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Page 25 of Tantalizing the Duke

A low sound rumbled from his chest as her mouth left his and blazed a path along his jaw, his throat. Her boldness thrilled him, setting every nerve alight. His hands continued their exploration, skimming over her ribs, tracing the gentle slope of her waist, before seeking the heat pooling between her thighs.

She shivered as his fingers teased her, the motion both knowing and deliberate. “You—ah—you do try,” she breathed, her voice catching.

“Am I succeeding?” he asked, though he knew the answer.

She couldn’t form words, not when he touched her like that. She closed her eyes, losing herself to the sensation, to the artful, wicked circles he drew at her center. Her body moved of its own volition, a slow undulation that begged for more.

His own desire surged, a potent and urgent force that demanded release. He watched her face, the way her lips parted with each gasp, each sigh. Her pleasure was as intoxicating to him as any touch she could offer.

Her hand found him, hard and pulsing with need, and her boldness returned tenfold. She stroked him, slow at first, delighting in the way he grew impossibly harder under her palm.

Their breathing mingled, ragged and raw, echoing in the small space between their bodies. Her strokes quickened, matching the insistent rhythm of his fingers. The world outside their cocoon faded to nothing, leaving only the sensation, the heat, the exquisite tension that wrapped around them, pulling them inexorably toward bliss.

She rose above him, both luminous and wild, and all he could do was watch her. Milly hovered with exquisite patience, prolonging the ache of desire, until the weight of her longing overtook her and she sank down onto him. They groaned in unison, a perfect harmony of need fulfilled. Her breasts swung with each motion, her face a portrait of bliss that transfixed and maddened him in equal measure. She moved deliberately, slowly, and he tightened his grip on her hips to anchor himself against the storm of sensation. He filled his hands with her breasts, kneading and teasing until her head fell back, and her pace became frantic. When her movements faltered, he flipped her onto the bed, her gasp of surprise mingling with a deep moan as he drove into her. Their mouths crashed together, a collision of desire and impatience, and the room filled with the sounds of skin meeting skin, their breaths wild and frenzied.

She balanced on her knees, hovering over him, her body a tantalizing promise poised on the edge of fulfillment. The intimacy of the moment, the nearness of him, drove her mad with want. Her fingers brushed the sweat-damp hair from her face, the wild curls as untamed as her longing. “I thought perhaps I should continue misbehaving,” she said, her voice rich with mirth and need.

“Have mercy,” Dainsfield groaned, desire and desperation threading his words as he looked up at her with unabashed yearning.

Her laughter was sultry, her eyes dark with intent as she began to lower herself. She took her time, delighting in the exquisite torture she inflicted on them both, until she could stand it no longer. A gasp escaped her lips as he filled her, stretching her, the joining an electric, consuming thing.

He watched her, enraptured by the sway of her breasts, the flush of her skin, the sheer beauty of her taking her pleasure from him. His hands moved to her hips, anchoring her, claiming her, but it was she who claimed him with each downward thrust.

The sensation was dizzying, and he held on to her as if she might float away. “Look at you,” he marveled, a low, reverent murmur. “You are…”

The words escaped him, and she didn’t need them. She saw everything in his eyes.

She moved with a purpose that left him breathless, slow and deliberate, savoring each moment, each friction of skin against skin. His groans mingled with her own, a primal music that filled the room, until he couldn’t bear the sweet torment of her pace. He gripped her hips tighter, urging her to more, a lover’s impatience that set fire to them both.

She obliged, her movements becoming erratic, frenzied, driven by the urgent need coiling within her. Her hair fell in a wild, silken veil, obscuring her face until he reached up to smooth it away, revealing the full, unabashed ecstasy that he had put there.

“God, Milly,” he said, his voice raw and strained as he fought for control, every muscle tense and quivering. His hands traveled to her breasts, molding them, teasing them, his thumbs rolling over her nipples in a way that made her gasp and lose her rhythm.

He could feel the shudders beginning in her, the subtle tightening that promised her release was near. Her inner walls clamped around him, a delicious pressure that pulled him toward the brink of madness. He reveled in the knowledge, in the sensation, of her pleasure building to an impossible peak.

She threw her head back, a cry catching in her throat, and he held on, driving into her with upward thrusts that matched the frenzy of her movements.

The intensity grew almost unbearable. Her rhythm faltered, her body too consumed with impending climax, and he took the moment to act.

In one swift motion, he flipped them over, her surprised gasp transforming into a low, drawn-out moan as he pinned her to the bed. The sheets tangled around them like a lover’s knot, but they noticed nothing but the urgent, relentless connection of their bodies.

His mouth claimed hers in a fierce, possessive kiss that swallowed her cries, their breaths mingling in hot, desperate gasps. Her legs wrapped around him, holding him close, and her nails scored his shoulders, urging him on.

The control she had wielded so expertly now belonged to him, and he took it with a passion and tenderness that only made her want more. Each thrust was deep and sure, a testament to how much he adored her, how much he needed her.

Milly broke the kiss, her eyes locked with his, and the world narrowed to just this—the exquisite joining of two souls who were as greedy for each other as they were willing to give all they had.

“Don’t stop,” she pleaded, a whisper that fanned the flames of his desire, and Dainsfield was more than happy to obey.

The world vanished in the frenzy of their union, nothing existing but the punishing rhythm of their bodies, the guttural sounds of their pleasure, and the violent crescendo of their need. He filled her, every stroke deliberate and demanding, and she urged him on with a desperate abandon. The bed rattled beneath them, echoing the wild and primal tempo they set. Her cries grew sharper, her nails branding him as they raked over skin. Dainsfield was past caring about anything but the sweet and tightening pull of her around him. He bent to her ear, his voice low and raw, each word a push toward the edge. Milly’s release shattered her, and he followed, the shock of it so complete that the world came back in fragments: her breathless whimpers, his name on her lips, the sheets clinging to their damp bodies. They collapsed in a heap, a slow return from the frenzy, finding each other in languid kisses and whispered confessions.

Milly’s nails bit into his back as she drew him closer, needing every inch of him, every part of him, until nothing else mattered. “Yes—like that,” she gasped, her words a breathless plea and a satisfied moan.

He complied, his body surging into hers with a power and urgency that left him breathless. The headboard banged a steady percussion against the wall, but neither noticed, wrapped as they were in a cocoon of heat and sweat and the raw, consuming need for each other.

“Milly,” he groaned, her name a mantra, a prayer, as he felt her inner walls begin to quiver around him.

She cried out, her pleasure building into something huge and unstoppable. Her nails scored down his back, a wicked, glorious pain that only drove him harder.

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