naked, bare skin rubbing sinuously against bare skin.
Everything was fierce. Desperate. Violent in its intensity as they fell together on the bed.
Roaming, fondling hands. Kissing, biting lips. Panting, groaning breaths.
“You still think I want to court other women?” he growled, his hand skimming her face. Hard fingers delved into her hair, unraveling her plait as he gripped her scalp. His hot mouth crashed over hers before she could answer.
He settled atop her, finding his home between her thighs. It felt so right, so natural, to have him there, his hot cock aligned with the weeping seam of her.
His head dipped to kiss her breasts, and she moaned, arching her spine, wanting more.
His mouth closed around one nipple. Her fingers clenched on his flexing biceps. He shifted and his cock drove into her, sliding into her slick heat.
She panted, clinging, straining against him, urging him closer as she tilted her hips, taking him in deeper, needing him as one needed water, air, sustenance.
“Yes, yes, yes.”
His thrusts were relentless, the friction unbearable.
His eyes gleamed hotly down at her. He wrapped an arm around her waist and flipped them both, settling her on top of him.
“Perry!”
“Ride me, Imogen. Take me as you please.”
His eyes locked with hers as she started to move, uncertain at first and then gradually building a rhythm, gaining speed as she rode him, pushing her palms down on his chest for leverage as her hips worked over him.
Gaspy little cries escaped her that might later embarrass her, when she reflected. But not now. Now there was only this. Now only raw hunger.
His low groans encouraged her, fed her passion. An aching pressure built inside her as she moved, increasing the delicious friction and tightening the coil in her belly. Her eyes widened as she felt the familiar swell coming. The pressure built and built and she increased her movements, becoming wild and completely lacking rhythm as she raced toward it, searching for her release.
“I’m close. Come with me,” he choked, his chest tensing, muscles bunching tightly beneath her fingers. Her nails scored his skin as she worked desperately over him. “Get there, Imogen.”
“I’m almost . . .” She rocked and felt him deeper. He hit an angle that made her fly apart. She cried out, every nerve bursting. A full body tremor started at her toes and worked its way through her. “Ohhh.”
His arm came around her waist again and he flipped her on her back. He drove into her, still going, still pumping hard. Sharp gasps spilled from her lips as her climax came hard and fast. He raced toward his own release, pounding into her, launching her into another climax.
He groaned and stilled inside her, his weight a delicious thing on top of her.
She went limp, folding both her arms around his smooth shoulders.
His arms slid around her, coming around her back, hugging her closer, his lips nuzzling in her neck. As solid and heavy as he was, she didn’t want him to ever move. She wished they could stay like this forever. Never leave each other or this bed.
It was a lovely wish.
“Imogen,” he whispered.
“Hm?”
“I don’t want walks with anyone else.”
She exhaled. Perhaps it didn’t have to be just a wish.
Perry watched Imogen for several long moments, studying her as she slept and imagining waking to this—to her—every morning. He could not envision a better life. Not even when he had been the duke.
Certainly he had to figure some things out. He wasn’t going to bring a wife to his mother’s house.
Wife. Yes. He was thinking of that. What else could he be thinking at this point?
He wanted to marry her. It felt right. The notion of building a life with her thrilled him more than anything he’d ever had—anything he had done or ever wanted to do. And build they would. Nothing would be given to them. No royal dukedom with all its contingent wealth would be handed down to him for the simple matter of his existence.
They would start a life together. Build a life together.
But until then, he should remove himself from her bedchamber. Morning light already spilled through the window. He needed to make haste and go before her father or housekeeper roused themselves. He did not want to scandalize the household with his presence in Imogen’s bedchamber.
He eased from bed and quickly dressed himself. Moving to her desk, he searched for a piece of paper to leave her another note. He smiled as he contemplated what kind of clever message he