Page 43 of The Duke's Bartered Mistress

He wasn’t sure if she heard—or understood—but her fingers curled through his long hair, holding him in place.

His lips found her clitoris, and he slowly teased it as his fingers traced her lips. He licked and nipped as her legs wrapped around his shoulders. Christ, he loved the noises she made!

Remembering the way she’d responded to his touch that very first day, he drew some of her dew back from her core, slicking it around her arsehole. As he used her lubricant to push against the puckered hole, he pulled her clitoris between his lips.

She stiffened and squealed his name as her inner muscles tightened around his fingers.

Her orgasm was too tempting.

With a muttered curse, he drew his hand from her arse and reached for his trousers. With her still pulsing around him, her spend on his lips, he pulled his aching cock free and straightened.

Before her orgasm could peak, he pushed his way into her.

She welcomed him with a gasp, arms around his shoulders, legs curling around his arse, pulling him closer. As she continued to spasm around him, Demon plunged into her, again and again. He couldn’t withdraw far because she held him so tightly, eyes squeezed shut and breaths coming in desperate gasps. The fact she found such explosive pleasure cued his own, and his thrusts grew in strength and desperation.

This was worth it. It was worth allowing Georgia to see his face, see his responses to her touches, because he could see hers. This was so much better than a blind fook from behind, and that had been goddamn amazing.

Each thrust rocked the settee, and in the depths of his pleasure, he worried for the old piece of furniture. His release built in the base of his cock, the small of his back, the pressure taunting him so he increased his pace. Her breathing matched his, each a desperate little gasp, her hands spread against his back as if trying to touch all of him.

Another plunge, another rocking of the settee, another whimper. White-hot sparks ignited behind his eyelids, and Demon thrust once more. Her legs tightened around him and his orgasm spilled over him at the same time he heard an ominous splintering of—

* * *

Two things happened at once.

In her lingering bliss, Georgia felt a hot spill of liquid inside her womb and another spark of joy shot through her at the realization he’d spent inside her. When she wasn’t so dazed, she’d take a while to ponder why her reaction to that was joy instead of concern.

The second thing, and the reason why she couldn’t spend any time now pondering that oddity, was the fact that the settee collapsed under the force of Demon’s thrusts. She’d felt it rocking from his strength, but the splintering of wood had been a surprise.

We broke a piece of furniture?

Before she had more than a second to process what had happened, Demon wrapped his arms around her and rolled, dragging her to safety.

They ended up on the floor atop their strewn clothing and the preposterous rug—really, Endymion might be a castle, but that didn’t mean it needed dead animal decorations. He lay flat on his back. She straddled him.

His cock was still throbbing inside her.

Georgia blinked down at him in shock, their noses only inches apart. Demon’s eyes were wide, his face flushed, his breathing hard, but she wasn’t certain if it was because of the expected orgasm or the unexpected danger.

She began to laugh, and his wry smile reluctantly bloomed.

Just for fun, she squeezed her inner muscles, and he responded by pulling her down for a kiss.

A most satisfying ending.

This kiss was slow and sensual, and she tasted herself on his lips. The memory of what he’d done—Roger had never wanted to try that page of A Harlot’s Guide!—warmed her again, and she wriggled her hips against his. The seams of his trousers teased her thighs, her nipples hardening against the buttons of his shirt.

He was still dressed.

For some reason, that—and the broken settee, and the fact the bear fur was tickling her knees—caused a laugh to bubble up inside her. She broke the kiss and pushed herself up, her hands on either side of Demon’s head, fingers tangled in his too-long-hair, and allowed the laughter to escape.

He watched her giggle, and even as he softened and slid from her, she smiled and sighed.

Before Demon could move away from her, she rested her cheek against his shoulder and shifted her hips below his waist. “That was lovely,” she whispered.

His hands cupped her naked arse and he didn’t reply. But he hummed in what might have been an agreement.

“You did not even remove your clothing.” It wasn’t a critique—he’d never removed his clothing around her—but an observation. She’d never been naked with a clothed man, and it was surprising she felt no embarrassment.

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