Free A Night With the Bride by Kate McKinley

possessed. His tongue twined with hers, opening her up, demanding everything.
    Abruptly, he broke the kiss and stepped back. Untying his cravat, he pulled it free and tossed it aside. His jacket, waistcoat, and shirt were next, leaving his upper half completely bare to her hungry gaze.
    He was built like an Adonis, smooth, flawless, and utterly breathtaking. Muscles lined his stomach, and she itched to brush her fingers across every enticing sinew, taste every rope of muscle with her tongue.
    Keeping his gaze firmly locked on her, he unbuttoned his breeches and let them fall around his ankles, then lowered himself into the nearest chair. “Come here,” he said, low and wicked.
    She stood paralyzed, unable to tear her gaze away from the erection that stood long and thick between his legs. He was exquisite, and she needed him inside her, like nothing she’d ever needed before in her life.
    Stepping forward, she swept his cravat off the floor, and held it up. She smiled sweetly, one eyebrow lifted. “Do you trust me?” she asked, echoing his words to her the first time they’d made love.
    His eyes locked on the cravat, and he started to rise. “Gabriella—“
    She placed her free hand on his chest, halting him. “Trust goes both ways.” Skimming her hand across his chest and over his shoulder, she moved behind him. “Your wrists, please.”
    He lowered his head and pushed out a heavy breath. For a moment, she thought he might refuse, but after a moment, he brought his hands around the back of the chair. She tied his wrists together securely and smiled to herself.
    He was relinquishing control, something she suspected he’d never done before, and it made her feel special.
    Walking back around to face him, she kneeled and placed herself between his thighs. His erection stood stiff between them, and she reached up, tentatively tracing the engorged tip with her finger. He was smooth, hot, and a little bead of moisture formed at the tip.
    He sucked in a sharp breath through is teeth, and his muscles bulged as he struggled against his restraints. She snatched her hand away. “Have I hurt you?”
    “Gabriella.” His vice was rough, strained. “I need to be inside you.”
    The hunger and desperation in his voice unhinged her.
    Standing, she rucked up her gown and straddled the chair. She placed one hand on his chest as she slowly lowered herself, he tip of his erection just skimming her hot, moist center.
    “ Christ ,” he hissed, his head dropping back. “You are so fucking wet for me.”
    As he thrust his hips upward, his arms straining to pull free of his bindings. She gripped his shoulders, and her nails bit into his skin as he stretched her, settling impossibly deep.
    “Move your hips,” he said. “Forward and back.”
    Tentatively, she did as instructed, gliding her hips back and forth, until she found a slow, sensuous rhythm that rubbed her in precisely the right way. Tilting her head back, she moaned. “You feel so good inside me.”
    That was when he snapped. Violently pulling his wrists free of the knots, he growled and brought his hands around to grip her backside. He guided her hips in a rough, wild tempo that sent her spiraling, cascading into a wide yawning abyss of sensation and pleasure.
    Nothing existed except them, this moment, their bodies locked together in the most elemental way possible. This was right. He was right. It was always meant to be him—her strong, wounded duke. Love curled around her heart like a fist and squeezed.
    With one hand, he released her backside and threaded his hand through her neatly coifed hair, then pulled her down, claiming her lips in a hot, greedy kiss as he continued to guide her hips, thrusting deeper, deeper with each breathless movement.
    “God, Gabriella,” he rasped. “I can’t…” His words melted into low, guttural growl as he pushed into her, hard, fierce, shoving her over the edge, into oblivion.
    All the pleasure and torment came to a fine point