The Last Duke (Thornton 1)

He made quick work of that, tugging down both gown and undergarment, freeing first one arm then the other, lifting them to clasp about his neck. “You’re beautiful,” he breathed, baring her breasts to his gaze, his touch. “So bloody, incomparably beautiful.” He watched her breath come faster, her nipples tightening beneath his heated gaze. Slowly, slowly, he lowered his head, surrounding one peak with his mouth, teasing it with his tongue.

Daphne cried out, arching reflexively, her fingers gliding through the rough silk of his hair.

Pierce deepened his caress, tugging and releasing until he was nearly wild, consumed by her taste and scent, her harsh pleas for more. He raised his head, panting, watching her flushed face, the look of wonder in her eyes.

“Don’t stop.” Daphne shifted restlessly, unconsciously beckoning him forward, urging him toward her other breast.

Instantly, he answered her plea, stroking the pad of his thumb over her sensitized nipple once, twice, finally bending to taste this breast as he had the other.

Suddenly, unbearably, it wasn’t enough—not for either of them.

Vaulting to his feet, Pierce kicked off his boots, shedding his coat, open shirt, and waistcoat with the same predatory grace that accompanied all his actions. He dropped to his knees, easing Daphne’s gown down and off, taking her chemise, stockings and petticoats with it.

Seconds later, she was naked, lying before him like an exquisite, ethereal goddess.

Nervously, Daphne stirred, watching his burning gaze lick over her, torn between the desire to cover herself and the equally powerful desire to launch herself into his arms.

Pierce met her stare. “You’re flawless, Mrs. Thornton,” he whispered roughly. Sensing her uncertainty, he reached out, took her hands in his. “See how I’m shaking?” he murmured, letting her feel the tremors of desire quivering through him. “I’m like an untried schoolboy. That’s the effect you have on me.” He kissed her palms. “Don’t pull away, Snow flame. If I don’t have you, I’ll die.”

“Oh, Pierce.” She freed her hands, glided them up his chest to his shoulders. “I feel as if I were dying now. I ache so.”

“Do you?” He stretched out beside her, gathering her close, intentionally rubbing her sensitized breasts against his chest, reveling in her moan of pleasure, her hard shudder. “God, I love the way you respond to me.” He kissed her again, melding their tongues, their breath, beginning an intimate rhythm meant to drive them both out of their minds.

He succeeded.

Feeling Daphne undulate against him, Pierce devoured her with his hands, caressing her hips, her legs, the satiny skin of her inner thighs with strokes of fire, his control dangling precariously by a thread.

Unaware she was doing so, Daphne shredded that thread into tatters, instinctively parting her thighs and offering him the very core of all he craved.

His fingers found her, wet and warm and so breathtakingly ready for him it annihilated all reason from his mind. He entered her with one finger, groaning aloud at the clinging resistance. “So damned tight,” he rasped, easing another finger in, stretching her gently to accommodate his penetration. “So excruciatingly tight and hot and—” He broke off, unable to continue.

“Is that bad?” Daphne gasped, inadvertently gripping his fingers inside her. “Because I can’t help—”

“Christ.” Pierce pulled away only long enough to shed the rest of his clothes. “No, it’s not bad. It’s perfect. You’re perfect.” He was already settling himself in the cradle of her thighs. “You need more time, more preparation. I can’t give them to you.” He braced himself on his forearms, easing into her beckoning warmth. “Daphne, I’ve got to be inside you. I’m going to—” He threw back his head, groaning as he felt her inner muscles expand, stretch to accommodate him. “I’m going to hurt you, Snow flame. And I swore I wouldn’t.” He went deeper, his hips moving rhythmically with a will all their own. “Take me—now. God I’m sorry. Daphne—” In one inexorable thrust, he entered her, feeling her maidenhead give beneath the onslaught, burying himself deep, deep inside her.

Daphne cried out, a brief instant of sharp pain vanishing into a sense of fullness, converging with the overwhelming realization that Pierce was inside her.

Emotion, vast and fervent, surged to life, annihilating all traces of discomfort, transforming to wonder as Pierce began to move within her. Hard and fast, his powerful body drove forward, again and again, the taut muscles of his back contracting with each plunging thrust.

“Move with me,” he rasped, lifting her legs about his waist. “Christ, Daphne, I can’t stop.”

Immersed in her husband’s passion, impaled by his power, Daphne rose to meet him, clutching him to her, pulling him deeper, deeper each time, physical pleasure coiling so tight inside her she thought she’d die.

“Yes,” Pierce growled in her ear, gripping her bottom and hauling her up, hard, until she cried out his name. “Just like that. Again. Yes, like that. Ah, God, Daphne.”

A red haze exploded inside his head, toppling all his self-protective walls, stripping away any semblance of control he ever had. Driven by compulsion and yearning, he buried himself in his wife, groaning her name as he drove them closer and closer to the shattering brink of sensation.

“Pierce.” Daphne dug her nails in his back, overwhelmed by the unknown pressure escalating inside her, threatening to tear her apart. “I—”

“Yes.” Feeling the coiled tension take over Daphne’s body, the frantic clenching of her slick passage around him, Pierce knew far better than his wife where she hovered, how close she was to the raging vortex they sought. He moved up higher, intentionally angling his body to stroke her, inside and out, on his next downward thrust. Watching her fevered expression, he drove forward, relentlessly opening her, stretching her, caressing his full length against her most sensitive, throbbing core.

The world came apart.

Daphne screamed, unraveling in a series of pulsing spasms that wrenched at her, tossing her into euphoric sensations too acute to withstand—and gripping Pierce with fingers of fire too lethal to endure.

Withdrawal was unthinkable.

With a feral roar, Pierce erupted, plunging, deep, his seed exploding from his body into hers in an endless torrent. Crushing Daphne into him, he surrendered totally, meeting each of her contractions with a scalding burst of fire, pouring his very soul into the mouth of her womb.