Stolen by the Ruthless Duke (Stolen by the Duke #2)

Chapter 28

Chapter Twenty-Eight

H er husband stalked towards her, every inch the predator eyeing up his prey.

If he was a beast expecting a helpless fawn, then he would be sorely disappointed. Ophelia considered herself a gentlewoman, but she was neither helpless nor naive.

“You know the ways of the bedroom,” he guessed, his eyes roving over her. “You certainly knew them when you could not help but moan for me several nights ago in this very room.”

“I… Well… My friend told me about it,” she mumbled, blushing as she recalled her countless talks with Bridget about the intimate act.

“Then you know such activities are not only for making children but also for pleasure. Pleasure is a divine act, Ophelia, and I wish to indulge with you.”

Her breathing quickened as she nodded.

Maxwell began to take off his jacket and shirt, unbuttoning them agonizingly slowly. She did not take her eyes off his chest, the hard planes of his upper body, the thick arms he displayed, and the broad shoulders that she already knew the feel of beneath her hands.

His muscles tapered into his hips, which he exposed to her further and further as he unlaced his breeches. Leaving his breeches open, Ophelia could only gasp at the sight of his length straining against the fabric, as though he was getting aroused.

“Tell me,” he murmured, “are you soaked for me already?”

She had trouble tearing her gaze away from him to assess herself. She felt the damp arousal pooling between her legs and made to nod, but Maxwell shook his head.

“Touch yourself,” he instructed, “and show me that you are soaked.”

Her chest tightened with burning desire, and she swallowed past the dryness in her throat. “Yes, husband.”

“And one more thing,” he told her as she went to slide her hands beneath her skirts. “You are not prudish, so do not pretend. I wish to see everything you do. Every place that you touch. I will tell you when to stop.”

Ophelia bit her lip to stifle a moan before stopping herself and letting herself make those noises he undoubtedly wished to hear. She let her head loll to the side as Maxwell took off his boots and breeches, before he finally stood before her naked.

Just the sight of his hard manhood had her parting her legs, as though her body knew before she did that she was ready to take him.

He took himself in hand, stroking himself as she tugged her skirts right up her legs, exposing herself to him. His chest heaved as he watched her move her hand to her soaked sex, before she met his eyes boldly.

“Well?” she prompted.

“I would instruct you to begin pleasuring yourself, but I cannot go another moment without my body against yours, my hands on those curves of yours, and my cock pressed against you, finding the place where I belong.” He gazed at her. “With you. Inside you.”

As I make him complete .

Ophelia blushed. She tried not to think too much of it. They were pleasure-addled words that she would still tuck away in her heart. For something had changed between them— would change between them.

“Then please,” she breathed, “please do.”

Maxwell eyed her again before he placed the cravat between his teeth. He crawled up the bed, his hands taking over where she held up her skirts. He curled his fingers into the fabric, keeping her exposed.

“The many, many times I have held myself back from being near you.” He shook his head. “It only makes me wish to ruin you more tonight.”

“I am at your mercy.”

He gave her the most devilish grin. “Do you promise that, wife?”

“Yes.” Her body burned with wanton heat. “Take me. I am yours to ruin?—”

His mouth crashed onto hers before she could even finish her sentence, the declaration of being his enough to drive him towards her. She gasped, her lips parting enough for him to slide his tongue against hers, kissing her roughly and tenderly at the same time.

He licked her in such a way, exploring her mouth as though he had never before had the pleasure to do so. Groaning into the kiss, Maxwell kissed her like she might be the answer to everything he never let himself ask. Perhaps she was.

Her hands slid into his long hair, disheveled from the night. She tugged hard on the strands, curling them around her fingertips at the roots. He let out a low growl before he pulled away.

“You are at my mercy,” he reminded her. “Not the other way around.”

Before she could speak, her arms were pinned down to the bedsheets, and a gasp escaped her mouth. Maxwell flipped her over and lifted her hips, and his fingers trailed over her back, unlacing her dress. She was left in her corset, which he took his sweet time unlacing before letting it fall to the floor, leaving her completely bare.

“Ophelia,” he said quietly, stroking his palms down her back. His hands went to her hips, digging into her flesh as if he might dig deeper into her, press himself even more intimately into her very being. “You are stunning, and I have thought so since the moment I saw you in that church.”

Ophelia reeled, a long exhale escaping her lips. Her thighs parted further, her back arching. “Then show me how much you admire me.”

She let her hair hang over her shoulders as she looked back at him, her smile faltering when she saw how intensely he regarded her.

“I intend to,” he said roughly, and then she was on her back again, her hands pinned above her head. His silk cravat was like liquid against her skin as he tied her wrists to the headboard.

“You do not wish for me to touch you?”

“I wish to make tonight about you, Ophelia,” he told her. “I will let you touch me much later, but tonight, I want as much intimacy between us as possible.”

Understanding settled into her chest slowly, sinking through her as desire filled every inch of her. Her chest heaved. Her breasts hung heavy on either side of her, and Maxwell’s eyes roved over her greedily. She assessed him in return; how his manhood hung heavy between his legs, the way the tip was a furious red, and the way his thighs tightened as he leaned over her.

The tip of his length brushed against her inner thigh, and she gasped at the feel of it. There was an ache in her arms that she did not care about, not when she cushioned her cheek against the side of her arm and Maxwell cupped the other cheek.

“You will be good and let me hear you,” he told her, his eyes flashing. “I do not want you to hold back. I wish to know how good you feel when I take you.”

