“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.”