Page 75 of Sir Durham’s Disarming Asset

He ran his fingertips over her lips, and she smiled.

He put his mouth to hers and said, “Slowly.”

And she nodded, his instincts ever so attuned to hers.

He used his hands to stroke her from throat to ribs and tummy, then threaded his fingers downward into her hair.

She arched, the need to have him caress her flesh lower, stronger, making her rise.

He met her with kisses, then he sank one finger inside her again. The fullness of him spurred her to a moan. But one finger was not enough. Two was finer.

She hugged him for it. “More.”

“More,” he agreed, and gave her the flat of his palm and a stroke of his thumb to some startling portion of her core.

“I want that,” she told him, and he gave her a few swift strokes of his fingers. “You,” she whispered. “You are too slow, sir.”

And with that, she watched him swallow hard and rise up to look down, and, with his dedication to her tender initiation, he probed slowly and sank, little by little, inside her.

This! This was what she wanted from him. Only him.

“Rafe,” she said in wonder. “Rafe,” she said in bliss.

But he withdrew.

She clamped a hand to his arm. “You leave?”

“No. No,” he said.

She watched him gather some errant thought. “What?” she asked, horrified something was wrong and she was malformed. Destroyed. Unable.

“I want to be kind.”

She brushed a thick lock of black hair from his forehead. “You are. Always. And so the problem is…what? Am I not capable of having you? Or—”

“I love you, and I have never taken a virgin.”

“That, we both know, I am not.” She sat up to put her head to his shoulder.

“I am afraid to hurt you.”

“There is only one way to destroy that fear. Come. The night is still young.” So she lay down and drew him with her, took one hand of his and put it to her core. “I need you. Try again.”

This time he took long minutes kissing all of her, even her intimate flesh. And that was the most exciting moment until he rose up and again sank slowly, slowly inside her.

He moved and she moaned.

He thrust and she smiled.

He set a rhythm and she flowed with it.

He reached down to stroke once more the spot that thrilled her, and in a daze, she moved against him and lolled her head on the bed.

He caught her lips and pressed so that, all at once, she knew what it was to join with a man whom she loved.

There was no equal.

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