Page 69 of The Duke's Counterfeit Wife

Again, and then again. In minute movements, she slid across his hardness, each motion sending countless explosions across her skin. Across her brain. How did it do that?

“Sweetheart,” he groaned against her jaw. “Are ye ready for me to move?”

Her palms spread across his back. “Yes, Griffin. I think it has become rather vital.”

So he did.

He moved.

Good Lord in Heaven, he moved.

He started slow, each thrust steady and gentle, deliberately withdrawing almost completely, allowing her to feel each glorious inch of him. How big was he? She really should measure.

Later.

Yes, later.

And the pressure began to build again inside her, and soon she was lifting her hips off the bed to meet him, meeting him thrust-for-thrust. His plunges became deeper, harder…more desperate.

She was climbing higher, higher, pleasure throbbing through her limbs, the muscles in her feet cramping from how hard she arched against him.

With each plunge now, Griffin released a breath, the noise somewhere between a grunt and a groan, and she wondered if he was as close as she was.

She needed…

She wanted…

Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God!

Between them his hand shifted, his thumb and forefinger finding her clitoris, and he squeezed.

Her orgasm burst over her, and she screamed.

She thought she might have screamed his name, but it was definitely a scream.

He caught her mouth in his as her pleasure coursed, wave after wave, through her, causing her to buck wildly against him.

It was wonderful.

It was miraculous.

Scientifically, it was a little difficult to believe, but Felicity vowed to examine these sensations. In great detail. Repeatedly.

Her inner muscles were tight around his—his cock, but she could still feel him sliding in and out of her, the sort of desperate movement which pierced her haze. As her pleasure began to dull to a vague hum, he stiffened against her.

She felt his cock flex, then flex again, and then he was muttering, “Fook fook fook,” as he pulled from her and spilled his seed across her curls.

The way his slick member rubbed against her clitoris as the thick white strings spat from the tip of his cock…she’d lifted her head to watch, and rather than feeling sordid, the sensation was arousing. Experimentally, she flexed her hips again, dragging her sensitive nub against his hardness.

His gaze shot up to meet hers.

And she smiled.

Griffin’s eyes widened, and then, miracle of miracles, he smiled in return.

A genuine smile.

She wouldn’t have believed it possible if she hadn’t seen it, and felt it, nestled against her soul. Her smile grew, then grew again, and then, somehow, for some reason, she was laughing.

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