“Please.” She was saying the word over and over again, her voice ragged, her pulse jumping.
Sinclair knew what he should do. He should give her the release she was asking him for. A few more strokes of his fingers, a little pressure on her eager little nub, and she would be there. She’d be grateful, too. But of course then she
’d pull herself together and make her excuses and leave him sitting here, alone.
And that wasn’t what he wanted. Selfish he may be, but he wanted to thrust his body into hers, claim her in the most primitive way. So he made a conscious decision. They would enjoy this moment together, even though he knew that once it was over there’d be no going back.
He lay her down on the divan, and rested on top of her, taking his weight with elbows and knees, kissing her mouth, his fingers stroking her breasts. “You are beautiful,” he told her, “so beautiful.”
She opened her clear green eyes and gazed up at him with passion and trust. Complete trust.
He almost changed his mind.
Almost.
But then his fingers were on the top of her stockings, then the warm skin of her bare thighs. She was ready for him; the damp heat of her made him groan. It was an easy matter to unbutton his trousers and free himself, and then press the head of his cock against her slick entrance. She wound her arms about his waist, rubbing against him, as if she couldn’t wait for him to be inside her.
“Eugenie,” he said, his voice hoarse with longing, “are you sure . . . ?”
He didn’t know if she heard him. She seemed to be listening to something else, something inside, and he pressed the advantage, entering her a little before withdrawing, some distant part of his brain reminding him that she was more than likely a virgin.
She gasped.
In pain or pleasure? He didn’t want to take the chance it was the former, and reached down to stroke her with his fingers, this time not stopping as he felt her body gathering itself for release, and when she arched upward with a soft, surprised cry of pleasure, he finally drove his body deep into hers.
Resistance was slight and then she was his.
She felt like velvet, squeezing him, tremors of ecstasy shaking her and him, until they both clung together in breathless abandon. He’d felt sexual pleasure before, but not like this. This was something beyond his experience and he was shaken by it. Changed by it.
But one thing he knew for certain—he’d been right to seduce her.
Eventually their breathing calmed, and he cuddled her in his arms, turning his face to kiss her cheek and nuzzle her skin. “Eugenie.” Her name sounded different on his lips, and he heard the possessive note in his voice. She was his, and he wanted to lift his head and shout it.
“It isn’t fair.” Her voice was quiet with a tremble in it. “You know it isn’t fair.”
He gave a surprised chuckle. “I didn’t want to play fair,” he admitted. “I wanted you to give in and agree to everything. Be my mistress, Eugenie!”
Something warm and wet trickled down her cheek from the corner of her eye, and he was shocked to see it was a tear. Another one followed, and then she turned her head away quickly, as if she didn’t want him to see. Suddenly he felt uncomfortable, remembering that moment when he might have stopped himself, when he could have kept control. And the guilt made him irritable.
“What is it?” he said. “Eugenie?”
She shook her head but he reached for her chin, his fingers rough in his need to see her expression, to read what she was feeling. If it was hatred, if it was regret . . . he didn’t know what he’d do. She sighed and lifted her damp lashes to meet his gaze.
“Eugenie,” he said again.
Because he saw no regret, no loathing for what they had done.
Only tenderness.
She didn’t speak, but put her arms about his neck and pressed her lips to his, her heart aching, knowing she was jumping from the fire into the furnace and not caring. What did it matter now? What was done was done and she wasn’t about to act like a wronged maiden. This was her fault as much as his.
He only hesitated for a moment and then he was kissing her deeply, and the trembling excitement was rising inside her again, unstoppable in its urgency.
“I need you, Eugenie,” he whispered, bending to taste her breasts. “Why won’t you believe that?”
“I do,” she breathed, kissing his brow, his eyelids, tasting the salt on his skin. Right now, she knew, she would have believed any good thing of her duke.
Boldly, she reached between them, and felt his growing hardness. Her fingers stroked him as he had touched her, gently, curiously. He rested his head against hers, his breath ragged, prisoner to her touch.