Page 96 of A Wounded Duke's Passion
Bridget thought of the strange path that had led her to marriage with Anthony, and she found that she rather enjoyed the thought of giving her dear friend the same happiness that she would feel every day and night for as long as she lived.
***
Bridget wrapped her arms around Anthony’s neck. He hefted her into his arms and carried her into his bedchamber. All was dark, save for the silver light of the moon that swept through the room. Anthony laid her carefully onto the bed, and she lay there, smiling at him. For a moment, he only gazed at her.
“You look exquisite in that gown,” he murmured.
“I favor it more than the gown you stained with mud,” she said.
“I am glad. It brings me such joy knowing that I paid for it,” Anthony said. “I have thought so often about what I would feel when I saw you in a gown that I bought for you.”
A tightness curled in her chest. “Did you also imagine removing it?”
“I did.”
He leaned over the bed and slowly removed her gown. Bridget moved to aid him, letting her shoulders leave the bed, raising her ribs and hips. Anthony undressed her with painstaking slowness, and every brush of his fingers against her skin and chemise caused a deep longing to twist within her.
His love had always been quick and passionate, like a fire bursting to life and devouring everything else. This was something new. He moved slowly and deliberately. His hands went next to her stays, and Bridget’s breath hitched. His hands brushed against the tops of her breasts, and her toes curled.
“You are taking forever,” she said.
“Is that a complaint?”
His eyes remained fixed firmly on her face, as he unlaced her stays. Her breath caught in her throat. Even in the dimly lit room, she could see the intensity in his face.
“No,” she breathed.
An ache grew between her legs, as he removed her stays, her stockings, and her chemise. It seemed to take years before she was, at last, naked before him. When he touched her thigh, Bridget’s body was so sensitive and eager that a moan tore from her throat. She shivered. Even the smallest touch made her body shake with anticipation of more.
“Oh, Anthony!”
He deftly removed his trousers and shirt, and Bridget’s fingers curled into the bed linens. When he joined her and sat astride her, she nearly came undone just from her longing for him.
Anthony went onto his knees and forearms and kissed her, slowly and reverently. She tipped her head back and groaned, as he left hot, damp kisses along her neck and made a slow path to her breasts and dipped lower still. Anticipation coiled within her.
“Ready?” he murmured huskily.
“Oh, please!” she gasped.
He buried himself within her in a single motion, and her back arched off the bed. Bridget panted for air, as he found his rhythm. In contrast with his earlier painstaking slowness, now he was fast, nearly desperate. Bridget bucked her hips, meeting his every thrust.
“I love you!” she exclaimed.
He did not answer her, only grinned and brought his head down to kiss her. Anthony never broke his rhythm, and Bridget welcomed the coiling tightness in her muscles. Her release came like the dawn, slow and brilliant, followed by his own. Bridget gasped for air, and Anthony rolled onto the bed linens beside her.
The air was silent, save for their labored breathing. “I think we should engage in rigorous exercise every night,” Bridget said after a moment.
Anthony laughed. “I think we should exercise as many times as we can every single day.”
“I have felt nothing else like this,” Bridget said.
“Because there is nothing like it.”
Bridget rolled onto her side to face him. She sweat from their coupling had dampened, and the cool temperature and her nakedness made her feel wonderfully vulnerable. Anthony embraced her, and Bridget let her leg fall against his own. She wondered if they resembled that painting she had seen earlier in the Season, two lovers intertwined and beautiful.
“What are you thinking of?” he murmured.
“You must not laugh at me.”
