Page 24 of The Duke's Bartered Mistress

He groaned and tipped his head back, his hold on her hips allowing him to anchor her in place as he plunged in and out of her. Each thrust seemed to reach deeper and deeper, Georgia’s eyes closing so she could focus on the joint sensations of thickness and strength.

Since he was so much taller than she, his knees were bent. But as he thrust he lifted her, until she was bowed across the wash basin, the sturdy piece of furniture holding her off the ground, her feet dangling.

Georgia wriggled to kick her bloomers off her left ankle, which allowed her to spread her legs farther apart and hook her ankles around the backs of his thighs.

One might have thought she’d set a lit brand to his skin, the way he reacted.

He let out a roar more suited to a wounded beast and his pace increased.

Gasping, Georgia curled her fingers around the edge of the marble and held on.

This was—this was—

Good Lord, she could barely breathe. The intensity of his…

No, this wasn’t love-making. He was—what was the word he was so fond of using? He was fooking her.

And she, God forgive her, was loving it.

Perhaps it was just because it had been such a long time since she’d had a man take her this way. Or perhaps she really was the horrible things she’d heard whispered behind her back after her connection with Roger had been discovered: whore, harlot, slut.

She gasped again when he pushed her farther atop the basin, until the front of her pelvis rested on the cool marble. She arched back, trying to reach the pressure she desperately needed.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his hold on her hips softening. “That’s a good girl. Ye want to come?”

Her eyes squeezed tight to capture the sensations whizzing through her veins, Georgia whimpered, “Yes.”

And then his hands were moving, away from her hips…she felt him fumbling with her chemise, digging through the linen and pulling material aside.

One of his large hands clasped around her right breast and the other found her curls, all without breaking his stride.

Her eyes flashed open and met his in the mirror as his callused fingertip brushed against her clitoris. She jerked away from the sensation, which only served to thrust herself onto his cock, but then quickly curved back toward his touch.

His chuckle was dark and wry as his thumb joined in, first rubbing, then squeezing the nub of her pleasure.

This was what she’d needed. What she’d needed so desperately.

With him pounding into her from behind, Demon fingered her clitoris, driving her ever higher, closer to the pinnacle.

“Ye like this.” It wasn’t a question. “Ye like me touching ye. Ye want to come, lass?”

Yes. Words—sensations—thoughts—seemed impossible. Lips parted, breaths heavy, she held his gaze in the mirror and hoped he understand her desperation.

He growled fiercely. “Come for me.”

His fingers tightened around her breast at the same time he pressed against the center of her desire, and her pleasure burst over her so suddenly she gasped and arched against him.

“Good girl.”

His praise sent her higher, farther, faster, stronger… She couldn’t stop the keen of joy from her lips, or the way she tried to curl around herself. His thrusts seemed deeper, more powerful, as she bucked against him and the basin, each heartbeat bringing her another jolt of pleasure.

And just as she peaked, just as she began to think that perhaps she might find it in herself to take a breath again one day, he pulled his hands away from her. A moment later his cock slid from her, and with a grunt, he spilled against her arsehole.

Panting, she pressed her forehead against the cool marble. For the first time she became aware of the wet cloth soaking the front of her chemise. Goodness, when she sat up, she’d likely find the linen completely transparent.

You are wrung out, legs spread, with a virtual stranger’s spend dripping down the cleft of your arse. A transparent chemise is not the cause for alarm you might believe it to be.

Good heavens. That had been…Georgia couldn’t find words for that experience. She hadn’t orgasmed that hard in—well, in ever. The man had only to look at her, with those dark scowls and the way his nostrils flared when he was aroused, and she started to get wet. But when he actually touched her…?

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