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“That was absolutely exquisite,” she gasped, raising her eyes to his. “Surely that cannot be everything, though?”

He groaned and rolled over to press his body against hers once again. “Not quite, sweetheart. There is more.”

She lowered her gaze shyly to his chest as her palm slid under his jacket. He bit back a groan as her fingers brushed over hisnipple. He caught that mischievous little hand before she could unravel him further.

“You must understand that there will be no going back from this,” he warned her. “Once my body is joined to yours, you will be my wife in full.Mine. My Phoebe. My Duchess.”

His heart thudded in his chest as he awaited her reply.

She looked at him, her eyes like dark emerald velvet sprinkled with gold dust. Desire shone fiercely in them.

He had his answer.

CHAPTER 27

His Duchess.

His wife.

The words threaded through her chest, wrapping around her heart.

There was nothing she would rather be than his. To surrender all of herself to him and show him all the beauty in it.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, glorying in the feel of his hard body pressed against hers.

“Make me yours, husband,” she told him with a soft smile.

With a groan, he pressed his lips to hers once more. A kiss to seal the deal. One that would make her his and truly his.

He undid the buttons of his breeches as she impatiently pushed his jacket off his shoulders. She wanted to feel him, too—allof him.

She would have his bare skin on hers, as it had been for men and women since Creation—with nothing between them.

While Ethan eagerly divested himself of his clothing, Phoebe made haste to shove the rest of her gown off her legs. Her chemise was soon discarded just as arbitrarily, flung off the bed without a care in the world.

He succeeded in freeing himself with a groan in her ear, and she felt him—hard and hot and ready—against her inner thigh.

“I want you so much,” he rasped.

She had had his finger inside of her. Now, she would have his manhood, too. The thought of it thrilled and terrified her at the same time, but Phoebe was resolved to belong to him.

She would not wail and cry at her deflowering.

Besides, was she not an author of scandalous fiction? What sort of writer would she be if she sorely lacked experience?

But more than that… she truly wanted to be joined to this man—in body and spirit. Her heart—that treacherous thing—was already his, anyway, she lamented with a sigh.

He nudged her thighs apart with his knee as he settled between them. Phoebe felt the tip of his manhood prodding where his finger had slid deep inside her and gasped.

He inched into her entrance, and she winced, feeling him stretch her most uncomfortably.

Oh my, oh my, oh my!

“This will hurt quite a bit, Duchess,” he apologized. “There is no other way for it. I am so sorry.”

He was much larger than a finger, that was certain. Harder and hotter, too, and oh so hungry for her.

Phoebe wished she could tell him that she was fine. That he could proceed as he wished and sheathe himself fully within her without a care in the world.