Any Duchess Will Do (Spindle Cove #4)(57)
Author: Tessa Dare

With every stroke, his body rubbed hers in just the right place. Her head rolled back and her eyes squeezed shut. She felt the pleasure building, drawing tight all through her body. Release was so close.

He groaned deep in his chest, and the sound sent worry shooting through her. Perhaps release was close for him, too.

They hadn’t discussed what would happen at the end. The anxiety was enough to drag her back from the edge.

“Let go,” he said.

She opened her eyes. He was looking down at her, his face a mask of resolve. His rhythm never faltered for an instant.

“I have you. Just let go.”

And that was when she realized . . . he wouldn’t stop until she reached her peak. He just wouldn’t. He would stroke on. And on. And on for hours, if she needed it. Plowing his hardness into her over and over again, just as many times as it took to reduce her to quaking, shuddering bliss.

This man would not be denied.

“I have you.” His whispered words were hoarse. “I have you now.”

He covered her hands with his, pinning them to the bed. And she let go. Her arms went limp and her hips thrashed beneath his. Little sobs began to escape her as each thrust drove home.

Through it all, she stared into his eyes, unable to look away. Those dark eyes were her anchor.

“Come. For the love of God. Come, Pauline.”

Hearing her name from his lips . . . it undid her. Because it let her know this was for her. All this heroic, erotic effort was for her.

Her crisis broke, rocking her with waves of keenest pleasure. The climax went on and on—battering her, body and soul, with fierce, unparalleled joy.

He slid back on his haunches and took her by the waist, lifting her body with those powerful arms.

“Griff . . .” she whispered, hoping she wouldn’t need to say more.

“I know.” He grimaced with pleasure. With a growl and a desperate jerk of his hips, he withdrew and spent himself somewhere in all those folds of sheets and petticoats.

Afterward, he collapsed beside her on the bed, perspiring and working for breath. They lay that way for several minutes, staring wordlessly up at the bed’s canopy and struggling for air.

What now? she wondered. Perhaps now that his desire was slaked, he would feel regret. Perhaps whatever emotions he’d imagined he had for her were obliterated by the force of his climax.

The longer they lay there, side by side but not embracing, the more anxious she became.

She’d known this couldn’t last beyond the week. But was it already over?

Finally, with a soft groan, he put an arm about her. “Come here.” He rolled her close and pressed a tender kiss to the crown of her head.

She couldn’t help it. She wept with relief.

He pulled her tight, tucking her head to his chest and guarding her with his body. He didn’t try to stop her weeping, didn’t chide her for nonsensical tears. He just allowed her to have her feelings, and he held her all the while. As though he understood that all other men had failed her in this one simple way, and he was determined to make it right.

After some time, she laid her head on his chest. “I’d only been with one other man before you. Errol Bright, the shopkeeper’s oldest son. He said he loved me. He said a lot of things, and made a great many promises he never saw through.” Her face pinched in embarrassment. “I’m just telling you this because I don’t want you to think I’m expecting more. I don’t want promises from you, Griff. But I hope you understand that I don’t do this often, or with just any man. Even if it’s only this once, it means something to me.”

Her head rose and fell as he took a slow, deep breath. His hand found hers and clasped it. “Pauline? Please believe I say this in all sincerity. I am honored.”

Her breath rushed out in a relieved sigh. She didn’t know what she’d been hoping to hear—but what he’d said was even better. There was a ring of newness in those words: I am honored. Somehow, she doubted he’d spoken them to a woman before. Not in bed, at least.

She turned in his embrace, skimming a possessive touch over his chest. He groaned in encouragement. She loved that she could be free to touch him now, explore him everywhere.

Her fingers found the red, not-quite-healed slash on his biceps, and she traced it. “Are you in pain?”

“No, not . . . not there.”

His words had the deep resonance of a confession. She treasured those two syllables of raw honesty.

“Is it this?” she asked, touching the small bruise on his cheek from where she’d punched him yesterday.

“No.”

“Somewhere else, then.” She dropped her hand to his bare chest, covering his thudding heart. “Somewhere deep inside. You’re hurting.”

He nodded. “Like the devil.”

Her curiosity was intense, but she resisted the urge to press him for explanations or details. He’d trusted her with this much. Perhaps he would trust her with more, in time.

“Can I kiss it better?” She gave him a playful smile.

“I don’t think so.” He thoughtfully brushed a lock of hair from her face. The glint in his eyes went from wounded to wicked. “But I could be persuaded to lie very still while you exhaust yourself in the attempt.”

Chapter Nineteen

In another hour’s time they’d exhausted each other.

Griff stroked her hair, forcing himself to relax and surrender to the simple pleasure of being kissed. Her lips touched his chest, his shoulders, his neck, his belly. She was as thorough as she was sweet, covering every inch of him with tender brushes of her lips. She didn’t manage to heal all his deepest, darkest wounds with her attentions—but she made his mind go blank, which was almost as good.

And when her tongue traced a path from his navel downward, he reached a breaking point.

“I need you again.” He took her by the waist and lifted her above him, trapping his hard, aching c**k at the apex of her cleft. “Take it in your hand. Guide me in.”

If she felt any trepidation at his bold request, she didn’t show it.

A rosy flush bloomed over her chest as she reached between them. She held him in place as he moved her slowly down, lowering her heat to envelop his full length.

She fit him like a well-made glove, hugging him tight as he guided her up and down, teaching her how to ride him.

Clever girl that she was, she caught the spirit and rhythm of it soon enough. Her palms braced flat against his chest, pinning him to the bed. Her thighs flexed as she dragged herself up and down. Those pert, delicious br**sts bounced and swayed. If he’d ever beheld a more erotic view, he couldn’t recall it.