Page 87 of The Duelist for the Ton
He placed his hand on her cheek and brushed his lips against hers. “The only woman I want to lie with is you,” he said, “but I’ll not take you if you’re not certain.”
She hesitated, as two paths stretched before her. Then she stepped onto the path leading to happiness.
“I am certain, Stephen,” she whispered, nodding. “Iloveyou.”
His nostrils flared at her words, and a sheen of moisture glistened in his eyes.
“Sweet Lord,” he whispered, “what have I done to deserve you?”
He shifted his body, then thrust forward, and she suppressed a whimper at the sharp sting.
He leaned against her, trembling, his breath coming in short, shallow pants.
“D-did I give you pain?”
“Only a little.”
“My sweet, brave girl.” He kissed the tip of her nose, then remained still while her body stretched around him and thepain began to ease to a delicious ache that held the promise of pleasure.
Then he moved, slowly at first, and her body pulsed with pleasure at the delicious sensations that ignited the flame flickering in her center.
“Oh!”
“Hush, my love,” he whispered, his breath hot against her cheek. “Not a sound, remember?”
She clamped her lips together, battling the urge to cry out. With each movement, the flame swelled, and a low groan reverberated in her chest as he quickened the pace.
Then the flame ignited and her body disintegrated as waves of pleasure tore through her. She threw back her head, drawing in a lungful of air. Unable to suppress the cry, she parted her lips, his name filling her mind until nothing else existed in the world—only him.
“Ste—”
He plunged into her once more and silenced her cry with his mouth, thrusting his tongue in, mirroring the actions of his body to mark her as his. Her cries were joined by a deep groan coming from the man inside her. He shuddered while she writhed beneath him, chasing the pleasure. Setting aside all shame at her wantonness, she parted her legs further, then wrapped them around his body, drawing him in deeper.
A primal growl escaped his lips, and he nipped her earlobe, a beast laying claim to his mate. Such baseness—such wicked wantonness—and yet she could never have imagined such pleasure could exist.
Holding her close, he shifted onto his side, still inside her, their bodies entwined as if they were a single creature. She curled into his embrace, nestling her head against his chest until she could hear his heartbeat, thick and strong.
A heart that belonged to her.
He caressed her hair, entwining his fingers through her tresses while she relished the warmth of his body and the tiny pulses of pleasure in her center.
If only they could lie together in that attitude forever! The world outside mattered not compared to the man who cradled her in his arms as if she were the most precious thing on earth.
“Portia,” he whispered.
“Mmm?” she murmured, unwilling to open her eyes.
“There’s something I ought to have asked you.”
She smiled. “Isn’t it a little late for that? You’re already in my bed.”
“No, something else.”
She opened her eyes, and her heart fluttered at the expression in his eyes, the rawness, as if he were baring his soul.
“Lady Portia, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife? I…” His voice faltered and he inhaled and continued. “Forgive me for not asking as you deserved to be asked. But I ask now—will you marry me?”
“Well…” She tilted her head to one side and frowned.
