The Duchess Hunt (20 page)

“I would still offer it,” she said
quietly.

“Why?”

“Because…” She reached up to stroke his
cheek, rough from a day’s growth of beard. “It is something I want you to
have.” Because if he took her virginity, he’d have it forever. “And it’s not
only that. It’s for selfish reasons, too. Simply put, I want you.”

She wanted to know what it was like to be
loved completely. By Simon. There would be no one else.

He gave a low groan, but then he asked,
“No regrets?”

“Never,” she whispered. No matter what
happened, that was the truth.

He laid her on the bed, and his green eyes
sparkled in the sparse light from the one lamp flickering on the other side of
the room.

“Then we won’t think about what tomorrow
might bring. Tonight belongs to us.”

Chapter
Thirteen

Simon’s touch was electric. It snapped
over every inch of her body until she was a trembling mass of sensitive nerve
endings.

“I want to please you,” she protested.

“
This
pleases me.” He worked his fingers inside her, feathering over
that part of her that made her gasp with pleasure. His mouth seemed to be
everywhere at once. On her lips. On her breasts. Caressing her neck, her
stomach, her hips and thighs. Stroking her in tandem with his fingers between
her legs.

“Watching you,” he said. “Seeing your
pleasure.”
Stroke. Kiss. Caress.
“That pleases me.”

And, not expecting that flush of ecstasy
to overtake her so quickly, she came. He’d told her that was what it was, that
pleasure undulating through her body, originating at her core and spreading
outward to all her extremities. Her body shuddered, and his fingers slid
through an increased slickness between her legs.

“I feel it when you come, Sarah. I feel
your body’s release. I feel your pleasure.
That
pleases me.”

He stroked her until she squirmed, until
her sated tissues were too sensitive for his touch, and then he finally drew
away to lie beside her and pull her against him until their bodies were pressed
against each other, skin to skin from her toes to her lips, and with every
breath she nuzzled against him, inhaling his cedar-and-spice scent.

She might be sated, but he wasn’t. He was
tense and warm, his manhood hard and heavy against her thigh.

“What do you call it?”

“What do I call what?” he rumbled into her
hair.

“This.” She reached between their bodies,
skimming it with her fingertips. “Do you call it your manhood? Your member? I
don’t believe I know of any other terms used to describe it.”

He chuckled against her. “There are many.
What would you prefer? The clinical penis, the erudite phallus?”

“Oh, right. I suppose I might have heard
those two words, too, once or twice,” she mused.

“Then there are the euphemisms. Rod.
Blade. Sword. Horn. Knocker.”

She gave a soft snort, and her body
lurched with a laugh. “Knocker?”

“My schoolmates at Cambridge used that one
often.”

“I suppose I can see where that came from.
It tends to…
knock
… on certain doors, after all.”

“It does.” He chuckled into the softness
of her hair. “And to think – I hadn’t even come to rolling-pin yet.”

“No!” Her body shook with mirth.

“Yes.”

“Are there more?” Her fingertips stroked
over his silky flesh, and he shuddered against her.

“Ah, so many more. There are the more
vulgar terms. Rump-splitter. Prick.”

She made a small squeak, pressing her head
into his shoulder.

“But perhaps we should start with the term
I most frequently use. That organ which you are currently driving mad with your
teasing is called a ‘cock.’”

She looked up at him, confusion drawing
her brows together. “Like… a chicken?”

His chuckle turned into a laugh. “There is
a cock that is a male chicken, and there is the cock between my legs. But I
assure you, there is little resemblance between the two.”

“How very odd.” A smile twitched her lips.
“I shall never look at a cock the same way again. Although, I must agree, I
cannot see any resemblance between the two. One has a bright red cowl and is
feathery and noisy in the mornings, and one —”

His kiss cut off her words. He held her in
a cocoon of warmth and strength, his arms around her, his leg hooked over hers,
his
cock
nestled against her mound.

She held him tight, rubbing against him,
watching the lines of tension on his face deepen. His self-control was
powerful, but she could tell from those little lines that he’d put it to the
test in the last few days.

No more. Not if she had her say.

“Take me,” she whispered to him, and then
she bit down gently on his earlobe.

He turned her to her back and moved so
that he hovered above her. His body slid over hers, his heat stroking the dip
of her pressed-together legs.

“This will hurt.” His voice had changed,
turned gruff and scratchy. He gazed down at her with eyes sparkling emerald
green. “You know I don’t want to hurt you.”

And that was exactly what made it all
right. “Yes,” she whispered. “I know.”

He nuzzled her hair, his lips skimming
along her hairline above her ear. “My body is telling me that I must take you
hard. Possess you completely. Make you mine in every way. Mark you.”

She groaned aloud at that thought. She
wanted that, too. She wanted to lose herself completely to his lovemaking. She
wanted to feel possessed by him, consumed by him, and she wanted the marks to
show it.

“But I can’t. That will hurt you even
more. I must take it slow. And you must tell me to stop if it becomes too
much.”

“Never,” she promised him. She slid her
legs out from under him and wrapped them over the backs of his thighs in a
blatant invitation.

“Sarah,” he said brokenly. Then, balancing
himself on one arm, he reached down to guide himself into her. His fingers
touched her first, and sensation shot through her, for her flesh was still
sensitive from her earlier orgasm. She trembled, and he stopped. His lids,
which had been lowered, rose so that he was looking into her eyes again.

He didn’t speak, and neither did she.
Instead, she arched into him, telling him it was all right, begging him to
continue. And then she felt it. The broad tip of his cock pressing into her.

