My Last Duchess (The Wildes of Lindow Castle #0.5) - Eloisa James Page 0,21

said. “I think all the time.” A little panic slid down her spine. She pictured the way she and Peter had made love. They were invariably courteous and kind with each other. Of course they had been thinking during the act.

She had constantly thought about what Peter would like her to do next. She had the strong feeling he had done the same. That’s why their marital life had been so successful.

But just as that panic rose, it dissipated. She wasn’t marrying the duke. What they did in bed this evening wouldn’t set a pattern for future years to come.

“I will try to make you stop thinking,” Hugo said. His voice rumbled, confident and happy at the same time. “Making love is a time to be in the flesh.”

Ophelia wrinkled her nose. “Is that some sort of pun on intimacy?”

“In your flesh?” His eyes danced with laughter when he leaned over and kissed her, and somehow joy came with his touch.

Ophelia didn’t pull back until she decided that if they didn’t move on to being “in the flesh,” she might burst. Her insides were tightening; no, all her muscles were tight. Every time he thrust his tongue between her lips, her heart beat faster, and her hands clutched him more tightly. Her core was aching for him in a way that she didn’t remember.

Because it had been so long: that was the only reason she didn’t remember. Hugo would never succeed in making her stop thinking. Thinking was what she did best.

Another twinge of anxiety went through her. Did she even understand how to do a bedding that had nothing to do with marital satisfaction, or procreation? One that was for nothing more than shared pleasure?

“Are there any other rules?” she asked, surprised by the hoarse tone in her voice.

“Experience suggests that I have energetic seed, so I will do my best to protect you.” Hugo leaned over and picked up something that Ophelia instantly recognized, because Maddie had told her about it. The object had the appearance of a sausage without filling, oddly adorned on one end with a pink ribbon.

She wrinkled her nose. “I surmise that is a condom.”

Hugo shrugged and dropped it back on the bedside table. “We’ll have no use for it unless you promise to marry me.”

“What?” Ophelia’s eyes caught on his chest. He had a delicious set of indentations that led right down his torso. Muscles, presumably. And he had a trail of hair that arrowed down to his . . . And her eyes stopped again, lower.

The duke was a great deal larger than Peter had been. In fact, he was of a size that she considered—though she had never considered such a thing before—to be obstructive. Perhaps impossible.

His eyes followed hers. “Yes, there’s that.”

“I see,” she said carefully.

Hugo moved backward, and her eyes moved with him. “It’s not that interesting,” he said.

“Actually, it is.”

“Same general shape as most men’s, from what I’ve seen.”

He ran his hands down her front, his fingers pausing on her nipples, sweeping on and around her sides to her back. “Let’s go back to discussing arses.” His hands curved under her body, around her bottom, and a hoarse sound escaped his throat. “Yours is marvelously round. Perfect, in fact.”

Ophelia’s mind had split in two. Part of her brain was busily informing the rest of her that this behavior was utterly inappropriate. She couldn’t take her eyes off the part of him that rose proudly, bobbing in the air. The sight of him made the melting sensation in her stomach increase. Probably that was sinful. Certainly it was embarrassing.

The other part of her mind suggested she tuck her arms behind her head, so she did, causing her bosom to rise into the air. He wasn’t the only one who had impressive . . . parts.

She did as well.

“Are you commanding my attention?” Hugo inquired.

“Yes,” Ophelia said, breaking into a giggle. “This is so funny,” she added, allowing herself to say precisely what she was thinking. “I never imagined laughing in bed.”

“Huh.” Hugo slid his hands to her front and then they curved around her breasts. “I don’t feel like laughing,” he said, voice rough. “I don’t mind if you do, Ophelia. Laugh as much as you like.”

Ophelia sucked in air, all impulse to giggle leaving her. His lips drifted across the curve of her right breast, lingered just long enough to make her quiver, and then closed over her nipple.

Sound rasped through her throat and her hands flew from