The Last Duke (Thornton 1)

He rose to his knees, his gaze hot and restless, his face hard with desire, and Daphne caught her breath as she waited for him to shed his clothing and come to her.

In one swift motion, he raised her legs over his shoulders, opening her totally to his possession. Before Daphne could protest, he bent his head, sinking his tongue deep, deep into her moist sweetness.

From somewhere in the distance, Daphne heard her own muffled shriek, and then the world spun away until she knew only Pierce’s mouth, Pierce’s tongue, and the forbidden ecstasy he was lavishing on her senses. She couldn’t bear it, struggling for him to stop at the same time as she begged him to continue. Pinpoints of unendurable need melded into one, spiraling endlessly, converging until they exploded into a shattering starburst of sensation that convulsed throughout her body, leaving her limp and barely conscious.

Vaguely, she heard Pierce make a sound of inarticulate wonder, felt the bed give as he vaulted to his feet, dragged his trousers from his body.

“Daphne.” Her name was an endearment, and Daphne’s lashes lifted as her husband came down over her. He nudged her legs apart, then paused, whip-taut, in the cradle of her thighs. “I have to have you.”

She welcomed him, body and soul, reaching up to caress the taut muscles of his forearms, wrapping her legs around his as she gave him the answer he sought. “You do have me, Pierce. You always will.”

With a ragged groan, Pierce thrust into her, one long, inexorable stroke, stretching the tender skin that still reeled from his earlier assault.

Oblivious to the minor twinge of discomfort, Daphne sobbed her pleasure, utterly engulfed in renewed sensation. She arched to meet him, opening herself to take him as totally as her body would allow.

Pierce stiffened as he sensed her body’s resistance. “Snow flame.” He could scarcely breathe, much less speak. “Am I hurting you?”

Fiercely, Daphne shook her head, winding her arms and legs about him. “No. Don’t stop.”

Bracing himself on his forearms, Pierce withdrew slowly, shuddering as he searched his wife’s flushed face. “God help me, I don’t think I can.” Even as he spoke, he was pushing into her again, groaning aloud as her muscles clasped him tightly, lured him deeper into her velvety wetness. “Christ, you strip away all my control.” His hips were moving of their own volition, the friction of her tight passage around his rigid shaft more than he could bear. “Daphne, I can’t go slowly. I’ve got to—”

“Yes,” she whispered.

He swore softly, hooking his arms beneath her knees to bring her up harder, open her m

ore fully to the dark craving that clawed at his soul. “If I hurt you—”

“You won’t.” She threaded her fingers through the damp hair at his nape, as unafraid as she was certain of Pierce’s need and her own. “I love you, Pierce.”

The world exploded at her vow.

His restraint splintering into nothingness, Pierce surrendered to the wildness, his urgency beating, inside him like a relentless wave pounding at the shore, to be assuaged only when its power was spent. His thrusts became savage, incessant, demanding every ounce of passion Daphne could give.

She gave it all.

With a fervor she never knew she possessed, Daphne met her husband’s body thrust for thrust, immersed in his frenzied drive for fulfillment. Drowning in sensation, she dug her nails in his back, whimpering his name with each downward stroke, moaning uninhibited pleas for more that at any other time would make her blush.

“Daphne.” Pierce’s powerful muscles went rigid, his body drenched in sweat. He threw back his head, the tendons in his neck standing out as his body reached a pinnacle of sensation too sharp to withstand, too miraculous to define. “Take me, Snow flame,” he ground out, crushing her loins to his. “Meld your fire with mine.”

His words ended on a groan, and he shuddered, once, twice, his hips moving convulsively, his fingers biting into the tender skin of her thighs.

Daphne felt his first burst of wet heat inside her—a sensation so profoundly beautiful, so excruciatingly erotic that it pushed her over the edge. Absorbing the enormity of his climax, she surrendered to her own, dissolving around him in hard, gripping contractions that made him shudder anew, pour into her with a second climax more powerful than the first.

He collapsed on top of her, the intimacy of his weight as wondrous as the passion that preceded it.

Joyously content, Daphne trailed her fingers along the hard, damp planes of Pierce’s back, feeling the muscles flex against her fingertips, the tremors of reaction still rippling through him.

“Snow flame,” he managed, his lips in her hair. “It’s never been—”

“I know.” She brushed her open mouth against his shoulder, repeating the declaration she’d given him at the height of their passion. “I love you, Pierce.”

She felt, rather than saw, his reaction; a slight tensing of his body against hers.

“Christ, I need you,” he choked out, reluctant and incredulous all at once. “It scares the hell out of me how much.”

“I know both those things as well,” Daphne acknowledged, rubbing her cheek against his skin. “But Pierce?”

He raised his head, gazed down at her.