It didn’t hurt in the beginning. But then,
as he inched into her, he seemed to grow bigger and longer, too big, and an
instant of panic rushed through her, a sharp fear that he would tear her open
from the inside out.

He sensed it. He pulled away, breathing
hard now, and the terror receded. Again, she met his eyes.
No
,
that feeling of panic had been wrong. Her body was meant for his. She
knew
that. Again, she arched into
him.

He tried once more, pushing in slowly. It
didn’t hurt so much this time. He was solid and steely over her, but he was
trembling. Sweat beaded over his brow. And she knew that it was torturing him
to go slow.

He wasn’t fully inside her, but he was
retreating again, pulling away. She was sore, but she’d survive. The panic was
gone. It had been groundless, in any case – no woman had ever died from losing
her virginity to the man she loved.

“No,” she whispered. At the same time, her
hands slid down his muscled back to the top of his buttocks. She pressed him
into her as she arched her pelvis up, wanting all of him.

And he surged into her. The wave of pain
crested, and she let out a small cry. But then it broke and receded, leaving a
dull ache in its wake.

She gasped. She’d never felt so full, like
he touched all of her, inside her body and out, all at the same time.

Locked together. As one. A deep shudder of
pleasure ran through her body. “Oh, Simon,” she whispered. And suddenly she was
on the verge of tears. She couldn’t begin to comprehend why.

She forgot about the tears when he began
to move. Stroking her inside walls with every surge forward and backward
retreat, her own body tightening around him and drawing him in, wrapping around
him in a fist of pleasure.

His fingers curled into her hair, but she
doubted he noticed – she barely did. Her body was so alive with sensation.
There was nothing beyond it. Nothing but the sweet, full feeling of him inside
her. Finally, fully claiming her as his own.

Her body tautened around him. Her legs
clamped over his thighs, her pelvis tilting up instinctively to allow deeper
penetration.

“More,” she whispered, because she could
feel in the tension of his muscles that he still held back. “More, Simon. Give
me everything. All of you.”

It was like she’d unleashed the chains
holding him back. He sank down lower over her until the tips of her breasts
rubbed against his chest with every movement. His breath washed over her cheek
in warm, harsh puffs. His hand tightened in her hair. And his movements became
intense surges of power, deep and full.

It was what Sarah had wanted. What she
needed. She wrapped her arms and legs around him and held on for the ride, her
head nestled in the heated crook of his shoulder.

Simon had finally made her his. Pleasure
erupted through her.

Her body stiffened around him, tighter and
tighter, and then sweet sensation exploded in her blood, racing through her,
making her body jerk and twist in the confines of his embrace. He responded to
her orgasm, his motions growing stronger, then frenzied, and finally, with a
low, guttural cry, he surged into her and held, his body contracting over her
and within her.

The tension in his muscles bled away until
he sank heavily over her, twisting to the side so he wouldn’t crush her, but
taking her with him. They lay facing each other, him still wedged tightly
inside her. She knew he’d finished, but she was glad he stayed inside.

He gazed at her in wonder. “You came.”

She nodded.

He blinked, his dark eyelashes sweeping
down twice. “I’ve never heard of such a thing. A virgin orgasm.”

“You haven’t? You told me women sometimes
come during the act.”

“Not the first time,” he said. “At least…
not that I know of.” He reached up to stroke her cheek with one finger, and his
lips curved. “I suppose I can take that to mean it wasn’t terribly painful?”

“At first it was. But it went away.”
Although now she could feel a not-too-unpleasant soreness setting in. “And then
it felt so good, Simon. So right to have you inside me.”

His smile was gentle. “For me, too.”

She glanced away, feeling suddenly shy.
Although that was surely silly, since they were lying naked together, and he
was still inside her.

He moved slowly, making her gasp as
sensation pricked through her. Oh, she’d thought she was sensitive before, but
now the feel of him stroking inside her was so powerful she could hardly bear
it.

“Too much?” he asked.

“Yes. No.” She looked at him again. “I…
don’t know. It’s just… the sensations are so strong…”

The finger that had been caressing her
cheek smoothed back a lock of hair behind her ear. Then his hand drifted down
behind her shoulder and back until his palm cupped her buttocks. “I could make
love to you all night long.”

She gave a small shudder. Her body was so
alive, prickling with energy.

“But this is too new,” he said, and she
sensed the barest edge of regret in his voice. “You aren’t ready.” He began to
pull away, but she stopped him by tilting her pelvis and pressing her hand on
his lower back.

“Make love to me again, Simon.”

And so, ever so gently, slowly and
lovingly, he did.

Simon knocked on the door to his brother’s
townhouse. His manservant answered. Recognizing Simon immediately, the man
ushered him inside, took his hat and cane, and asked him to wait while he saw
if his master was at home.

Less than a minute later, he returned to
usher Simon into Sam’s study. Sam, who’d been sitting behind his
parchment-strewn desk, stood when he entered. “Trent. Good to see you.”

They shook hands warmly, then Simon took
the seat opposite Sam’s well-worn desk. He always felt at home here at Sam’s.
This was the place he’d hidden himself that Season he’d made all those mistakes
and the female masses of London had been pursuing him with claws extended. Sam
had graciously taken him in and had concealed him until the furor had died
down.

Simon gazed at his brother, who looked
hale and healthy as usual, his skin darkened from the sun to a shade far deeper
than what was fashionable, his shoulders and chest broad and muscular from his
exertions on his secret missions for the Crown.