Page 80 of The Duke's Rules Of Engagement
He pressed his lips into her hair. “May I be your second, as well?”
She pulled in another breath, this one shaky. “Yes.”
One more time. She couldn’t deny him—couldn’t deny herself. It would be the last time. It had to be, because her rational mind was telling her that her heart wouldn’t be able to endure any more. Her rational mind told her that after today, she’d have to go back to being Joanna Porter, spinster matchmaker, who needed to support her family and make an essential match to ensure her dearest friend’s happiness.
But for this moment, for right now, this man could be hers. And she could be his, too.
He paused, though. “Are you sore?”
“Not at all.” It was a lie, but only a little one.
“Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you.” He hesitated, then added in a soft voice, “Again.”
If he thought that he’d bring her any more pain, he’d stop right away. She didn’t want him to stop. She’d be all right. “I’m sure.”
He grasped her hand and pulled it down until it covered the rigid length between his legs. “Touch me, then.”
With his fingers over hers, guiding her, she curved her fingers around him and stroked up and down, marveling at how soft the skin was over such hardness. To think, this part of him had been inside her and would be again, soon.
She shuddered with anticipation as she ran her fingers over his crown and he moaned.
“Are you sensitive there?” she whispered.
“Very,” he gritted out.
“Is that why men like it so much? When they are inside?”
“I think that’s…definitely…part of it.”
“What happens when I do this?” She squeezed as she moved, now pumping him up and down, simulating the movements of him inside her.
“That’s…part of it, too,” he rumbled. Seemingly unable to stop himself, he thrust his pelvis into her fist with her movement.
He released her hand, leaving her to experiment on her own, and moved to her breast. When his fingers ran over her nipple, the sensation sent a rush of warmth between her legs—oh, Lord…why, ohwhy, did that feel so good?
She stroked him until he grew impossibly harder under her palm, and he stroked her until she was whimpering and trembling and needy.
He had such a strange power over her. The power to wind her up until she was strung so tight, she thought she might burst if he didn’t do something to relieve the pressure.
Removing her hand from him, he turned her onto her back and loomed over her, hard and heavy and oh-so male. He gazed down at her with hungry eyes, then lowered himself onto one forearm, tangling his hand into her hair and pressing his body onto hers so his masculine hardness touched her from her feet to her chest without her having to bear the brunt of his weight, his pelvis heavy against her thigh. He lowered his lips and kissed her deeply.
She arched up into him, trying to adjust her body so he lined up with her opening. He kissed her and kissed her, and finally broke it off, his breath washing over her mouth as he lifted slightly away from her. “Guide me in.”
Looking into his eyes, she grasped him and moved him to her aching opening. When his tip touched her hot wetness, his eyes closed as if of their own accord, and then he thrust in to the hilt.
Jo cried out as a pleasurable bullet of sensation shot through her core. She squirmed, wanting more, only to realize he’d stopped. She opened her eyes to find him staring down at her, a deep crease dug between his brows.
“Did I hurt you?” he bit out.
“No,” she gasped. “No, no, no. Please, Matthew…”
“Please what?” he asked, his expression beginning to change from concern to a need that reflected her own.
“Please…move.”
He did, pulling out and then thrusting back in, deep. This time, both of them moaned.
“Jo,” he murmured. “You feel so good. So damn good.”
