Page 65 of A Duke to Steal Her
Before she could process what was happening, he’d shoved her back against the wall. His hands braced on either side of her head as he leaned in close.
“I’m the one in charge here,” he growled against her lips, his voice rough with barely leashed desire. “Do you understand me?”
Emily’s breath came in short pants. “Ambrose?—”
“I won’t have you just once, Emily,” he said, his voice low and deliberate, every syllable brushing heat across her skin. “If I take you—trulytake you—it won’t be a passing indulgence or something you can shut away in the dark.”
His eyes locked on hers, hungry and unyielding.
“You’ve never given yourself to anyone. I know that. So, understand me now—I would not be content with a single night. I’d take you again and again, until the only name your bodyremembers is mine. Until your innocence burns away, and all that’s left is the woman who reaches for me without fear, without doubt, because sheknowsshe belongs to me.”
Her heart hammered against her ribs as she spoke. “I know what I long for.”
He eyed her for a moment, his eyes still dark with hunger.
A wicked smile curved his lips. “Then if it’s pleasure you want, I can give you that.”
She gasped, her eyes flying open. “What do you mean?”
“I think you know exactly what I mean.” His thumb traced her lower lip. “But you’ll have to tell me how much you want it.”
Emily stared at him, trembling with equal parts fury and desire. Part of her wanted to slap that arrogant smile off his face. The other part—the part that had been aching for weeks—wanted to surrender completely.
“I have conditions,” she said finally.
“Name them.”
“I want pleasure when I ask for it. But if I say stop, you stop. Immediately.”
Ambrose’s smile widened. “Agreed. Though I should warn you, you won’t want me to stop.”
The confidence in his voice should have infuriated her. Instead, it sent heat pooling low in her belly.
Emily closed her eyes, took a shaking breath, and finally let go of the control she’d clung to for so long.
“Please,” she whispered.
“Please what?” His voice was silk and sin.
“Please… touch me.”
“Louder.”
“Please touch me,” she said, her voice stronger now. “I need… I need you to…”
“To what, my sweet wife?”
“To make me feel what I’ve been dreaming about.” The admission tumbled from her lips. “Please, Ambrose.”
His sharp intake of breath was the only warning she had before his mouth crashed down on hers again. This time, there was nothing gentle about it—only raw hunger and desperate need.
“God, Emily,” he breathed against her throat. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”
And then his hands were everywhere—tangling in her hair, skimming down her sides, gathering up the silk of her skirts. When his mouth found the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder, she cried out softly, her head falling back against the wall.
“That’s it,” he murmured against her skin. “Let me hear you.”
Ambrose’s eyes darkened as he looked at Emily, a raw hunger flickering in his gaze that made her heart race faster than before. His hand slid to her cheek, cupping it with a tenderness that contrasted with the heat of his stare.
