He stepped toward her in a trance and then reality intruded as the two men on the floor interrupted his vision. Reaching into his coat pocket, he removed the set of handcuffs he always carried and secured the much bigger Larry to a pipe along the floor. Then he found a leather lead from a nearby bridle hanging on a hook and used that to tie the unconscious Wentworth to a post.

There. Neither of them was going anywhere anytime soon.

Slowly, he turned to face Bronwyn, who had not moved a single inch, her eyes glued to him. “Did you have those handcuffs on your person all along?” He nodded, and her throat worked over an indelicate swallow, pupils dilating. “Do you have another set at home?” Valentine nodded again. “Can you restrain me sometime?”

Every single drop of blood in his body descended south.

If his erection didn’t kill him, she certainly would. “Come with me.”

Twenty-four

The tiny tack room he’d led her to could barely qualify as a room, but it would do. Apparently the duke thought so as well because within seconds of the door closing behind them, Bronwyn was nearly bent over in half, face mashed up against a worn sidesaddle hanging over a bench.

The position was lewd and everything she needed as her throbbing pulse points rubbed on the rounded edges of the saddle. The warm scent of leather filled her nose, but she could barely appreciate it, her attention caught by the man lifting handfuls of her skirts. He kicked her knees wide, yanked down her drawers, and she moaned when air kissed her bare behind.

Within seconds, he thrusted into her, hot and thick, a groan pulled from the depths of him when he seated himself to the hilt. “I love being inside you.”

“Yes.” It was the only word she was capable of. No, wait…there was another. She pushed back against him with impatience. “More.”

A breathless chuckle left him as he moved, filling her with hard, glorious strokes she felt so deeply that she wasn’t sure where he began and she ended. Pleasure coiled along her nerves, spiking and gathering, as each powerful thrust rubbed her sensitive nipples against the saddle. Bronwyn’s eyes nearly rolled back into her head when he tilted her hips even more, one hand flat at the base of her spine and the other reaching up to wind in the mass of her hair. She groaned.

“Is this what you want?” he demanded, never once slowing his desperate pace.

“Yes.” It was practically a sob.

“You want me to fill you?”

She whimpered. “God, yes.”