Page 87 of The Mistletoe Dare

“Adorable?” Rochford repeated with a snort. “You’re addled, and it wasn’t the best thing I ever tasted.”

“Oh, yes, it was,” she protested.

Rochford prowled up the bed, pushing her back as he climbed over her. “Not anymore. Not even close,” he murmured, staring down at her splendid breasts, the peaks tipped with little rosy buds that made his mouth water.

With a moan of pleasure, he ducked his head and circled her nipple with his tongue and then suckled as her hands stroked down his back and she arched into him. God, but he loved the pleasure sounds she made, all those breathless little sighs and moans. He turned to her other breast and lavished equal attention there before kissing his way back down her belly and between her thighs, where she was already slick with desire. She wanted him. She wanted him badly. The knowledge was a balm to every ragged scar, healing old wounds and soothing his pride, making him feel whole for the first time in his life. He wanted to weep and to laugh and to bellow his triumph like some untamed creature, but instead he worshipped her, this strange, beautiful, fierce young woman who had decided he was worthy of her. He wasn’t, not yet at least, but he would be.

Pushing her thighs wide, Rochford settled to his delicious task with one long swipe of his tongue.

“You, duchess, my own sweet, Georgie. You are the best thing I have ever tasted.”

She cried out as he concentrated on driving her out of her senses, teasing the delicate pearl of flesh, licking and caressing with his tongue until she was clutching at the bed sheets, writhing beneath him as if she were something wild he’d caught and held captive. Her climax made his breath catch, aroused beyond bearing as she cried out with no trace of inhibition, utterly abandoned to pleasure. She didn’t even stop to catch her breath before she reached for him.

“Please,” she begged, her beautiful face flushed, eyes dark and filled with desire.

Rochford could hardly breathe himself, his body primed, aching with need, and yet still very aware of her inexperience.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, hardly able to force the words out as he settled between her legs, and she coiled about him. The desire to simply thrust into her was tantalising, but he’d rather die than cause her pain whilst taking his own pleasure.

“I know. So you won’t,” she said, smiling at him, reassuring him, when it ought to be the other way around. “I want you, Alden.”

He stared down at her and gave a soft huff of laughter. “God. I want you so much I’m afraid I’ll be clumsy, that I’ll—”

She kissed him, tugging at his neck and Alden was lost in her, discovering with his capitulation that he’d come home, that he was a willing prisoner. His wife welcomed him with no reserve, holding nothing back, her soft hands stroking his hair, his back, giving herself to him with every expression of delight. Rochford groaned as he sank into her, striving to be careful, to go slowly, but she shifted her hips, urging him inside, taking him deep and the pleasure of it almost shattered him. She gave a soft cry of discomfort, the only thing that could have pierced his consciousness and he stilled at once, but she only laughed, her eyes dancing with amusement.

“You’re v-very big,” she said.

Rochford snorted, helpless with laughter, with desire, with love for this glorious woman. Oh, God. With love. He loved her. Strangely, the idea did not terrify him as it might have. For really, what other choice was there? It was what she had wanted from him, and he wanted to give her everything she desired.

“I’m fine,” she whispered. “Don’t stop.”

Rochford stared down at her, at his wife, as he made love to her for the first time, and knew she held his heart. She reached up, her gaze upon him soft as she stroked his cheek and he turned into the caress, kissing her palm.

“Beautiful, Georgie,” he whispered, wanting to tell her, to give her the words whilst he was brave enough to say them aloud, but his body had wanted for too long, and the feel of her beneath him, holding him inside her was too good. Though it was too soon, and he did not want it to end, he could not hold on. He shattered with a fierce cry, detonating like a light exploded inside him, sending him flying as his body shuddered with the force of it. She held him tight as he spilled inside her, anchoring him to this world, and came back to earth entirely remade.

Georgie held her husband in her arms, almost crushed beneath his weight and not caring a bit. Oh, Lord, but it had been marvellous. He was marvellous. The caring, tender man she had suspected hid beneath the uncompromising exterior had been revealed to her now and she had fallen hard. Not that there had been much farther to fall. She had known each week that he chipped away a little more of her heart and took it away with him, but now there was nothing left. He had it all, for better or for worse, and the thought did not scare her as much as she had believed it would. No doubt they would have their trials. He was still impatient, and she did not doubt his temper would surface eventually, but she did not fear it now, nor him. Because he was not the obnoxious arse she had accused him of being, but only a man with flaws, who could be loving and kind and gentle, and who could recognise when he was wrong.

“Did I hurt you?” his gruff voice brought Georgie back to the here and now and she blinked up into her husband’s grey eyes. He had braced himself on his elbows, taking his weight from her, and watched her anxiously.

Georgie shook her head. “No. It was lovely,” she said. “You’re lovely.”

He made a sound of amusement and, rather to her regret, rolled off her. She waited warily, wondering if he’d just fall asleep as her mother had warned her he might. Some men needed to be taught how to cuddle, Mama had said. Apparently, Rochford wasn’t one of them. He tugged Georgie close, spooning around her until her big, warm husband enveloped her. She shivered with pleasure as one large hand cupped her breast and he sighed with contentment, his breath hot against the back of her neck.

They were quiet for a long moment, and Georgie was feeling sleepy and pleased with the world when he spoke.

“Are you happy?”

With difficulty, she turned her head so she could see his face, and he shifted to look down at her.

“I am spectacularly happy,” she told him, to be certain he had no doubts about her sincerity.

He grinned, looking ridiculously pleased with himself. “So am I,” he admitted.

“So you should be,” she replied tartly, trying not to laugh. “I’m marvellous.”

“You are that,” he whispered, touching a gentle finger to her cheek before bending and pressing a kiss to her mouth. “I love you, Georgie.”

Georgie stared at him, not having expected that. She had thought it might take her months, years even before he gave her such a declaration. “Oh,” she said, blinking as her eyes prickled.