Page 91 of The Governess and the Brooding Duke
West.
And then he shifted, putting his hand between her thighs to join his tongue. He pushed two fingers inside of her, and it was like the world broke apart. All that was real shattering into illusion, as a bright white light broke through and showed her what was new. What was real.
An ever pulsing wave of satisfaction that rolled through her entire being, her internal muscles clenched tight around his finger.
This was why.
This was why people upended their lives for a chance at this.
It was why women walked down dark garden paths. It was why they married.
This.
This powerful, wretched need that outstripped anything she had ever before known.
It was this.
In all its brilliant, uncivilised glory.
For they, all of them, walked around using titles, bowing, curtsying. And in the dark, without their clothes, this was what they were. This was what they wanted.
And she had never felt more real than she did right now.
He kissed his way up her body, and then his hand was around her throat again.
He wrapped his other arm around her waist and adjusted her roughly, moved her up the bed, her head coming to rest on the pillow.
His touch was rough, but it was to put her on something more comfortable.
His hold was possessive, but never to wound.
His strength was overwhelming, but never there to simply be overpowering.
And then he parted her thighs, his movements firm and decisive, as he pushed his fingers between her legs and stroked her, pushing two inside of her and watching as he did so.
She felt a vague hint of shame roll through her.
That she was allowing this.
That she was relishing it.
And then she banished the shame, because had she not been under the banner of it long enough? She would be under her own banner now.
And all the world, that had only sought to hurt her, and then to blame her for the hurt that it had caused, could go to hell. With the very devil.
She returned her focus back to him.
‘Are you ready for me?’
She could only nod.
And then he moved himself into position, hooking one arm around her thigh and drawing her down to him, before positioning that blunt, wide head of his arousal at her entrance.
Then he flexed his hips forward. There was a bit of pain.
Not a fresh, tearing pain, for none of her innocence remained. But these muscles were in disuse. And she had given birth, and healed again, and since then there had been nothing. No one.
She gritted her teeth and found that there was a strange sort of satisfaction in the pain.
