Page 67 of A Wicked Duke's Arranged Marriage
“Don’t stop,” she breathed, her chest tightening as that desire pooled even further in her belly. “Oh, God, Henry, please don’t stop.”
It was wanton. The way that she clung to him was needy.
And as he withdrew her fingers, she made a noise of protest, stayed only by the fact that his thumb kept working that magic that it was.
And when he stepped into her, when he spread her thighs further, she was all too eager to welcome him there. To feel something hot and heavy pushing against where his fingers had just been, to hear the way he groaned into her ear. To feel the way his body tensed as he pushed forward and–
“Oh!”
She didn’t have a name for the sensation that rolled through her then.
Not a name for how hard her body seized around his as he pushed into her, his hips jerky despite how sure and steady his thumbs remained.
His hips pushed forward until they were flush against hers and then stopped, a litany of curses and praises falling from his lips as he shuddered into her.
And something broke within her.
She cried out as she fell forward into him, her body quaking as he pushed her hair back and whispered sweetly into her ear.
“Come back to me, Josephine,” he muttered, framing her face with one hand as he lifted her chin to force those colours from her vision and his face back to the forefront again. “I know that was short. Come back to me.” He pushed his lips over hers, his thumb never ceasing its movement as she came back down to earth and felt those same stirrings low in her belly once more.
“Come back to me so that I can make it better. So that I can make it last …”
Last!?
Her eyes shot up to his, confusion filling her.
At least until he captured her lips again. At least until he pulled her off the vanity and onto his hips as he walked the two of them towards the bed.
Again?
Heaven help her.
Chapter 22
“You’re staring again.” Josephine, even after the hours she’d spent in bed with him, still felt self-conscious when he looked at her like that. Like he could see straight through her and inside the core of who she was. Like he had stripped her of more than just her clothing and virginity.
Henry’s lips twitched, his fingers gliding down the slope of her cheek as he offered her an unapologetic half-shrug. “You’re beautiful.”
Josephine spluttered, rolling her eyes, but her cheeks warmed from the compliment all the same. Given what they had just done, she would have anticipated it to mean less. But somehow, with her clothes shed off to the side of the bed and her hair mussed from their strenuous activity, it meant more.
She knew that she had to look a mess, hardly like a respectable lady at all, but Henry stared at her as if she were resplendent in her finest gown and fittings.
“I don’t want to leave,” he continued softly after a moment, his fingers shifting so that he could brush them just barely over the shape of her lips.
“I can’t tell you not to,” Josephine whispered. No matter how much she wished that she could.
“Not yet, you can’t,” Henry corrected with a low chuckle. “But soon …”
Soon. Soon, they would be married, and him being seen leaving her bedchambers would be expected. An everyday occurrence even.
“Maybe another hour wouldn’t hurt,” Josephine murmured, loathe to lose his body heat warming her. Loathe, even more, to miss out on any moment she had left alone with him.
But he hadn’t had another hour.
Josephine felt bold even remembering her suggestion, her blue eyes pondering at her reflection in the mirror. Her cheeks were still stained red at the memory of earlier that morning, and the night before.
God, but he had been … attentive. She didn’t know another word for it.
