Page 19 of Bride of the Fae Duke

He gave a short bark of laughter. ‘No urge to run yet?’

‘No more than the one I’ve been suppressing all day.’ She gently poked his rigid flesh before she could stop herself. The duke didn’t object, so she returned for a more thorough exploration, running a finger down the silky rim, crossing the shimmering lines of scales. They weren’t sharp, just smooth and cold, a strange contrast to the dizzying heat of the taut skin around them. ‘So how do we proceed now, Your Grace?’

‘Impatient?’ he retorted, and again that unexpected flare of emotion below the impassive façade almost looked like amusement.

‘I need my night’s rest,’ she informed him, pulling back to tug down her drawers, leaving her shift on. Oddly, she barely felt naked under his eyes. ‘And it’s already past my usual bedtime, so let’s get to work. Do I just … straddle you?’

He seemed to find that quite funny, too, for some reason she wasn’t sure about. ‘One knee on either side of me, yes. Then lower yourself over— Yes, just like that.’ He wrapped a hand around his own shaft, holding it up as she settled on top of him. ‘Slowly. It shouldn’t hurt.’

That seemed almost laughably optimistic, but then again, he was the one who had bedded at least six women with the same monstrous instrument. So she just nodded wordlessly, biting her bottom lip in concentration as she sank down and down and down until—

Her breath caught in her throat.

Until theytouched.

His broad tip was slick and smooth against her core, her skin still shivery and sensitive from the torment of his fingers. No matter how large he might be, there was something instinctive about the feel of him in that hot, forbidden place – something that made her suck in a last breath for courage and sink down another fraction without any urging, pressing herself onto the first half-inch of his length.

An intrusion.

Acompletion.

It had no right to feel so good, having this near-stranger inside her, and yet she barely paused before sinking lower – unable to stop craving the sensation of her body parting around him, his girth filling her in the most irresistible of ways. Another inch. So, so much feeling, balancing on the edge of pain …and yet the pleasure was stronger, the overwhelmingfullness, a breathtaking satisfaction that turned his fingers into a distant memory.

Another inch. She yelped as the cold surface of his scales met her own heated skin. Her hands shook, her thighs trembled with anticipation; she squeezed her eyes shut and speared herself two more inches onto him, gasping as her body stretched and strained to its limits around him.

‘Slowly, Eleanor.’ His warm hand enveloped her thigh. ‘Slowly.’

‘Feels …’ It was more moan than word. ‘Feels so good …’

‘And it’ll feel even better,’ he said, his voice still as before – calm, dispassionate, as if he was instructing her on how to ride a horse. ‘But I’m going to fuck you again tomorrow, and the day after, and I don’t want you to be too sore. So—’

She sank down another half-inch.

He faltered, gulping in a breath.

Hegasped– Othrys Locke, the duke of ice,gasped– and oh, that sound alone sent a whole new heat spiralling through her, tightening her body around his hardness in the most delicious ways. She blinked open her eyes, breathing a laugh. He still rested in the blankets as he’d done before, propped up on one elbow, his other hand guiding her down … but dispassionate voice or no, his jaw had tightened considerably.

Oh, this wasglorious.

‘Enjoying this?’ she murmured, sinking lower.

‘Doesn’t matter.’ His voice came out a little tight. ‘You should stop thinking about—Fuck.’

Because she’d pressed herself all the way down in one reckless, painful,perfectslide, and now he was all inside her, every impossible inch of him, and his breath had abruptly gone shallow and strained below her. The fingers on her thigh were squeezing into her muscles. Her hips instinctively began to rock,seeking that perfect angle, and again he cursed, lip curling up in a last, desperate bid for self-control.

‘Here … anyway …’ Nellie managed, finding her rhythm, up and down, stroke after stroke of wicked friction. He’d been right. This was even better. ‘Might … as well … enjoy …’

‘Little minx,’ he snapped.

And then his hands were on her hips, both of them, and he was bucking up beneath her, dragging her down with every thrust into her throbbing tightness. She arched back with a cry, lost to the onslaught of sensation. Cold scales, hot skin, the ravenous strength of his fingers …

‘Eleanor,’ he growled – a caress, that name that was hers yet not hers at all. ‘Pleasure yourself.’

She couldn’t obey fast enough.

Fumbling up her shift, her hands clumsily found the spots he’d touched before – and oh, divines have mercy, magic must exist after all because what else could this feeling be? This rising tide within her, climbing and climbing with every thrust and stroke …

She shattered.

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