Page 73 of Wedded to the Cruel Duke
“My beautiful, intelligent wife is at a loss for words,” he murmured, his hand reaching out to cradle the nape of her neck. “Now,thatis quite the compliment.”
Phoebe would have protested that she was not as beautiful as he professed her to be. Her intelligence—well, she liked to think herself brilliant, at times, but she was sure she was nowhere close to his intellect.
It was rather amusing how highly they thought of each other—which was certainly more than any lady could have expected of her husband.
As her mind ran away with those thoughts, Charles drew her in for another kiss, effectively silencing all the voices in her head. All that was left was him. And her.
And the intense heat that flared bright and hot between them.
He leaned into her, gently pushing her back into the bed as his knee rose up between her legs. He nudged her gently where she ached for his touch the most and Phoebe moaned into the kiss, pressing herself into him, desperate for his presence there.
“Charles,” she sighed into his lips.
“I know, darling. I know…”
When his fingers slipped through her wet slit, she let out a cry of triumph, her body bowing off the bed. He parted her folds gently as he stroked her, stoking the banked flames into a great conflagration once more.
“Oh, God, you are so wet already,” he groaned into her ear. “So wet and ready for me.”
She let out a cry of dismay when he pulled his finger away from her center, only to feel the blunt head of his manhood at her entrance. Her eyes fluttered open as she searched his face in confusion.
“This is going to hurt,” he warned her. “God, I wish there was another way where you would not be hurt by all this…”
He is going to make me his, she realized as her eyes searched his tortured features. She reached up to caress the side of his face and Charles pressed a soft kiss to her open palm. An apology of sorts.
“I want to be yours, Charles,” she whispered. “Fully. And you are so gentle with me already. So gentle…”
Her words seemed to have the effect of breaking down his resistance, for his lips returned to hers in a kiss that ravaged her senses and left her reeling. If she had not been on the bed, Phoebe had no doubt she would have fallen to the floor.
He kissed her deeply as she felt him pushing into her. Stretching her.
She sucked in a deep breath and he stilled.
“Am I hurting you?” he asked her, his features etched with concern.
She shook her head. “It feels…strange. But it does not hurt.”
“You must tell me if it hurts,” he told her. “I will stop if it does.”
“I do not think you would like that—”
“For you, Phoebe, I will.”
She looked up at him and nodded. “I am ready.”
“Hold on to me, darling,” he told her gently.
She did as he instructed, her fingers finding purchase on his broad shoulders as he pushed deeper into her. Their progress was painstakingly slow. If she so much as gasped a little, Charles would stop. His forehead was already lined with beads of sweat from holding himself back.
He drew her close and pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder. “I am about to breach your maidenhead, darling. If you wish to scream, or bite me, you may.”
Phoebe nodded, her fingers tightening reflexively on his shoulders. She closed her eyes and braced herself for the pain she knew would come.
It was part of her coming into womanhood, the breaking of the barrier that stood between innocence and womanly knowledge. After this, she would no longer be Phoebe, the spinster.
She would be a woman.Charles’ woman.
The thought was a heavy intoxication that lulled her just as Charles surged into her, breaking through her barrier swiftly. She let out a soft cry when she felt the sharp pain of her lost maidenhood as he filled her wholly, replacing what had been broken withhimself. When he moved even the slightest bit, even the smallest breath, she could feel him deep inside her.