Page 93 of The Duke's Sinful Deal
“Oh my—” she let slip softly, and she heard the unmistakable sound of his boots and trousers pooling on the floor.
Moments later, she felt his hands grip her hips and his hard arousal press against her until finally pushing through and filling her. Slowly at first, and then again, and again until finally he was fully buried inside of her.
His grip on her hips was tight as he held her up, thrusting into her with more force each time.
Arabella heard something else clunk against the floors between his growling pulses and her heavy breaths, and suddenly something shifted in his movements. He was less controlled and more frenzied, but she could not string together even one connecting thought between those two truths. Until she felt it. The careful distance he had maintained between them had changed, and she felt his hands wrap around her breasts, lifting her off the bed, and his lips pressed softly against her bare shoulder.
His mask is off.
Her fingers tightened against his arm; the feeling was not quite anger or hurt, but an insistent feeling to turn around and face him while he still buried himself inside of her.
Then he moved.
She was face down on the bed now, chest against the blankets, hips in the air, and he was kneeling behind her, taking her with a relentless force that she had never felt before. But Christ above— the sensation of it was intoxicating. And with every thought shehad to fight him and turn over so she could see him, a stronger force told her to stay precisely where she was.
The world narrowed to the firmness of his hands and the way he held her as though she might come undone without him. It was control… and surrender… and then— “Well done, Arabella. Take it all. God, you are so beautiful,” she heard him praise her softly, which did incredibly wretched things to any sane part of her mind that she held onto.
The next thing she knew, her back arched, angling her to him in a deeper and more exposing way, and the hiss she heard him make made her smile before he slammed into her harder and faster than ever before.
“Max—” she heard herself drag into the pillow. “Maxwell,” she cried again, this time a plea for more.
She begged him not to stop, and she wished so badly that she could turn around and see him and watch him lose all control, but she knew that would be too much.
Arabella heard him groan, and the bite of his grip on her hips made her gasp, as his pumps into her quickened until finally she let the quake of her body take over. All thoughts seemed to leave her as she fell into an abyss of pleasure and passion.
The room came back into focus a few minutes later, as her breath slowed and she felt him lying beside her. This was different. This was him, closer than he had ever allowed her to be before, andshe knew that if she moved to see him without his mask on just now, the moment would be over.
His hands curled around her, pulling her against his chest. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” she said, careful to keep her eyes closed and cheek firmly against his bare body.
“Was that… good?
“Oh yes,” she said quickly and laughed at her own eagerness. The sound of his own laughter in his chest warmed her still, and she knew that this night had changed things between them.
Not everything. Not yet anyway.
But some, yes.
CHAPTER 22
Arabella did not expect the following morning to feel so… composed.
It was not that she lacked memory of the night before. Quite the opposite. It lingered with an insistence that colored even the simplest motions of her day, from the way she fastened her gloves to the moment she caught her own reflection and found herself pausing, as though she might recognize something new there. And yet, for all of that, she moved through her morning with a steadiness that surprised her.
By the time she stepped into the carriage beside Jane and Cissie, the matter had been folded neatly away—not forgotten, but set aside, as though she had granted herself permission not to examine it too closely just yet.
“Do not tell me,” Jane said at once, settling back against the squabs with an assessing glance, “that you mean to arrive at the modiste and pretend you have not already decided upon every detail.”
Arabella smiled faintly. “I have decided upon very little, I assure you.”
“That is untrue,” Cissie said, with quiet certainty. “You have brought the gown with you.”
Arabella’s hand rested lightly against the large bandbox opposite her, where the deep green silk lay carefully packed. “Only because I thought it prudent to see what might complement it.”
Jane’s expression brightened at once. “Then we are already at an advantage, for I have resolved my own costume entirely.”
“You have resolved it every day for the past week,” Cissie returned dryly.
