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Duke of Rath

Page 83

by Mariah Stone

She nodded.

He kissed her—hard, fervent, almost hurried—as his hands resumed their glorious torture.

And she loved every second of it.

He was exploring her body, learning where she liked a firmer touch and where she liked gentle caresses. Until he could play her body like an instrument, and all she could do was moan, cry out, and writhe under him, despite the slight pain in her ankle.

He rose over her again, like a God, his gaze so intense she felt she was burning. “Patience,” he said, his voice like a command, sending a thrill down her spine. “Spread your legs for me.”

Like a good, obedient girl, she did. Her legs parted wide, revealing her throbbing, wet sex to him. His head fell back, the sinews of his neck thick, his pulse beating in his veins.

He palmed his erection, and she bit her lip. He lowered himself to her and entered her in one swift motion. There was no more pain. He filled her completely, stretching her to the limit, and she took him in whole. If she could, she wanted him to be even deeper.

He locked his eyes with hers, dark and intense.

Like a king conquering a new land, his gaze told her she would be his and nothing would stand between them.

And then he began to move, pounding into her, quickly and relentlessly.

She arched her back as intense pleasure spread through her, as he was hitting some sort of beautiful spot inside her. Every slap of flesh against hers told her whom she belonged to—him.

He angled his hips and even more pleasure spilled through her. She cried out, her fingers wrapping around the blanket, her fists clenching.

Good God, Good God, Good God…

This was intense, powerful, all encompassing. He demanded complete submission, and all she could do was to give it. The hard slaps of his flesh, the way his cock took possession of her sex, and the unyielding onslaught that took her higher and higher.

And then he took her even higher when she felt his gloved hand wrap around her throat. He didn’t press hard, but she could feel the leather, cool against her overheated skin.

She opened her eyes in surprise, but all she could see was his intense focus on her, the limitless desire in his black eyes, and the strange way she could feel the danger wrapping around her neck. She could say no now, could say stop.

But she didn’t want to.

She only wished that, no matter what was under that glove, he’d remove it, and she could feel his skin on her skin.

This was him having control over her; this was her submitting to him.

She was acutely aware of every inch of her body, each nerve ending alight with longing. Her lips parted on a soft gasp, her breathing growing shallow as her heart raced in her chest. The ache between her thighs intensified, a pulsing need that demanded satisfaction.

“Take it, sweet girl,” he murmured. “Feel the intensity. What does your body want you to do?”

It wanted her to let go. To give in and just feel this.

The moment she did, her climax slammed into her hard. Her muscles clenched tightly around him. Her whole pelvis felt like it radiated ecstasy. Dorian grunted and pounded into her with an animalistic speed. His own release had him buck for several seconds, and then he collapsed onto her as they both breathed hard and in unison.

Like one being.

Except for his gloved hand. The forbidden clue to the mystery that lay between them…and according to him, always would.

28

“Patience, no,” growled Dorian three days later when he spotted her passing his study doors in her gardening bonnet, her gait lively and unencumbered by a corset. Her breasts bounced freely as she moved out of his view.

Titan, who lay by his feet as he wrote, raised his head, his tail wagging when he saw Patience. Dorian sprang to his feet, flinging his quill aside, unconcerned that it left a large ink blot across the letter he had been writing. Fuming, Dorian followed her, noting the wooden box in her hands. Titan trotted after him. When he caught up to her, he saw the box was filled with brown bulbs.

Titan whimpered happily and did a little greeting dance around Patience, his tail moving quickly from side to side. She cooed to him, unable to pet him with both of her hands holding the crate.

“Patience, your ankle!” he said. “You’re not well enough! You almost fainted not three days ago!”