Page 110 of The Duke's Rules Of Engagement
For the first time since he’d entered her office, she allowed herself to smile. It spread across her face, flowed into her eyes, and melted the tension in her body, suffusing it with a warm glow. Gazing up at him, she saw her radiance reflected in him.
“Jo,” he murmured. “My Jo.”
She linked her hands around his neck and pulled his lips down to hers. He slid his arms around her, and his lips touched hers gently, reverently, before he pulled back. He looked down at her. “Will you marry me?”
“Yes.”
“Tomorrow?”
She laughed softly. “I don’t think that’s possible.”
He pulled something from his pocket, unfolded it, and handed it to her. Taking it, she looked down at the paper. It was a special license for them to marry, signed by the Archbishop of Canterbury himself.
“It is possible. I visited the archbishop’s office yesterday. We can marry anytime we like.”
She grinned at him, because she wanted to marry as quickly as possible as well. “Tomorrow, then.”
She pulled him back to her, and this time she kissed him hard, trying to tell him with her lips how much she loved him. He answered her with his own declaration, not in words but in actions. The way he yanked her against him until she was wrapped up in his arms, the way his kiss demanded of her, his tongue claiming her mouth with an erotic thrust.
I love you.Her fingers tangled in the soft hairs at his nape.
I love you.She touched her tongue to his.
I love you.She pressed her body against the hardening ridge against her stomach.
He sucked in a breath, then pulled back again. “I want you, Jo. But if you’d like to wait until after the wedding…”
“No,” she breathed, “I don’t want to wait. I want you now. Please.”
He groaned, then turned her and walked her backward until her back pressed against the wall. Then, his lips collided with hers as he hiked up her skirts in great handfuls. His fingertips brushed over one of her garters, then moved between her legs. She thrust wantonly against him as his fingers dipped into her wet heat.
She gasped, “Matthew!” as he slid over her hot flesh, brushing the part of her that was so sensitive she flexed her hips, wanting more.
He gave her more, one hand passing over her bodice then rubbing hard over her breast so she could feel her nipple straining beneath the layers of fabric. His other fingers slipped over her, then he pushed inside her and moved against that secret spot that made her moan and writhe. He knew her body so well already. The pressure built within her, and he pressed and rubbed her slick flesh, kissing her on her lips and throat and down the edge of her bodice, pinching her breasts, touching that spot again and again.
“Matthew, I’m going to…”
“Yes, Jo, come. Come, my love.”
Love. The word made her explode, her world fragmenting into thousands of shards of bliss, and the hand that was at her breast slipped around her bottom, supporting her as spasms of pleasure wracked her body, and his lips closed over hers, muffling the sounds of her cries.
As the waves subsided, his hands slipped away, and she murmured a complaint, vaguely registering that he was working the buttons on his falls. A moment later, he was lifting her.
“Wrap your legs around me, love,” he said, and when she did, he positioned himself at her entry and, without hesitation, thrust inside her to the hilt. She cried out at the instant, overwhelming sensation.
He held her there, both of them panting, and pressed his forehead to hers. “Sweet Jo,” he murmured gruffly. “Sweet, beautiful Jo.”
She pulled him down into another kiss. “You feel so good inside me,” she whispered in wonder against his lips.
He gazed at her. “This, right here, is the closest to heaven I’ve ever come. There’s nothing like the feel of you all around me like this.” He kissed her again and rasped out, “Nothing.”
He started moving, his hands under her thighs, her dress crushed between them, her back pressed against the wall, his thickness stroking against her inner walls again and again, his lips fused to hers. His citrus and bergamot essence surrounded her. His body supported her, his movements quickly taking her once again to the brink of ecstasy.
This beautiful, proud man wanted her. He wanted tomarryher. He wanted her to be his as much as she wanted him to be hers.
He moved his hand to grip one of her wrists and guided it through the crushed fabric between them until her hand was at her center.
“Touch yourself,” he said.
