Page 110 of A Bride for the Devilish Duke
Emma laughed softly, her amusement threaded with tenderness. She straddled him in one graceful motion, tossing aside the robe entirely.
“How do you know?” he asked, stunned, breathless, and half in pain.
“A woman knows her own body,” she said smugly, running her fingers through the dark curls on his chest. Her nails scraped lightly over the muscle beneath, and he shuddered.
“Now, do you swear it?”
“I swear it,” Damien exclaimed fervently. “On my life. On yours. Onours.”
His good hand found her waist, guiding her gently down over him. Despite the splint, the bruises, the battle-worn ache of him—he hardened beneath her. She felt the shift of his hips, the catch of his breath, the unmistakable hunger.
“We shouldn’t,” she whispered. “You are broken in at least four places.”
“If we are careful,” he said, his grin crooked, “you can break me in a few more.”
She laughed—until he kissed her again, and then laughter gave way to sighs. He suckled at her breasts with open reverence, his hand mapping every inch of her body as though he meant to memorize.
There was no hesitation when his fingers passed over her scar. Only a whispered vow: “I love all of you. Every inch.”
Emma’s throat tightened, her heart stumbling in her chest—not from shame, but from the beautiful certainty in his voice. He meant it. Not merely as comfort, but as devotion.
She leaned in and kissed him deeply, then slowly, deliberately, shifted back. Her hands slid down his chest, tracing the ridges of muscle across his torso—hard-earned strength wrapped in silken skin. Even bruised and bandaged, he was a masterpiece of male form: all sculpted lines, dark hair, and heat. She skimmed lower, watching his breath catch as her fingers flirted with the top of his breeches.
“They are in the way,” she murmured against his mouth, and began to ease them down over his hips, mindful of his injuries, but with unmistakable purpose. He helped where he could, lifting slightly, groaning not from pain this time but need.
He was thick and hot and achingly hard, and even now—bruised and broken—he filled her with the same power that had always unmoored her. Her breath hitched as he slid deeper, inch bydeliberate inch, until her hips met his and the stretch made her shudder.
Damien let out a strangled groan, his hand fisting in the bedsheets. “Christ, Emma, you always undo me…”
She smiled against his temple. “Don’t you dare faint on me, Your Grace. I have only just started.”
His laugh was hoarse, ragged. She kissed his cheek, then his throat, and finally his lips—all while rolling her hips in a slow, testing rhythm. The fullness inside her had her gasping. She drifted lower still and kissed his chest, lavishing attention along the sculpted ridge between muscle and bone, drawing her tongue over the hollow just beneath his collarbone.
He made a sound then, a low, helpless noise that vibrated against her lips.
“I should be touching you,” he rasped. “Let me—”
His hand reached between them, seeking the place he knew would undo her, but she caught it midair and pressed it back to his chest.
“No,” she whispered with a devilish smile. “You are hurt, remember?”
She lifted her hips and slid down onto him again, slower this time, more deliberate, grinding just so. His breath stuttered.
“I thinkIshall handle things from here,” she whispered.
Damien’s eyes burned into hers, glazed with pleasure, a curse half-formed on his tongue. “You are an enchantress.”
“Onlyyours.”
Emma trailed her fingers down her own body, letting him see the hunger etched in every line of her. Her hand slipped between her thighs, finding the place he had meant to touch, and when her fingers brushed against that aching spot, she moaned aloud, her head falling back
The sight of him watching—eyes wide, jaw clenched, body taut beneath her—fueled something wild inside her.
She rode him with slow, sinuous movement, each stroke a promise, each shift of her hips a declaration. His one good hand gripped her thigh, fingers bruising, his control fraying as she tightened around him again and again.
He tried to rise, to kiss her, but she pushed him gently back against the pillows.
He obeyed. Barely. But his gaze never left her.
