Page 66 of A Bride for the Devilish Duke
She clung to him as sensation overtook her—unfamiliar and urgent. Her head fell back against the wall. Her body trembled beneath his touch. He rubbed her with increasing pressure, not fast, but with maddening control, his mouth never far from her skin, from her ear.
“Christ,you are already so wet for me,” he whispered. “Just from a kiss?”
She whimpered, half-mortified, half-lost in the spiraling waves of pleasure building under his fingers. Her thighs tightened, her whole body straining as if something in her had to give way.
Her hips moved of their own accord, chasing his touch as he circled and stroked, coaxing pleasure out of her in waves. Her hands twisted in his grasp above her head, desperate to hold onto something, anything. She buried her face against his shoulder. Her soft moans fell muffled by fabric.
“You are exquisite,” he murmured. “Every part of you.”
Her thighs began to tremble again. “I—I can’t—”
“Yes, you can.” His lips brushed her ears. “Let go,Emma.”
And she did.
The release overtook her with sudden, shocking intensity. Her back arched. A cry escaped her lips despite herself, and she collapsed against him, all breath and heat and undone want. He held her through it, his hand slowing, gentling, easing her down.
When the last of the tremors left her, she pressed her forehead to his chest. Her limbs felt boneless. She could feel the rapid beat of his heart beneath her palm, where her hand had come to rest. Her fingers curled there, unsure if she was grounding herself—or him.
She tilted her face up, flushed and dazed. “What… what wasthat?”
He didn’t answer.
“I find that being with you...” Blushing furiously, she fell silent.
“Is exciting?” Damien finished.
Emma looked up with a raised eyebrow.
“Never let it be said that you lack confidence, good sir.”
He chuckled. It was a sincere sound that felt refreshing in her ears. “I was referring to myself, of course.”
“Oh...” she stammered, faltering. “I… don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t say anything. No words are necessary.”
“You can be so kind and tender to me at times,” she murmured, “and then so harsh without warning.”
Damien's grin was positively wicked. “That is usually the result of proximity to a beautiful woman.”
Emma slapped his chest at the awful jest but left her hand where it landed. She felt the powerful muscle beneath, the strength of that body. What it had done to her. Looking up, she saw the desire on his face, making it almost cruel in its austerity.
Desire drove the smile from his face, tightened his jaw, and narrowed his eyes. He was a Viking warlord intent on ravishing the fair maiden who had come to him as spoils. She wondered if the hammering of her heart was audible to him. She could still feel him through her palm.
They looked into each other's eyes for one long, glorious moment, standing isolated from the world in that golden pool.
Somewhere in the house, a clock chimed, and Damien stepped back. Her palm against his chest was the last contact to break.
“I must go,” he whispered, the shadows welcoming him back as he stepped out of the light.
“Must you?” Emma asked breathless, her heart hammering.
“I made a promise to you. And I have... a duty.”
Then he was gone.
“It was quite a magical night,” Emma sighed wistfully, “I did not expect it to be so.”
