Page 57 of The Duke’s Defiant Love

When he first entered her, the world narrowed down to a single point of intense, searing contact. She gasped, her eyes snapping open, her fingers digging into the muscles of his shoulders. It was a sharp, invading pressure that stole the air from her lungs. For a heartbeat, she froze, the instinct of the unknown clashing with her desire.

But Sebastian stopped instantly. He didn't pull away, but he ceased all movement, bracing himself on his elbows to look directly into her eyes. He waited, his breath mingling with hers, his expression one of profound concern and tenderness. He didn't push.

"Look at me," he murmured.

She focused on the depth of his gaze, the warmth and the patience there. Slowly, the sharp sting faded, replaced by a heavy, pulsing fullness that felt like it was rewriting her entire internal geography. She felt a strange, overwhelming sense of expansion.

She let out a long, shuddering exhale and tilted her hips upward, a silent invitation. "Please," she whimpered. "Don't stop."

As he began to move, the sensation shifted sharply. Each slow, deliberate thrust pulled her further away from the shore of everything she had ever known. Her mind went blissfully blank, filled with the scent of sandalwood and musk, and the way he groaned her name.

Amelia gasped, her head falling back against the pillow, her eyes fluttering shut as she felt him fill her completely. The sensation was overwhelming, a slow-burn intensity that radiated from her core to the tips of her fingers.

She opened her eyes and watched his face—the way his jaw tightened, the flicker of intensity in his eyes—and realized that she was affecting him just as deeply. That realization sent a jolt of emotional electricity through her, amplifying the physical sensation until it was almost unbearable.

Amelia gripped his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin, her breath coming in short, jagged hitches. The tension coiled within her, tighter and more focused than before, building until she felt she might shatter.

"Sebastian," she whimpered, her voice breaking. "Please..."

He quickened the pace, his movements becoming more urgent, more primal. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his breath hot and ragged, as he drove himself deeper, seeking the very center of her.

The climax hit her like a tidal wave. It was violent, sudden, and all-consuming. Amelia cried out, her body convulsing around him in tight, rhythmic waves of pleasure that left her breathless. Sebastian followed a moment later, a low, guttural roar escaping him, his entire frame shuddering with the force of his release.

As they lay there in the aftermath, the silence of the room wrapping around them like a blanket, Sebastian didn't pull away. He stayed tucked against her, his heartbeat slowing against her chest, his hand gently stroking her hair.

"I should have said it days ago," he murmured against her hair, one arm wrapped securely round her.

"You said it exactly when I needed to hear it." She pressed closer, feeling his heartbeat slow gradually beneath her palm. "I will not let you disappear on me again, Sebastian. Not after this."

"No," he agreed, quiet and certain. "Never again."

She felt changed. The world outside the door felt distant and insignificant. She closed her eyes, drifting toward sleep, feeling completely seen, completely cherished, and finally, irrevocably home.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

"Come. I want to show you something." Sebastian took her hand as they passed the drawing room the next day, leading her down a corridor she had not yet explored, and stopped before a set of double doors she had assumed, until now, belonged to some ordinary sitting room.

He produced a key. Amelia glanced at him.

"You have a locked mystery room?"

"Not just a room." He unlocked the door. "My library."

She smiled. "You have a private library?"

"You will understand when you see it."

He pushed the doors open.

They opened into something considerably more than that. Shelves rose floor-to-ceiling on every wall, crowded with volumes bound in leather gone soft with handling, manuscripts stacked in careful towers on a long reading table, a single worn armchair angled toward the hearth its leather softened by years of use.

But it was not the size of the collection that caught her attention. It was the care. Every volume seemed to have been chosen deliberately.

She moved slowly toward the nearest shelf. Her fingers hovered over the spines without touching them.

"How long did this take?"

"Most of my life."