The Duke and I (Bridgertons, #1)(93)

Gently, she touched his cheek. "What am I to do with you?" she whispered. "I love you, you know. I love you, but I hate what you're doing to yourself." She drew a shaky breath. "And to me. I hate what you're doing to me."

He shifted sleepily, and for one horrified moment, she was afraid that he'd woken up. "Simon?"

she whispered, then let out a relieved exhale when he didn't answer. She knew she shouldn't have spoken words aloud that she wasn't quite ready for him to hear, but he'd looked so innocent against the snowy white pillows. It was far too easy to spill her innermost thoughts when he looked like that.

"Oh, Simon," she sighed, closing her eyes against the tears that were pooling in her eyes. She should get up. She should absolutely positively get up now and leave him to his rest. She understood why he was so dead set against bringing a child into this world, but she hadn't forgiven him, and she certainly didn't agree with him. If he woke up with her still in his arms, he might think she was willing to settle for his version of a family.

Slowly, reluctantly, she tried to pull away. But his arms tightened around her, and his sleepy voice mumbled, "No."

"Simon, I—"

He pulled her closer, and Daphne realized that he was thoroughly aroused.

"Simon?" she whispered, her eyes flying open. "Are you even awake?"

His response was another sleepy mumble, and he made no attempts at seduction, just snuggled her closer.





Daphne blinked in surprise. She hadn't realized that a man could want a woman in his sleep.

She pulled her head back so she could see his face, then reached out and touched the line of his jaw. He let out a little groan. The sound was hoarse and deep, and it made her reckless. With slow, tantalizing fingers, she undid the buttons of his shirt, pausing just once to trace the outline of his navel.

He shifted restlessly, and Daphne felt the strangest, most intoxicating surge of power. He was in her control, she realized. He was asleep, and probably still more than a little bit drunk, and she could do whatever she wanted with him.

She could have whatever she wanted.

A quick glance at his face told her that he was still sleeping, and she quickly undid his trousers.

Underneath, he was hard and needy, and she wrapped her hand around him, feeling his blood leap beneath her fingers.

"Daphne," he gasped. His eyes fluttered open, and he let out a ragged groan. "Oh, God. That feels so damned good."

"Shhhh," she crooned, slipping out of her silken robe. "Let me do everything."

He lay on his back, his hands fisted at his sides as she stroked him. He'd taught her much during their two short weeks of marriage, and soon he was squirming with desire, his breath coming in short pants.

And God help her, but she wanted him, too. She felt so powerful looming over him. She was in control, and that was the most stunning aphrodisiac she could imagine. She felt a fluttering in her stomach, then a strange sort of quickening, and she knew that she needed him.

She wanted him inside her, filling her, giving her everything a man was meant to give to a woman.

"Oh, Daphne," he moaned, his head tossing from side to side. "I need you. I need you now. "

She moved atop him, pressing her hands against his shoulders as she straddled him. Using her hand, she guided him to her entrance, already wet with need.

Simon arched beneath her, and she slowly slid down his shaft, until he was almost fully within her.

"More," he gasped. "Now."

Daphne's head fell back as she moved down that last inch. Her hands clutched at his shoulders as she gasped for breath. Then he was completely within her, and she thought she would die from the pleasure. Never had she felt so full, nor so completely a woman.



She keened as she moved above him, her body arching and writhing with delight. Her hands splayed flat against her stomach as she twisted and turned, then slid upward toward her breasts.

Simon let out a guttural moan as he watched her, his eyes glazing over as his breath came hot and heavy over his parted lips. "Oh, my God," he said in a hoarse, raspy voice: "What are you doing to me? What have you—" Then she touched one of her nipples, and his entire body bucked upwards. "Where did you learn that?"

She looked down and gave him a bewildered smile. "I don't know."

"More," he groaned. "I want to watch you."

Daphne wasn't entirely certain what to do, so she just let instinct take over. She ground her hips against his in a circular motion as she arched her back, causing her breasts to jut out proudly. She cupped both in her hands, squeezing them softly, rolling the nipples between her fingers, never once taking her eyes off Simon's face.

His hips started to buck in a frantic, jerky motion, and he grasped desperately at the sheets with his large hands. And Daphne realized that he was almost there. He was always so careful to please her, to make certain that she reached her climax before he allowed himself the same privilege, but this time, he was going to explode first.

She was close, but not as close as he was.

"Oh, Christ!" he suddenly burst out, his voice harsh and primitive with need. "I'm going to—I can't—" His eyes pinned upon her with a strange, pleading sort of look, and he made a feeble attempt to pull away.