“Like an adventure,” Rosilee breathed.
A low chuckle filled her ears, and shivers broke out all over her skin, causing her to clenchthere. This was the first time she’d heard him do anything near a laugh.
His gaze met hers. “I’m going to move now.”
Was it customary to speak in this way at such a moment?“Why are you telling me this?”
“So that you are prepared.”
Prepared for wha—
She gasped as he withdrew and thrust into her. Ah. So,this. Her whole being felt weak, but his arms tightened around her,holding her against him, grounding her, and his body took on a steady pace. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest, the rapid beat of his heart against her own. It was as if, in that moment, they were the only two people in the world.
She raked her nails down his spine, grasping him with a need she couldn’t name. He groaned, and she loved the raw, naked pleasure he got from it, so she did it again.
He cursed. “I love your hands on me.”
I love yours on me, Duke.
Rosilee shut her eyes and lost herself in the sensations of their bodies drawing pleasure from each other.
Could I stay like this with him forever?
Blake’s entire bodyshuddered at her touch.
He had meant to go slowly. He had meant to be gentle. Very slow, and very gentle. This night was already a miracle. That she wanted him this way was the biggest miracle of all. She was everything that was good. Everything that was angelic.
And he . . .
He was everything that was . . .
No.
He couldn’t think like that right now. Not while he was with her, even though a part of him raged that only a beast would take the woman of his dreams on the ground in the garden. But she had said it was perfect, and admittedly, he couldn’t say no to her no matter how much he knew he should push her away, walk away,run. But he didn’t possess that sort of strength. Not with her. Not ever.
Which was why he wanted to take his time to savor the moment and be as gentle as she deserved. But she didn’t seemto want that. Every touch, every single response, spoke of an urgency he himself shared.
She scraped his back with both hands again. His whole body jerked as, this time, she dug deep. His pace grew fiercer, deeper, harder.
Christ.
He brushed his lips over the swell of her breast, inhaling the addicting sweetness of her scent. Roses, he thought, but he couldn’t be sure. When had he last smelled a rose? He’d fill his garden with them when he got home.
She arched into him, a wordless demand for more. Blake was only too happy to provide. His mind, his body, and everything in between moved with its own force and beyond his control.
Pressure built at his base.
Every touch in his life had been woven through with distaste and horror.
Except for her. Only her. Always her.
She unraveled him completely.
“Bloody hell, Rosilee,” he breathed, his mind going blank as pleasure ripped through him. She shattered with him. The soft cry of his name broke the air, and damnation, it undid him. He caught it with his lips, desperate to claim it, taste it, to make it his—not wanting to miss the moment to draw that precious sound into him as if he could make it a part of his very soul.
His name on her lips—it was like a prayer.
No other woman had ever made him feel like this—no touch had ever sparked such raw, consuming fire.
