. She shifted on her feet, her thighs squeezing his length, rubbing him against a spot that had a gasp falling from her. Fingers dug into her skin. She did it again. They dug in harder.

He pulled back, the movement jerky, unstable. His cock slid easily now. Her body knew what to expect. A needy, demanding pulse throbbed between her legs.

His tip notched at her entrance, but didn’t move, except for the flex and release of his fingers.

Her body clenched, like it could pull him in, pleading. She spread her legs in invitation. In admission. She’d meant what she’d said.

Do whatever you need.

So he did.

He drove into her, sinking to the hilt in one savage thrust. Her entire body jolted into the mattress, the air bursting from her in a whoosh. Her fingers flexed, nails biting into her palms. Theo had forgotten how large he was. That barely had time to register before he was pulling out.

And thrusting home again.

Each one was erratic and out of rhythm. His hands clawed at her like he couldn’t find purchase. Hips snapping, each choppy thrust coming quicker than the last. He leaned over her, rough breaths bursting over her back. He was still fighting something, still holding back.

“Is that the best you’ve got, Duke?”

He tensed.

“Fuck. Me.”

His hand slid up to the base of her throat, his mouth at her nape. He hovered there. Then broke. His fingers tightened, and he laid into her, used her clavicle as leverage, shoving her down on him as he drove into her. His other hand slid beneath her, cupping her mound, the hold aggressive. Angry.

Grunts and slapping skin filled the chamber, each drive sending her jerking into his palm, rubbing where she was swollen and aching. Her nerves sparked, crackles of pleasure scattering over her skin like static. At the same time, he split her wide open. The stretch was so intense, so overwhelming. But somehow she wanted more. Wanted deeper.

She could barely breathe. Moans stuck in her throat, too full of him to even form sound. His hot pants, his broken groans, swirled around her, settled over her so that there was nothing but him. Inside her. Behind her. Around her.

Theo ground against his palm, the pleasure coming at her too fast. It was a charging carriage, steeds out of control. There was no stopping it. Her core tightened, and white-hot bliss soared through her. She cried out, and the Duke’s thrusts picked up speed. Her headboard rattled against the wall, the entire frame shaking violently, just like her body. Her hips bucked, chasing every last lick of pleasure.

Then he was gone. Even before the last vestiges of pleasure had faded.

Theo went limp against the mattress, lethargy immediately sweeping in. A heartbeat later, his hoarse growl echoed through the room. Something slick and hot coated her back and arse. Her core clenched with another whisper of pleasure. His release was a deliciously wicked brand on her back. She whimpered softly.

And then silence, but for their ragged breaths, fell over her bedchamber.

And more silence.

She shifted, trying to lift herself up to see him, but she couldn’t manage it, tied up as she was. In the next breath, her hands were undone. She couldn’t see him, but she could feel the loss. He’d stepped away. Left? She hurriedly pushed herself up and spun around.

He was still there. But what she saw was worse than if he’d left.

His features were twisted, just like when he’d arrived. But it wasn’t the torment that had consumed him earlier. No.

It was remorse.

Disgust.