What a Duke Dares

Chapter Thirty-Five

Supporting Sophie’s back with spread hands, Harry gently lowered her onto the chaise longue. His conscience gave one last squeak at the idea of debauching the Marquess of Leath’s sister in his aunt’s house and with his sister’s unknowing connivance. But the warm, lithe reality of Sophie beggared caution.

Sophie’s arms twined around his neck and she covered his face and neck and shoulders with enthusiastic kisses. Harry followed her down, sliding between her legs. She wriggled, brushing him with her mound. The feathery touch threatened to undo him. He gritted his teeth and prayed for control. This was her first time and he wanted her to enjoy it.

“Sophie, easy now,” he gasped as she tilted her hips in invitation. “This can be uncomfortable if you’ve never done it before.”

“It doesn’t feel uncomfortable,” she said and, God help him, curled her bare legs around him until her feet caressed the backs of his thighs.

Seeing her—flushed, aroused, excited—sent good intentions flying. “Do you know what’s going to happen?”

“Yes. My governess was a widow who thought girls shouldn’t be kept ignorant.” Her soft laugh set off vibrations that added another layer to Harry’s torment. “She made me promise never to tell my brother.”

“I can imagine. What did she say?”

He waited for Sophie to repeat the accepted advice to blue-blooded young women approaching marriage. About obedience and pain and procreation.

“She said that if I loved the man and he loved me and we were kind and patient with each other, nature would work its magic.”

Shock made Harry rear up. He stared at the gorgeous creature beneath him. “Your brother should have paid her double.”

Their mouths molded together. When he raised his head, he heard her unsteady breathing. “Now touch me,” she whispered.

He didn’t succumb, whatever frantic approval his cock sent to his blood-starved brain. “Are you sure?”

Laughter lit her face, but profound emotion underlay the humor. “Harry, I’m naked in your arms. That means I’ve surrendered.”

The gleam in her eyes was irresistible. “All hail the victor.”

When she stretched up to kiss him, he couldn’t hold back. He’d wanted her so long.

He stroked her. Now she was naked, it felt like exploring a new country of gentle hills and valleys and plains. He concentrated on sensitive regions. Behind her knees. Her sweet, beaded nipples. Her nape. Deliberately he didn’t touch her sex, although her female scent made him shake with need. He kissed the tip of her breast, then drew it between his lips, hearing her sigh of pleasure. He rolled the other nipple between his fingers.

She shifted restlessly. “Oh, Harry…”

His tongue teased her nipple as his hands drifted down her flanks to her waist and the alluring flare of her hips. Finally, unable to wait, he slipped his hand between her legs. He stroked the satiny folds, finding the place that made her gasp and tremble. Taking encouragement, he touched her over and over until she cried out and gushed over his fingers. When he raised his head, her eyes were dark and her face was flushed. Her parted lips were full and red.

“Sophie?”

She blinked as if returning from far away. “I liked that.” Her slender throat worked as she swallowed. “Can you do it again?”

Triumph surged. “Shall I try?”

Her flush became more hectic. “Harry, I feel… empty without you.”

Immediately he understood. Hunger vied with his overwhelming need to cherish her. For all her vitality and eagerness, she seemed fragile. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

She pressed so close to where he wanted her. Every time she moved, he struggled not to penetrate her. “I want you.”

Rapidly he reached a point where he needed to take the final step in this dance or leave the house. Given his state of undress, that would give the good residents of Russell Square something to talk about.

Very gently, he slid one finger into her. His belly contracted at how tight she was. He stroked her deep, feeling her clench. He used two fingers, making her pant for air. She was sleek and wet and her scent sharpened with need.

He stroked her until she quaked under the intimate caress, then he withdrew and propped himself above her. She raised her knees and tilted her chin with a defiant gesture that was so familiar, so beloved, that his pounding heart skipped a beat. Still, careful of her innocence, he eased forward. He inched inside until she’d accepted the head completely. She quivered and dug her fingers into his arms.

He kissed her until she relaxed. He pushed further. She breathed in gusts. A line appeared between her fine blond eyebrows.

“Should I stop?” he grated.

She shook her head and he felt her brace. Her tightening body blasted him with pleasure. “You’ll split in two if you stay this rigid.”

“This isn’t very… nice.” She closed her eyes on a wince.

“Sophie, I can stop.” He wasn’t sure he could. But he’d try. Dear heaven, he’d try. His carnal nature yelped denial at the prospect of chaste adoration. Having touched her body and witnessed her pleasure, it seemed the direst punishment.

“Don’t… stop.” To back up that choked command, she angled her hips, drawing him deeper.

“I must.” Sweat covered his skin and his muscles ached. His teeth must be ground to powder.

“No.” She clasped his buttocks. Her touch made him shake.

“Sophie, I’m sorry,” he muttered in a mixture of despair and unworthy pleasure. “I’m so sorry.”

On a deep groan, he thrust forward. She jolted at the invasion and released a soft cry. He closed his eyes and basked in heavenly completion. He felt part of her. They were united in a way that extended beyond words. No man could sunder them now.

He lowered, supporting his weight on his hands. Nuzzling her cheek, he pressed his chest into her breasts. She remained still and silent. He told himself to retreat. But he’d exhausted control. Instead, he stretched above Sophie in delight and self-hatred, and wondered despairingly whether she’d ever forgive him.

She moved. She probably wanted to shove him away and order him never to touch her again. He couldn’t blame her. The fact that it was good—beyond good—for Harry was irrelevant. Or at least so he told himself.

Then unbelievably, she slid her arms around his back. And Harry, who thought he couldn’t love this girl more, broke into a whole new universe of love. “My darling—” he sighed against the curve of her neck.

Not satisfied with that one astoundingly generous act, she shifted, settling him deeper. Heat speared him. He stared down at her. “I love you, Sophie.”

She was pale and still didn’t look like she enjoyed herself, but she summoned a smile. Not her most convincing effort, but he appreciated her trying. “I love you, Harry.”

He pulled away then pushed in. She hid a wince.

“I’m hurting you.”

“A little, but it’s better than it was.” She tightened her grip on his back as though afraid he meant to leave.

As if he could. He kept up the gentle undulation. It gave him blazing pleasure. Surely it must work on her. But still she lay like a frozen doll.

He was about to give up and spill himself on her belly when she released a sob that sounded more like delight than pain. He kissed her and this time she responded with a hint of enthusiasm. When he moved, she clenched in welcome.

With the next thrust, she rose to meet him and joy exploded behind his eyes like victory fireworks. She released a long moan that was a plea for more.

At last.

He couldn’t hold on much longer. Her eyes closed. Her features were strained. She started to shudder. Her nails scraped his back. The sting seared like flame.

On a massive groan, he pumped hard and furious, sealing their union.