“Yes, husband,” she murmured.

His lips captured hers in a bruising kiss, his hand on her face traveling down to cup her breast, kneading it roughly. It hurt, but it sent spikes of pleasure through her.

“Maxwell,” she whispered when he pressed his mouth to her neck, biting her skin. “Take me like you fight. Take me as though I could lodge something within you, a lasting sense of calm endurance. Take me like my body will soothe that darker part of you.”

His body stilled for a second, the muscles in his back growing taut. Maxwell lifted his head, his eyes meeting hers. “You do not know what you are asking for.”

“I promise you that I do.”

“I have let men leave the ring within an inch of their life.”

“And if I die beneath your hand, let me see Heaven before that happens.”

She did not expect such a bold statement to slip free, and she did not mean it so starkly, but he had not killed a man, and that mattered to her. She was safe with him—she was safe in Stormcliff, and she was realizing that more deeply every time she saw him.

“I am safe with you,” she told him, nodding. “I trust you.”

And as if those words unlocked that part of him, Maxwell closed his eyes, as if permitting himself to give in to his dark desires.

“I am at your mercy,” Ophelia repeated. “I am yours to ruin.”

His eyes still closed, he said, “Say that again.”

“I am yours to ruin.”

“Then ruin you I shall.”

He closed his fingers around her bound wrists. Then he pressed against her most intimate area and pushed in. Ophelia gasped as he breached her, as a ragged breath escaped his lips. As if he truly had been waiting for this since the moment they had met.

Slowly, he pushed all the way into her, and she could only stare at him, her lashes fluttering as he slid deeper into her. His length did indeed find a home in her. She felt impossibly full, swearing she could feel him in her belly.

“Maxwell,” she moaned. “Heavens above, Maxwell.”

“Say my name again,” he told her, his voice heavy with lust.

He groaned as she breathed his name once more. Where he had slid himself into her, he twitched with desire, and Ophelia moaned brokenly.

All she could focus on was the pleasure simmering in her veins as she lay there, entirely at his mercy as she had promised she would be. His frame loomed over hers, covering her smaller body. His biceps bunched as he braced one hand beside her head, the other still holding her bound wrists.

“You are—you are very warm,” he told her, pressing his forehead to hers. “I cannot hold myself back.”

“I asked you not to.”

“Do not test me?—”

“I am not.”

“ Duchess ,” he moaned as he began to move.

She did not need to say more, and he pulled out to the tip before he slid back into her until there was no space between them. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head; she did not know chamber activities were meant to feel so good, so much like a delightful game, so much like soaring to the starry sky itself.

Her body was alight as if each brush of his skin against hers made her one of those stars, let her soar through the dark night, utterly on fire.

Her husband pulled out again before he rutted into her with animalistic need, his eyes never once leaving hers, as if he noted every movement he made, mirrored in her expression. But Ophelia was lost to his lust.

“Let me hear you,” he growled.

He thrust into her hard, and she gasped loudly. “Maxwell!”

“Ophelia,” he groaned, giving in to his needs.

She ached for it, opened her legs further, wished she had her hands free so she could rake her nails over his back, leave a mark on him for him to remember tomorrow morning.

“Free me,” she begged, curling her fingers around the cravat.

“No,” he told her. His hand suddenly came down on her thigh in a sharp slap. “Make another request like that and I will flip you over, and have your backside exposed to me.”

Instead of being deterred, Ophelia burned with the thought of what he might do if she disobeyed him.

He smirked at her, and before she could say anything else, he thrust roughly into her. His hips rocked back and forth into her, his muscles rippling as he held himself above her. His jaw was slack, lost to pleasure. Ophelia could only watch desperately as she lifted her hips to meet his. Their mouths met messily, and she felt herself drawing close to that unbearably delicious heat that he had pulled her into the last time he had touched her.

He landed another slap on her thigh, the inside this time, and she cried out.

“More,” she gasped.

“You shall take what I give you,” he snapped, but desire thickened his voice. “Ophelia?—”

His thrusts quickened, and the way he handled her so tenderly yet so roughly made her feel dizzy.

“Maxwell,” she all but sobbed as her pleasure soared. Shivering as she climbed higher and higher, she begged again. “Do not stop. Please— please , do not. Never stop.”

Maxwell kissed her lips once again, his tongue curling around hers, and she cried and cried, her moans broken as he brought her to another climax, before he groaned, following her over the edge.

Their moans mingled, and his fingers threaded through hers. He pressed her hands down into the pillow, slowing his thrusts until they became shallow.

They shuddered, their climaxes ebbing.

“Heavens,” he groaned, kissing her softer this time.

He collapsed next to her, brushing his hair from his face. Reaching up, he undid the cravat and released her wrists. Surprisingly, he pressed a kiss to her skin.

“Was I too rough?” he asked.

Ophelia, dazed, shook her head. “You were not.” She laughed softly. “That was… Well, I do think I saw Heaven.” A sigh left her, long and breathy.

“Stay here tonight,” Maxwell murmured. “When I wake up in the morning, do not let me find you gone.”

“You are certain?” she asked carefully.

“I am certain.” He paused, the air heavy with silence for a moment until he continued. “And in the morning, I wish to break our fasts together. Alone.”

Ophelia met his eyes, finding only sincerity there.

She nodded. “I would like that.”

“Then sleep,” he told her, brushing his lips against her shoulder in yet another affectionate gesture she did not expect. “So we might eat together sooner.”