Daring and the Duke (The Bareknuckle Bastards #3)(92)

Her thighs trembled.

And, with the filthiest curse he’d ever heard, she found her climax, shouting his name to the dark room as he worked her with hands and mouth and tongue until all she knew was pleasure.

As she came down from her pleasure, his tongue gentling, his fingers stilling as she pulsed against him, she pulled him up to her, his name hoarse on her lips, eager for more.

Eager for all of it.

He lifted his head after the last ripple of pleasure coursed through her, and he moved to lie beside her, wanting to do nothing but hold her, to press kisses to her temple and urge her to sleep.

But Grace had other plans, immediately reversing their positions and climbing atop him, pushing him to the bed. “You didn’t come,” she whispered, giving him a long, lingering kiss that threatened his sanity for the way she lapped at his lips, the taste of her still there.

He shook his head. “I didn’t want to,” he said. “It was for you.”

“Mmm,” she said, low and sinful, leaning down to kiss him again. “Would you like me to tell you what I want next?”

If he hadn’t already been hard as iron, the lazy, satisfied question, and the soft weight of her against him, would have ensured it. “Very much.”

She ground her hips against him once, twice, until he groaned, and then she sat back on his thighs, and took him in hand. He sucked in a breath at her touch, her stroking fingers sure and strong. “I want this. I want you.”

“Everything you want,” he said, every muscle straining to keep from pulling her to him, rolling her to the bed and taking control.

She seemed to know it, her touch shifting to stroke up his arms and down his chest, ending, once more, at the hard, straining length of him. She moved, rubbing against him again, both of them exhaling harshly as he knocked against the center of her pleasure.

“I like that,” she said.

“Mmm,” he replied. “I like you.”

She looked up at him, her eyes glittering with pleasure. “Do you?”

How could she even doubt it? He lifted a hand to her face, capturing her cheek and holding her gaze. “So much,” he said. He took a deep breath, memorizing this moment. “I searched for you for so long, thinking it would be the same when I found you. Thinking you would be the girl I’d loved.”

Her throat worked at the words. “And instead, I found you, beautiful, yes, and bold. But strong and powerful—fucking glorious. You’re glorious, Grace.”

The words struck her and she took a deep breath, her chin lifting just enough for him to see her response. Pride. Satisfaction.

“I see you,” he said.

“I dreamed of this,” she replied, softly, the confession searing through him. “Of you returning. And finding me. And wanting me.”

He shook his head. “You cannot believe I would ever not want you.”

“I am not the girl you loved anymore.”

You can never have her back.

The words she’d hurled at him that night a year ago. The words that had broken him. The words that had reset him. “No,” he said. “You are not. You are more. You are the woman I love.”

She breathed in the words, her hands coming to his chest as her eyes filled with unshed tears. He reached up to pull her down to him, to kiss her again.

When he pulled away, he whispered, “You don’t have to say anything. But I could not stay silent any longer. I love you. Not the girl you were. Not the woman I thought I would find. You. Now. Here.” He tilted his head toward the windows overlooking the Garden. “Out there on the rooftops and below in the Rookery.”

Her hands came to his face, and she kissed him again, long and lush, until they were both panting with pleasure.

He pulled away from her again. “Do you remember what I said to you that night in my gardens? Do you remember what I called you?”

A soft, secret smile played over her lips. “You called me a queen.”

He nodded. “And I, your throne.”

Fire lit in her eyes. “I like that.”

He growled, low in his chest. “I do, too, love.”

They came together again, his hand between them, parting her folds as she lifted herself, the tip of him settling at the opening of her, hot and wet and perfect. No. No heirs. “Wait . . .”

She stilled, understanding. She shook her head. “We don’t have to wait. There is no possibility of pregnancy.” And then he, too, understood. There were ways to prevent the inevitable, and Grace was a grown woman who would know well how to use them.

She lowered herself a quarter inch. A half. Just enough for him to lose his mind as she sighed in his ear. “That feels—”

“Like heaven,” he grunted.

She smiled down at him, “Do you think we can make it better?”

He gave a little huff of laughter. “I can think of several things we can try.”

“Is this one of them?” she asked, coyly, and she lowered herself onto his straining cock, hot and glorious, slow and perfect, and the sensation threatened to ruin him.

“It’s the best of them,” he grunted, willing himself still as she lifted herself a touch and returned to her place, lower, taking more of him.

“God, it’s so—”

He waited, watching her, knowing that it might be uncomfortable. Not wanting to hurt her, and desperately wanting to fuck her.