Page 128 of The Devil's Deceit

I roll my eyes. “Seriously? Open it.”

He pulls on the ribbon and lets it fall to the floor, then opens the wrapping paper as though he’s planning to save it. He’s got more patience than me.

The paper joins the ribbon, revealing the supple leather notebook I had specially made last week, with our wedding date and initials embossed in gold.

When he says nothing, I can’t stay quiet any longer. “Do you like it?

He meets my worried gaze. “I love it. I absolutely adore it. I’ll take it with me everywhere, so when we’re not together, I’ll still have a part of you with me.”

After putting it on the bedside table, he returns to me. His eyes drop to my mouth and then he’s kissing me and peeling off my clothes, and I’m removing his. Naked, we tumble onto the bed, a tangle of arms and legs. He cradles my head, his grip on my hair intensifying as he deepens our kiss, our bodies pressed so close together, I’m not sure where I end and he begins.

“Need you,” he grunts, running his nose along the slope of my neck. “Fucking love you.”

My insides liquify. “I’m yours. Only yours. Always yours.”

“Grace,” he breathes, kissing my shoulder, my breasts, my stomach. Tossing my legs over his shoulders, he scoops underneath my arse. The first swipe of his tongue is heaven. The second, nirvana. The third… I’m lost. One minute, his tongue is velvet, the next steel. The orgasm comes at me so fast, I don’t have time to prepare.

I scream. Legit yell his name at the top of my lungs. The power of it carries me away until I don’t care if we’re overheard, I only care that he keeps going. By the time the aftershocks wane, I’m a boneless mess, replete, my hunger temporarily quenched.

“On your knees.” His voice is low, the thread of command in his tone irresistible. “Show me that beautiful backside, Grace. That pink pussy, dripping with your cum.”

Before Christian, dirty talk wasn’t my thing, but now I live for it. Icraveit. My bodyneedsit. I flip over, bracing my arms on a pillow, and push my arse in the air. He hisses, the air making a whistling sound as it passes through his teeth.

“Gorgeous.” He runs his hand over my left cheek, caressing it. The blunt head of his dick presses against my entrance. With a grunt, he shoves forward, and I groan. It’s so much deeper this way, and so good it should be illegal.

Grabbing both my hips, he does what he promised. He rails me. I’m a passenger, hanging on for dear life, drowning in every precious moment. My hands hold on tighter to the pillow, and I pulse my inner muscles, a move I discovered a couple of nights ago that he loves, confirmed by a low moan.

“Fuck, yes. Don’t stop.”

“I won’t if you won’t.”

“Never.”

Sweat pours off me as I try to match him thrust for thrust, but eventually, my arms give out, and I drop to the mattress. His hand runs down my spine and still he keeps going.

“Touch your clit, Grace,” he pants.

I reach back, flicking the bundle of nerves, pinching, rubbing. The build-up this time is slower. At the peak, right before my body lets go, he comes. A second later, I follow.

“God, the way you’re rippling against my dick.” He groans. “Jesus Christ.” His thrusts slow, then stop. I drop to the mattress, forcing him to slip out of me. The bed undulates as he rolls off me.

Turning onto his side, he caresses my back, the circular motion soothing and intimate. “Still with me, Duchess?”

“I’m not sure. I may be dead.”

He chuckles. “Give me that beautiful face.”

I shift onto my side, pushing sweaty hair off my face. “If you think I’m beautiful with sweat running down my forehead, then you truly must love me.”

“Guilty.” He bends his head, pulling my bottom lip between his teeth. “You okay?”

“With you, always.”

His smile melts my heart. “Are you truly dead, or do you have enough energy left to at least put on a dressing gown? I have something to show you.”

That perks me up. “A surprise?”

“Yes.”