Page 27 of A Bride for the Duke of Sin (Ton’s Wolves #3)

CHAPTER 27

H is 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— all of 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.

But if he did just that, she feared that he would inevitably tear her apart.

“How do you feel?” he asked her, concern creeping into his voice.

She looked up at him and bit her lower lip. What was she supposed to say?

“Well, you are extremely large…” she began.

To her surprise, he grinned rakishly at that. Was this really the time for him to be so conceitedly proud of his girth?

“I shall go slowly, then,” he promised her. “I will not move until you tell me to.”

Phoebe nodded.

When the initial discomfort waned, she relaxed her death grip on his arm, and he slid into her a little further. It did not hurt as much as it did this time, and so she nodded shyly to him.

Yes, please… do ravish me. But do it slowly, or you might just tear me apart.

The thought of it was so ridiculous that she found herself relaxing even more as he slid deeper into her.

And then deeper still.

Dear heaven, just how deep could they go?

Phoebe nearly giggled in hilarity.

And then, he stopped .

“It is going to hurt a bit more, sweetheart. I am so sorry. If there was any other way I could spare you?—”

She pressed a finger to his lips, cutting him off. “I can take it.”

She watched as his eyes darkened at her words.

I can take it.

For him, she could just about take anything. What more if he broke her maidenhead and she became his in full?

“Oh God, Phoebe,” he groaned into her shoulder.

She laughed softly. “I do not think this is the proper time to be invoking His presence, my h?—”

She let out a sharp gasp when he surged into her, breaching her maidenhead and sheathing himself inside her to the hilt. Her fingertips dug into the muscles of his back as she clutched at him.

Oh, goodness! There was pain, but not as bad as they all seemed to say.

“Oh God, Phoebe,” he whispered hoarsely. “I have hurt you horribly, have I not?”

She shook her head. “I thought we should not be invoking God’s name when we are… doing not-so-godly things,” she managed in a shaky voice.

He gave a low laugh and dropped his head to her shoulder. “I would much rather hear you calling out my name.”

She narrowed her eyes and smiled mischievously at him. “Oh?” she purred. “So, you like it when I do that?”

His eyes darkened with desire as he looked at her. “Temptress.”

He began to move inside her in slow, gentle thrusts, and all thoughts—rational or otherwise—flew out of Phoebe’s head. It still hurt a little, but there was also pleasure in his tender conquest of her.

She sighed and relaxed, feeling the familiar throbbing ache return.

Then, his thrusts became faster, longer. Deeper.

And within her, she felt the climax begin to build to a wild crescendo.

She sighed. And then, she moaned.

Her eyes fluttered shut, and her hips bucked up to meet his. The burgeoning pleasure was familiar but strange at the same time. Like when he touched and licked and sucked on her but more .

So much more.

She looked up and found his eyes closed, his brow shiny with sweat as he pounded into her. The raw pleasure on his face seemed to only heighten her own.

She did this to him, she realized. He was losing control because of her .

And that was far more powerful than anything he could have ever done. Phoebe felt herself splinter into a million fragments as the force of her orgasm crashed down upon her.

Her back bowed off the bed as a keening cry tore from her lips. At the same time, Ethan let out a low growl, the muscles of his arms tensing as he surged into her one final time, burying himself deep inside her.

She felt a warmth spread within her as he groaned and gathered her into his arms, raining kisses on her forehead.

He murmured apologies for hurting her. Promises that it will be better the next time.

As Phoebe gazed up at him in wonder, she felt her chest expand, filling with warmth.

“So, there will be a next time?”

There was no denying it now. She belonged to him—body, heart, and soul.

Next time?

Ethan pulled back from Phoebe with a slight frown. “Of course, there will be a next time, sweetheart. Many more next times, in fact.”

“Oh, good,” she murmured, sleep creeping into her voice. “I was afraid there would not be more.”

He snorted at that. “Preposterous.”

“I’m glad you think the same way, husband.”

Husband.

He was now her husband in full, and she his wife.

The thought filled him with an inexplicable warmth, and he held her tighter. He pressed a soft kiss to the crown of her head before sliding off the bed and ringing for the servants.

Phoebe rolled over with a slight frown. “What are you summoning the servants for?” she asked him.

“Warm water, Duchess,” he told her with a soft smile. “You will need it for the… soreness.”

“Oh.” Her cheeks darkened with a most adorable flush, and Ethan pressed another kiss to the tip of her nose before he went out to relay his instructions to the poor soul he managed to summon that night.

