Page 195 of Desires of a Duke Collection

Henry clasped Sophie by the hips and guided her upon him. His cods tightened at the exquisite sensation of Sophie in his arms, his wife and love. She sighed, a most delectable sound that ignited a fire in his veins, and he thrust into her, needing her, wanting to sate her every desire and wish.

She did not pull away from the madness she dragged forth in him. She rocked against him, taking what she wanted, owning her pleasure with every rise of her sweet derrière. Her fingers tightened painfully in his hair, but he enjoyed it, wanted her to be as mad with pleasure as he was.

He groaned, wanting to consume her, be more than he ever could. He wished he had met her sooner, that she had come to town when so many other debutantes did at eighteen. They could have been married years ago if that were the case.

He could not adore her more if he tried.

He would never understand how he had tumbled so hard and fast for her heart, but he had. There was something about his wife, his duchess, that completed him. She was his friend, the future mother of his children, the new matriarch of the great Holland name.

Maybe even today, on their wedding day, they may be so blessed to start a family.

"Henry!" She rocked against him, her breasts teasing his chest.

He slid his tongue up her neck, wanting to taste her and suckle the sensitive spot beneath her ear. She moaned, tipping her head in acquiescence. He clasped her under her arms, wrenching her down upon him, taking her, fucking her as they both enjoyed.

"I love screwing you," he admitted crudely.

She met his eyes, hers alight with understanding. "I like you screwing me, too," she mimicked wickedly.

Their tupping became frantic, and yet it wasn't enough. He wanted her more. He needed her out of this bath and on his bed. "I want to make you scream on our marriage bed."

She nodded, moving off him. He stood and reached for her, swooping her into his arms, and stepped out of the tub. She squealed, looking about them as the water splashed all over the floor.

"Henry, the water is going everywhere." She giggled as he ignored the mess and continued toward his room.

"That does not signify. There are other things I wish to do to you, and the bath is not big enough to satisfy my every desire."

Her eyes blazed with expectation. "Oh, that does sound intriguing. Would you elaborate on what you will do to me, husband?" Her voice had a sultry edge that hardened his cock to almost painful.

She would soon find out. He had wanted to taste her for some time. And he would. He threw her onto her bed, smiling as she bounced atop the linen.

"Lay back upon the bedding, duchess. I'm going to taste your quim, lick your sweet flesh until you're begging me to fuck you."

Her mouth opened in the most delicious way, and he leaned forward, stealing a kiss, before pushing against her shoulder to do as he asked. She lay back, watching him under hooded eyes before he clasped her ankles and pulled her to the side of the bed.

She yelped and giggled but allowed him his way. Henry slipped her legs over his shoulders and kissed his way along them. They were long and slim, perfect for wrapping about his body in the throes of pleasure.

He licked the water from her skin as he kissed his way toward her notch. She dropped her knees open, revealing her sweet, pink flesh to his view. So perfect. He licked his lips, his mouth salivating at the thought of sampling her.

The first taste of her cunny rocked him to his core. She tasted of lilies, roses, and every other scented flower he knew to name. He closed his eyes, wanting to remember this moment for the rest of his life.

He had never been so intimate with a woman, but already she mewled, squirmed under his tutelage, and he understood that she enjoyed what he did.

The idea made him harder still, and he suckled her flesh, working her, continuing particular little strokes when she moaned. "You like that, Sophie. You like me licking your quim."

"Yes, I like it." Her voice, breathless, was like a Siren's call. He ran his thumb across her flesh, playing with the beaded nubbin that protruded at his touch.

She gasped. "Take me with your fingers, Henry," she begged. He needed no further instruction. He slipped one and then two fingers into her wet core and licked her engorged flesh while he fucked her with his hands.

She moaned, her fingers spiking into his hair, pulling him against her. Her body undulated, worked against his mouth, and he groaned, enjoying her delight.

She trembled under him, and he knew she was close. "Henry," she gasped. Do not stop. Please, do not stop," she begged, riding him as if he were taking her with his manhood.

He gave her what she wanted. What they both wanted and he felt the first tremors of her orgasm as it ripped through her core and she tightened about his fingers.

"Henry," she screamed, holding him against her until her pleasure reduced.

With one last kiss to her pinkened, satisfied flesh, he crawled up to lean over the top of her. "Did you appreciate my endeavor, Duchess?"

She nodded, her eyes heavy with satisfaction. "Oh yes, I did, Duke, and now you'll enjoy your turn just as much."

Without another word, she pushed against his shoulder, and he collapsed beside her. She straddled him, and kissed her way down his chest, paying particular attention to his nipples with little kisses before paying homage lower still.

"What are you going to do?" he asked her, hopeful but unwilling to ask outright for what he imagined.

"I'm going to do what you just did to me. Give you so much pleasure that you'll never look anywhere else but toward me from this day forward."

He smiled. Knowing no sexual act was required for that. He was smitten.

In love, unfashionably, with his wife.