He settled her more comfortably on him until she felt filled up with him, body and soul. It was a most glorious sensation, to have him beneath her, waiting on her to take control. No one had ever given her control in anything, and this generally high-handed duke of the realm was giving it to her in this. What a heady feeling!
“I’m mad for you, you know,” she whispered as she rose up and came down on him again. “Out of my mind for you.”
“So you love me at least a little?” he murmured.
She heard the faint uncertainty in his voice and drew back to stare at him. In that moment, she realized how deeply his mother’s seeming abandonment and his aunt and uncle’s changeable treatment had wounded him, made him afraid he couldn’t be loved. That was at the root of his fear, if anyone dug deep enough to find it.
It made her heart bleed for him. “More than a little,” she said earnestly. “I love you until death do us part and beyond.”
“And you’ll marry me.”
He spoke it like a command, but she could indulge him in that. “Yes,” she said. “Yes.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
In that moment, Grey could feel the very air between them shift. She loved him. Beatrice, trulyhisBeatrice now, loved him. Joy rose in him like a mist of perfume, surrounding him in such a richness of feeling that he could hardly bear his own happiness.
She was smiling at him and riding him like the glorious goddess she was, and he thought he could die content right here in her arms.
“Now that I have . . . whatIwish,” he murmured. “What doyouwish, my love? How can I improve your pleasure?”
Her pretty blush brought him to the edge of release, and he fought to hold it back.
“You could . . . touch me down there like . . . you did before.” After choking out the words, she added hastily, “But only if you want.”
He would have laughed if he hadn’t been struggling not to come. “Like this?” he managed as he fingered her sweet little button.
“Oh,yes,” she breathed. “You’re . . . very good at that.”
With a surge of satisfaction, he kissed whatever exposed part of her he could reach—her chin, her throat, the lovely curve of her clavicle. He sank into the rosewater scent of her, so delicate, so feminine for a woman Sheridan had described as a hoyden. Grey wished he dared remove her clothes so he could fondle her pert breasts, but even he had no wish to tempt fate so blatantly.
After a moment, seeing her fully naked didn’t even matter. She was writhing atop him with her head thrown back and her eyes closed, making him insane, and he was fighting to resist the pull of nature. Just as he thought he couldn’t bear any more, she dropped down on him and cried, “Oh. My.Heavens!”
He came. How could he not? The feel of her engulfing him was pure ecstasy. As he poured his seed into her like the reckless fellow he was, she murmured, “You’re mine now, Grey.Mine.”
The possessive note in her voice delighted him. “So are you,” he choked out, his cock spasming and his body alert to every contraction of her quim. “Mine forever.” When she collapsed against him, obviously replete, he nuzzled her throat. “And don’t you forget it.”
Even half-clothed and draped casually all over him, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. And his, all his.
It took some moments before they came fully to their senses. He began to notice dusk setting in, and the forest growing quiet in anticipation of the night. They should go. But he was loath to leave just yet.
“Mmm,” she whispered. “That was wonderful.”
He chuckled. “You are very easy to please.”
She drew back to eye him askance. “Are you saying your lovemaking is inferior to that of other men?”
“And if it is? Would you still marry me?”
She looped her arms about his neck. “I would marry you if you were a complete incompetent at it. Which, by the way, you are not.” She kissed his nose. “You make me happy. You understand me. I need nothing else, Grey.”
That sent his heart soaring, an unfamiliar sensation for him. “Then perhaps you should call me by my Christian name.”
“Fletcher? I prefer Grey. It suits you better.”
He blinked. “You know my Christian name?”
“Of course I know it, silly. Sometimes your mother even calls you by it. Besides, it’s written out in full with your titles whenever you appear in the scandal sheets.” She adopted a pompous tone: “‘Fletcher Pryde, the Duke of Greycourt, was seen with opera dancer Whatever-Her-Name-Is. They were clearly quite intimate.’”
