Page 33 of The Duke that I Lost

“You’ll hate me someday, Ambrosia. I swear it.” He then licked his lips, reaching down to unfasten his falls with swift, jerky movements.

“I will never hate you,” she said softly, fiercely. She stepped closer. “Not for this.”

They stood there, close enough to feel the heat rising off each other’s skin, but still not touching.

Ambrosia’s heart pounded in her chest. Not from fear. From choosing. For once in her life, she was choosing what she wanted.

She lifted her hand and placed it over his heart.

“Please,” she said again—not begging, but claiming.

Ambrosia needed him to know she would not change her mind. For so much of her life she’d suppressed her wants, her desires. On this night, perhaps this night only, she would free them.

“ Dieu me vienne en aide .” God help me .

He groaned as she dragged her fingertips along his chest, between the hard but flat nipples of his breasts, to a smooth line between the sinewy muscles of his abdomen. He let out a hiss when her fingertips made a circle around his navel.

Her eyes dropped lower, and although she’d been bold up to this point, she suddenly faltered.

Despite her having disrobed in front of him, he’d yet to touch her . He finally reached out his hand. Even then, it was only to stroke her cheek.

“ Ma princesse ,” His hand trailed down her neck then, and a shudder ran through him.

Ambrosia caught his hand in hers and dragged it to her breast.

“Hold me.”

Closing the remaining space between them, his head dropped, and his mouth opened against her shoulder.

The heat from his breath warmed her at the same time she leaned into his palm.

She relished in the silky touch of his hair by her face, the heat coming off of his body.

“Hold me.” She begged him again. For so long, without even realizing it, she had craved a sensual touch, craved this—craved him.

She’d never known skin against skin. Not like this .

When his mouth finally claimed hers, her knees buckled in relief. He caught her easily and swept her into his arms.

She didn’t remember reaching the bed—only that she was suddenly half-sitting, half-reclining, her heart racing with an overwhelming rush of need.

Dash stepped back, his gaze locked on her face as he peeled off his breeches. Ambrosia licked her lips without thinking, heat pooling low and molten.

Watching him standing beside the bed, fully bare now, Ambrosia’s breath caught in her throat. Her eyes widened—part wonder, part desire—as she took him in.

He was beautiful. And ready—the proof of it jutting boldly from a thatch of cinnamon curls, hard and thick.

Bold. Proud.

In the flickering candlelight, he looked almost unreal—dangerous and reverent at once, like a god poised on the edge of ruin.

And she wanted to fall with him.

Her eyes widened when Dash stepped closer, his gaze fierce as he reached for her hand. Gently, he drew it to him, his fingers guiding hers until they wrapped around the length of him.

She froze. Ambrosia had never touched a man this way before. Certainly not her late husband, with whom their encounters had been brief, detached, and always under the veil of obligation.

But this—this was nothing like that.

The heat of him shocked her, the smoothness of his skin over the hardness beneath. The pulsing beneath her palm—alive, wanting, real.

Her heartbeat sounded loud in her ears as he moved her hand—slowly, purposefully. Sliding. Squeezing. Her breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a sigh as she let him guide her.

He groaned softly, his forehead tipping forward, his eyes closed.

“See what you do to me, Ambrosia?” His voice was rough, thick with restraint. “Never doubt your beauty, your allure, your magic . Or how deeply I want you.”

Ambrosia could only nod, unable to find her voice. Her entire body thrummed with awareness, nerves lit up in anticipation.

Then he shifted, and suddenly he was above her, the mattress dipping beneath his weight, his body sheltering hers.

He kissed her—softly at first, like a question, his mouth barely brushing hers.

Ambrosia parted her lips instinctively. “Yes,” she murmured.

His second kiss was more deliberate, more sure—his mouth molding to hers, coaxing, deepening. She felt the heat of it down to her toes.

"Ah, ma douce Ambrosia.” My sweet Ambrosia . “You drive me mad."

Then he kissed her again—hungry this time, his mouth slanting over hers with increasing intensity.

Her hands, tentative at first, slid up his arms—his skin hot and taut beneath her fingertips—until they found his shoulders, then his neck. She threaded her fingers through the soft curls at his nape, anchoring herself to him.

He groaned low in his throat and opened her mouth with his, his tongue sweeping in to taste her. The heat of it shocked her. But it only took a moment for her to respond, her own tongue meeting his, shyly at first, then bolder, curling and pressing as they learned each other.

Dash lowered himself until there was no space between them. Her breasts pressed against his chest, skin touching skin, two wild hearts beating together.

She tasted him—heat, spice, his essence—and gave herself over to all of it. Without thinking. Without hesitation.

Their mouths moved in rhythm, deeper now, their kiss no longer a question, but a claiming.

She felt surrounded. Claimed. Desired.

“I cannot deny you this.” His mouth brushed the shell of her ear, his breath hot and ragged. “Us. I cannot deny us this.”

Another kiss followed, reverent at the base of her throat. “But tonight will be about you, princesse . I want you to know what it can be. That there is more to making love than duty. That you can find pleasure, you should be cherished.”

And in that moment, she believed him.

Believed that these feelings—with this man—could be hers, if only for tonight.

Ambrosia drew in a breath and let it go slowly, lifting her hips, opening her legs to make room for him. The movement felt bold, daring… right. Of course, she was no virgin. But she had never been wanted like this. She had never… wanted like this.

She lay back, heart pounding, and closed her eyes—half from anticipation, half from fear that it might not be different after all.

