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“Like that. Yes. Exactly like—.”
She cried out as he sank into her. She was silk; he was steel, and the world ceased to exist.
“Nick,” she said in a broken whisper, “oh God, oh God—”
The room blurred around her.
She felt it happening, the orgasm building within her, the race of heat from breasts to belly, the burst of color behind her closed eyelids, the exquisite fracturing of mind and reason.
She cried out his name; he groaned hers, and when he came deep, deep inside her, her muscles contracted around him and she came a second time on a high, sweet cry that pierced his heart.
He bit the exposed nape of her neck, his claim hard and savage and exquisite. Then he turned her to him, held her, kissed her hair, her eyes, her lips, and as she clung to him and wept with ecstasy, Nick knew that something was happening to him, something that was as wonderful as it was terrifying.
* * *
A long time later, he adjusted her clothes and his, sat down and drew her into his lap.
“You OK?” he said softly.
She laughed, wound her arms around his neck and kissed him.
“I am very OK.”
He drew her closer. She sighed and pressed her lips to his throat. She’d had sex with enough other men to know that this, what she felt with Nick, was different.
Different?
It was what she’d thought might not exist. It was sex that made the world tilt under your feet, that made you understand why the French called the last seconds of passion la petite mort—the little death. It was joy so wild, so sweet that it turned you inside out.
Was this what her sisters felt after sex? After being with the men they loved?
Not that this had anything to do with love. She didn’t love Nick, she wasn’t falling in love with him, she wasn’t, she wasn’t…
The room spun.
She sat up straight.
“What?” Nick said.
“I—I have to get that bread into the oven pretty soon.”
“Right now?”
“Right now.” She swallowed drily, then smiled. “I am a practical woman.”
“You are,” Nick said, “an incredible woman.”
One last, quick kiss and he let go of her. She went to the sink, washed her hands and then went back to work, shaping the dough. It was mindless stuff and that was what she needed right now.
Nick watched her for a couple of minutes. Then he walked over to her, swept aside her hair and kissed the nape of her neck.
“Thank you,” he said softy.
She leaned back against him, closed her eyes and he kissed the back of her neck again.
“For what?”
“For being here. For who you are. For making me happy.” He paused and cleared his throat. “I haven’t been happy in a long, long time, Duchess. I’d almost forgotten what it’s like.”
