She forced her eyes open. Hugo had her breasts plumped in both hands. Far from looking restless, he was suckling a nipple with an intensity that made another moan escape her lips. He looked as if he couldn’t stop himself.

Thoughts were going every which way in her head. A streak of pleasure was followed by a panicked protest that she ought to do the same for him. The breath caught in her throat, because he did something—that thing—with his tongue, and fire streaked down her legs. She couldn’t focus on his expression because she kept closing her eyes. Her toes curled and her legs shook and she almost felt as if . . . which was absurd.

Her eyes flew open again and she craned her neck. He didn’t show any signs of getting bored. But he must be getting bored. And she . . . well, she was ready for what came next. A good deal readier than she sometimes was.

Hugo lifted his head, making her hands fall from his hair, and met her eyes. “Stop thinking.” His tone wasn’t that of a duke accustomed to obedience. It was the growl of a man in the grip of pure lust.

For her.

Ophelia blinked at him. “I was just . . . I don’t want you to grow bored.”

Hugo broke into a chuckle.

“I thought you didn’t laugh in bed,” she said, her mouth curving up. She reached out to run her hands down his forearms. They were powerful, muscled. The arms of a man who could protect anyone, a child, Viola . . . Her mind wandered away from thoughts of her child.

Ophelia didn’t need protecting and neither did Viola.

But Ophelia needed more of him. Fierce, base desire roared through her body.

Hugo reared up on his knees and shook his head. His hands settled on his hips and her eyes were drawn precisely where he, apparently, wanted her to look.

“If a man is bored, what happens to his cock?”

Ophelia managed to stop a flinch. She was a widow, not a maiden. She had to get used to bold speaking and words that were considered fit only for sinful congress. Because that’s what she was engaging in: sinful congress.

He reached down and ran a hand over his private parts. Ophelia watched with utter fascination at the way his hand clenched, even twisted a little. The head emerged from his hand looking red and—

Ophelia lost her train of thought again.

“It would wilt,” Hugo said, because she hadn’t answered.

“I understand,” Ophelia said, though she didn’t. Not really.

“I was determined to find a third wife who was uninterested in bed sports,” Hugo said conversationally. “Or very experienced at them.”

“I haven’t promised to be your wife!” She frowned at him. “I am experienced. I mothered a child, in case you need a reminder.”