Fortunately, it was not some untrained chit who responded to his call that night, and taking one look at his disheveled state and his hastily tied robe, the maid simply nodded with a knowing smile. Moments later, she returned with a retinue of maids bearing buckets of hot water. After they had prepared the bath for him, they left just as quietly.

Ethan returned to the bedchamber to find Phoebe lying on his bed, her golden hair spread across his pillows like a river of gold. He took the washcloth he had soaked in warm water and began to gently wipe her inner thighs.

“Mmm…” She let out a sleepy moan, blinking blearily at him. “What are you doing?”

He smiled at her. “I had a bath prepared for us.”

“For us?” She frowned slightly.

“You did not think you were going to take a bath without me, did you?” He grinned at her wickedly.

Phoebe laughed and burrowed her nose into his pillow. “On second thought, I think I would much rather stay here. You go on ahead.”

She was very much like a small child, begging to stay abed for a little while longer. However, if she did not soak in the warm water, the soreness would be worse in the morning.

Or so he had been told.

So, Ethan gently gathered her pliant form in his arms, walked to the bathtub, and carefully lowered her into the water. He smiled when he noted the flower petals floating on the water’s surface.

The maids had even gone the extra mile for them both.

Phoebe sighed as he took the washcloth and gently resumed cleaning her up. He had moved up to her belly when she put a wet, soapy hand on his bicep.

“I thought you were going to join me.” She pouted at him.

He laughed and relented, the water sloshing as he lowered himself beside her.

“You are right,” she told him, leaning her head against his shoulder almost instinctively.

“I am right about most things, Duchess,” he gently chided her. “You should have learned that by now.”

“Not really. Just this once.”

“Oh? And what am I right about this time?” he asked her.

“Your bathtub is big enough for the both of us.”

“You will find out soon enough that I am right about a great many things as well,” he promised her.

She let out a soft sigh. “I suppose I can accept that.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “You suppose?”

She nodded and toyed with the petals that floated close to her. “I suppose I can accept that you would be right about a great many things, just as long as you can accept that I am right about a great many more.”

He laughed and drew her into his arms.

Of course, she would never let him have the last word. The strange thing was that he found he was perfectly fine with all of that.

After the bath, they dried each other before Ethan carried her back to the bed once more, as she was barely able to keep her eyes open.

“Phoebe?”

“Hmm?”

They were lying on the bed, with her in his arms. His fingers toyed with the golden waves that spilled over his arm and onto the pillows.

“How do you feel?” he asked her solemnly.

She looked up at him with a sleepy smile. “Honestly?”

He nodded. “Honestly.”

She smiled and buried her nose into his shoulder. “If I had known it would be this wonderful, I would have given up on my dreams of being a spinster much earlier.”

Ethan could not help the soft laugh that bubbled in his chest. “I apologize for breaking your condition, though,” he told her softly.

“What condition?” she murmured sleepily.

“That you meant to fall in love before we consummated our marriage.”

She looked up at him and opened her mouth. Guilt started to gnaw at him, novel and alien and most unwelcome .

But then, she ducked her head and buried her nose back into the side of his neck. “I must concede and admit that you were right about this one,” she told him softly. “Maybe pleasure is enough.”

He sucked in a harsh breath. “Right,” he muttered.

Maybe pleasure is enough.

He should have been pleased that she was finally seeing it his way. Why then did it feel as if his words had come back to haunt him instead?

“Ethan?”

He pressed a soft kiss to the crown of her head, his heart aching abominably. “Yes, Duchess?”

“You talk too much,” she complained. “Let us go to sleep.”

He laughed, although the sound echoed hollowly in his ears. “Sweetheart, if you still have enough energy left after what we did, then I did not do enough.”

She let out a huff that sounded quite like indignation. She threw her arm over his chest and murmured in his ear, “ Stay .”

He opened his mouth to say something, but he heard her soft snore.

She had fallen asleep. In his arms.

But Ethan could not surrender to slumber as easily as she did. He stayed wide awake, holding her in his arms. His heart pounded loudly in his chest.

He had never stayed with a woman after the act. Had never taken anyone to the bath or cuddled after.

Only Phoebe.

She had upended everything in his life from the moment she declared her most ardent affection for him during his wedding.

Everything was changing before he could even take stock of it.

He sucked in a harsh breath.

He needed to get away. He needed to clear his head and get it straight once more.

Slowly, so as not to wake his slumbering wife, he extricated himself from her embrace and slid out of bed. He hurriedly put his clothes back on as best as he could.

I am so sorry, Phoebe. So very sorry.