Page 91 of To Steal a Duchess

No matter what.

“Where do you want me to touch you, Duchess?”

His words dripped like warm silk onto her skin, and she tilted her head back. Her body leaned back against the floor, lying flat. Boldly, she kept that hold on his wrist and tugged it between her legs.

“Here,” she breathed. “Here, and do not stop unless it is to give me more of you.”

“I would not stop unless you asked it of me.”

Dorian caught her mouth with his, his free hand sliding up her arm, fingers linking through Eloise’s. And, as much as he pinned her, he claimed her, and Eloise wanted that. She was a duchess—she was a wife. She had become so much more than she ever thought she could be.

“Then take me,” she whispered, “and remind me why you took me in the first place.”

And so Dorian did.

His fingers entered her, bold and spreading, as though he did not want to clutch anything or anyone but her. As though she truly was the only thing that mattered.

Moments later, he pushed up her skirts as his mouth found her neck. He groaned into her skin, his teeth nipping her slightly but not enough to bruise. Still, Eloise arched.

“Dorian,” she exhaled.

“Yes, wife?”

“Enter me.”

Her request was bold and courageous, but she could not hold it back. She needed him. She needed a physical assurance that she was worthy. He made her feel that. She made herself feel that, but it helped that her husband did it, too.

The tip of his length pressed against Eloise, and she parted her legs to let him enter her.

She loved him; she craved him.

She could survive without him but, really, she didn’t want to.

He was hers.

She was his.

And as he entered her, his length thrusting into her all the way, holding her hands where they were spread, she knew she was seen and loved. She took him into her body, her arms raising above her head, pulling her hair from its pins.

“You,” she said, “are mine. With child or not, you are still my husband, and I will still want you. I do not need an answer.”

“I have given you one,” he answered into her neck.

“So have me. Love me.”

Dorian pulled out and then pushed right into Eloise once more, his hips moving with a passion he either couldn’t or didn’t want to, control. Eloise did not mind. She took all he gave. He kept on moving his body against hers, raising Eloise’s legs to hold her close, draping her over his shoulders as he gave her everything.

And all the while, he kept his eyes on her.

Those beautiful, gray eyes.

Finally, they released together, their climaxes happening in tandem, with Eloise crying out and Dorian muffling himself in her neck.

“Dorian,” Eloise pleaded as she circled her hips against him. “Dorian, my duke. Dorian.”

“Say it over and over,” he asked of her, and so she did. And as their release died down, they spoke one another’s names over and over again as though their use of it could make them belong to one another.

“You are my siren,” Dorian whispered once they truly finished. “You truly are, and I believe I have found my way home.”