Page 43 of A Wounded Duke's Passion
Anthony nodded curtly. “I am going to retire for the night.”
“Are you well?”
Anthony laughed, drawing a concerned look. He was far from well, but although James had long been his confidant, this felt too intimate to speak of.
“Lady Victoria asked me the same question,” Anthony replied, removing his jacket.
“And you have not answered it,” James said.
Anthony sighed. “It is nothing,” he said. “It is only that my mind is…occupied. I have much to think about.”
His eyes lighted on his bed, and he imagined Bridget spread beneath him, her delicate hands curled in the fine fabric. Bridget would groan and buck her hips against him. He imagined too easily her round breasts bouncing with every thrust. It had been so long since Anthony had touched a woman.
“Of course, Your Grace,” James replied.
Anthony let his valet help him undress. Then he strode to his bed and collapsed onto it. James obediently went about the room, dimming the candles and drawing the curtains over the window. Soon, the room was cast in darkness.
“Good night, Your Grace,” James said.
“Good night to you, also.” Anthony paused and laughed humorlessly. “I am doing better by you, James. You will be able to sleep tonight.”
James chuckled. “I will do that, Your Grace, but if you need me, I will be here.”
He heard James close the bedchamber door. Anthony knew the valet would settle in the antechamber, so he could hear if Anthony needed anything. He stared at the ceiling and wondered if Bridget was also thinking about the kiss they had shared. Before kissing Bridget, Anthony’s last kiss had been with Anastasia. He remembered stroking her hair and whispering how much he loved her. Anthony had burned with desire for her, but he had forced himself to refrain from doing anything more than embracing and kissing her.
There had been thoughts of doing far more, though. He closed his eyes and imagined Bridget beneath him, her flushed face and bright eyes. Anthony swallowed. He felt that familiar stirring in his loins. This had not happened in so very long. He should not think about Bridget in this manner. They were not courting. They were only pretending.
He should not be lying awake at night and thinking of the young lady. Not at all. But he imagined her saying his name in that same breathless tone that she had in the garden.
“Oh, Anthony! Please!”
His thoughts readily produced how her voice would sound when it was thick with desire. He thought of himself touching and kissing every part of her and of her rolling onto her stomach, watching him through lust-filled green eyes. Her long brown hair was strewn over her shoulders and back.
“You are so beautiful,” he mumbled.
He closed his eyes and pressed a hand against his stomach, wishing it were Bridget’s hand instead. Anthony drifted, somewhere between wakefulness and sleep. It was difficult to say if he were dreaming or only thinking, but his thoughts were all of Bridget.
She lay beside him and gazed at him with her bright green eyes, her hair brightened and warm in the flickering candlelight. Bridget traced her hands over his shoulders and down his chest, her lips parted slightly and her brow furrowed. She looked at him with an incomparable intensity, determined to memorize every aspect of his body.
“You are perfect,” she murmured.
“No, you are,” he said.
Bridget ducked her head and gazed at him from beneath her eyelashes. “We can both be perfect.”
Anthony traced his hands along her side, tracing a path from her ribs to her slender waist and over her hips. His hands gently caressed her buttocks, and Bridget groaned, pressing her body hard against his.
“Oh, please!” she gasped.
Anthony’s manhood grew hard against her stomach. Need surged through him, and his hand found that place between Bridget’s thighs. His fingers brushed against her entrance, and she groaned. Anthony pressed a finger inside her, delighting in the tightness and wetness of her walls pressing against him.
“Oh!”
Her nails dug into his back, as she braced herself against him. Anthony pumped his finger in and out. Her walls pressed against him, and Bridget’s body moved, matching his rhythm easily. Bridget gasped for air, and that familiar pink flush spread across her cheeks.
Her legs trembled, and Bridget tossed back her head. A sharp cry tore from her throat, and Anthony felt that same sound rumble within his own chest. His body shook as he adjusted their positions. Bridget lay beneath him, gasping for air.
“Are you ready?” he murmured.
