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Just Alistair.

Alistair and Olivia.

Society might not think her a fitting duchess, but here and now, she was his. His bride, his wife.

And he was hers.

He was baring himself to her, giving all of himself to her…

In that moment, Olivia knew she was half in love with her husband.

When she leaned forward to kiss him, his hardness slid from her just slightly, and she gasped against his mouth. His lips curled, and the pad of his thumb found her clitoris and pressed against it, making her buck into his hold.

She sank back down, then lifted herself again.

Oh my.

This angle meant each time he was fully sheathed, the tip of his cock hit a sensitive spot deep inside she never knew existed. Soon she was taking advantage of that fact, rocking against him, each breath releasing in a little whimper. She cupped her breasts in her hands, tugging at the nipple as he’d done with his teeth, desperately racing toward the edge as she rode toward pleasure.

Half the time her eyes were closed against the incredible sensations coursing through her, determined to capture them and savor them. But when she met his gaze…

He was as desperate as she was.

Alistair’s lips were parted, his breathing harsh. A muscle jumped in his temple, as if he was straining to hold himself back.

Was he?

Was he controlling himself…for her? He was giving this to her?

Her gait faltered, and she slowed, studying his pale eyes.

In response, his fingers dug into her hips and his tongue darted across his lips.

She was so close. So close to finding oblivion. But she couldn’t look away from his eyes.

And his lips parted.

“…Liv…” Alistair rasped, the sound a sort of whispered rattle.

She froze, eyes wide, reaching for him. Her palms landed splayed on his chest and neck, as if she could pull him closer. “Alistair? You—you spoke?”

He swallowed, then—still holding her gaze, beads of sweat forming at his temples—he dropped his chin once in a nod.

Olivia could feel her own heartbeat throbbing around his hardness. So close, so close, and still she held her breath, unable to truly contemplate this miracle before her.

He’d spoken. He’d said her name.

And tears formed at the corners of her eyes. “Say my name again,” she demanded hoarsely.

“Liv.”

The tears spilled over at the same moment he pressed his thumb against the bud of her pleasure, and she exploded.

Exploded into a million pieces, into a million sharp glittering shards of light, all of which screamed his name.

Alistair.

Alistair.