Page 39 of Down Bad with the Iron Duke

Rafe started massaging softly, and her thighs shook.

“S-sounds like a very sensible plan, D-duke.”

He licked up her neck, and her moan mixed with his groan. Salt and woman. Well-pleasured woman. He slowly pulled out of her before easing back in just as slowly, not changing the pace of his fingers.

Fuck.

Tight. Hot. Perfect.

“Oh, God,” she whimpered. There was so much pained pleasure in the words. And Rafe couldn’t agree more.

He continued his leisurely pace, ripples of pleasure unfurling in his groin. The bliss was so soft, it settled something inside him. Almost…reassuring. This wasn’t how he usually fucked women; it wasn’t what they wanted from him. But right now, this was exactly what he needed. A comforting bliss to chase away the hauntings of his past. A part of him wished he could do this forever.

“You feel so good.” Her whisper was slurred, her body trembling against him. “This—” she cut off, her head falling back on a tortured moan. “I don’t want it to ever end.”

Something tightened in his chest. An echo of his own thoughts. His past couldn’t ever get to him, not if he was like this.

She canted her hips into his hand, and her core fluttered around his cock—faint, but a sign of how close she was again. But then she caught herself and backed off. Her body was beginning to fight her restraint.

As much as they both might want to stay in this bliss all night, eventually need would win out.

He pressed unhurried, open-mouthed kisses to her neck and shoulder, his tongue dipping out to taste every so often. “We’ll continue as long as you wish. When you’re ready to come, say the word, Miss Dawson.”

A husky chuckle rumbled from her. “I say the word. Like I’m the one calling the shots.”

There was amused disbelief in her tone. Warranted. He did have her pinned to his chest, hands bound behind her back.

“Your body is,” he whispered into her skin. “Fight it as long as you can. But when you can’t any longer…I’ll give you exactly what you need.”

“What do I need, Duke?”

He bit his lip against a grin. He cupped her securely with his palm, bracing her—then drove up into her hard.

A sob pulled from her, her body curling forward. “Shite, shite, shite,” she said, each one its own cry. And she was back to squirming, grinding into his palm while thrusting back against him.

But he stilled her with his hand, slowing his thrusts to a stop, just enjoying the tight squeeze of her around his shaft.

“You want it? You want me to give it to you?”

His cock throbbed, the pleasure torture at this point. His heart thundered against his sternum, a demanding drum. He wanted release so badly. Whenever she was ready. He’d let them have it.

“Yes. No.”

She whimpered and then let out a frustrated groan. Then she shifted against his palm, and her core pulsed. He knew even before the words burst from her.

“Fuck. Now.”

His fingers flew into action, massaging in quick, firm circles, and he drove into her, using his arm around her as leverage. Bloody fucking hell. He gritted his teeth. Fire burned over his skin as lust scorched him from the inside out. Her core rippled over his cock, the most sinful noises falling from her.

His vision dotted over, sweat dripping down his back, hips jerking erratically as he finally gave her everything she so desperately craved—everything they both so desperately craved. Bliss exploded from him as he pumped his hips, his release filling her. He squeezed her tighter to him, their bodies wracked with tremors, every last bit of bliss wrenched from him until there was nothing left.

He buried his forehead in her neck, lungs gulping down air. He’d never come so hard in his life. Slowly pulling out, he tightened his forearm, still providing her support, though with how his thighs were shaking, he was close to taking them both down. His release slid down her legs⁠—

And reality hit him.

The air left the room. He’d come inside her. No barrier. No pulling out. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. That wasn’t something he ever risked. Ever.

He sprang away from her, scrubbing a hand through his hair. His fingers got stuck, and he growled. His curls were starting. He never let his hair get long, but typically his butler in London handled it for him. Oh. My. Fucking. God. This would ruin everything.