“Ambrosia…” His voice coaxed her back to the present as his lips brushed the corner of her mouth. So gentle. So sweet. “Open your eyes, princesse . You’re safe.”

She did, startled to see such warmth in his gaze.

“Relax.” One of his hands cupped her breast again, kneading the soft flesh, his thumb sweeping over her nipple in a slow, lazy arc that made her breath hitch. “Tell me what you like,” he murmured. “Do you like this?”

All she could do was sigh. And then nod.

His mouth replaced his hand, lips closing around her nipple, and then—his tongue, warm and searching, circled her. When he drew her into his mouth, tugging just slightly with his teeth, it was as though he was pulling at strings inside her.

She arched her back.

“Yes,” she whispered. “That. I like that .”

He paused only to look up at her, his hair mussed and falling over one eye. “ Bon . But don’t stop there. I want to hear you, ma belle . I want you to tell me everything.”

A smile played on his lips now, but his eyes—his eyes were burning. Not just with desire. With wonder. Almost as though he was as surprised by this as she was.

“I will.” It was the best she could do, but she didn’t want him to stop.

This time she actually cried out when he drew her into his mouth. His satisfied laughter vibrated through her.

How many times had she wondered what it would be like to lie with this man? If she were to be honest with herself, she’d wondered since the moment she caught sight of him tending to his horse.

He was touching her leisurely, as though to draw their lovemaking out like a great banquet. “Dash.” His name escaped her lips.

Already, he’d surpassed all her expectations.

His mouth moved lower, over the soft flesh of her abdomen, while one hand roamed along her leg and the other remained at her breast. The sight of his head, of his hair against her naked flesh was enough to excite her on its own. The sinewy strength of his arms, of his hands, touching her…

“ Dash .” She implored again.

His mouth moved yet lower. What? What ?

“Ah!” She arched her head back. Wicked, wicked man.

Wicked, wicked Ambrosia.

Hot licks followed by cool air. He was sucking, lapping her. Ambrosia clutched at his shoulders at the same time he pushed her legs wider, holding her down so he could continue his sinful depravity.

“Beautiful.” His voice rasped. She felt the word, she felt the heat, on parts of herself her own eyes had never seen. “Perfect. Pink. Rosy.” He pressed kisses there and then… “So wet.”

“Oh!” He’d slid a finger inside and moved it in such a way that had her pushing against him with her hips. She needed more. She needed…

She needed…

“ Dash !” A sudden spinning sent her spiraling into the stars. A combination of pleasure so sweet, so acute, that it bordered on pain, rolled through her. He turned his finger, added more, and moved it inside of her, touching places that must have been designed by the devil himself.

It went on and on and on and yet when it was over, it wasn’t enough. She wanted him. She wanted him to cover her, to become a part of her, to be one with her.

“ Princesse ,” he said the word like a prayer. He moved up her body again, his lips brushing over the curve of her shoulder, up her throat, worshipful. When his mouth found hers, she tasted herself on his lips—heady, unfamiliar, and incredibly intoxicating.

And then she felt him at her entrance.

Her breath caught.

The need that had crested and broken now rose again, fiercer than before.

“ Ambrosia …” he whispered her name this time.

He stilled, poised over her. When she opened her eyes, she found his already watching her—unblinking, burning.

“So precious,” he murmured. “So brave.”

And then he entered her—slowly, with aching care.

Her body opened to him, stretching around him.

“ Mon c?ur ,” he whispered. My heart .

Ambrosia’s breath came in a stutter. She had never…

never imagined feeling this. Fullness without pain.

Taking but also giving. The sense that she’d just found a missing part of herself.

Words deserted her, so she looked at him instead, willing him to see everything she felt—her wonder, her surrender.

He moved deeper.

And then waited.

And when her voice finally returned, it was no more than a breath. “Yes, Dash. Please .”

As though he’d been waiting for those words, his hips began to move, slow and steady, and then?—

Oh. Oh…

Just as he had led her through the dance under swaying lanterns, he led her now, their bodies learning a rhythm all their own. He watched her as he moved, his eyes never leaving hers. He didn’t rush. He didn’t hide. He gave her time to feel everything.

The friction, the lovely friction, ignited her nerves like flame to dry kindling. The sinewy muscles in his arms flexed beneath her touch… His body… It was all heat and strength, pinning her in the most beautiful way—not to trap her, but to hold her together as she came undone.

He murmured in French—words she didn’t quite understand, but felt. She responded with her body, her breath, the whimper of his name on her lips.

He teased her. Slowed. Stilled. Kissed her deeply.

Built her up again. Brought her closer, only to hold her back, making her want—making her need—to break.

“ Please ,” she whispered, though she didn’t know what she was asking for. Only that she could no longer bear the waiting.

“I have you,” he said, low and steady. “ Je te tiens .”

And then—it took her like a storm. A lightning burst behind her eyes, a cry ripped from her throat. It was more than pleasure. It was everything she had ever denied herself, everything she had feared she might never feel.

Her body trembled around him, but he didn’t let go.

He followed her, groaning her name as he lost himself too. His mouth crushed to her shoulder, his hands gripping her as if anchoring them both to this moment—this impossible, perfect. Now.

And when their breathing slowed, when her eyes fluttered open to find his again, she knew:

She would never forget the way he made her feel.

Cherished. Desired. Seen.

When he finally lay back down beside her, pulling her close and drawing the cover up, Ambrosia sighed. She would sleep. They would rest. And then they would have tomorrow to be together again.

She could hardly wait for the sun to come up.