“Touch me,” he murmured, echoing her thoughts. His eyes were hot and held dark promises. “Take my cock in your hands and hold me.”

Gently, he captured her hand to encourage and guide her. When her fingers closed around him, he winced slightly.

“Does that hurt?” she asked.

He gave a strangled laugh. “A good hurt.” His fingers wrapped about hers so she held him tightly. With a soft groan, he shut his eyes.

For the first time in their stormy relationship, Heather understood the effect she was having on him, and it soothed her initial panic. She took a deep breath. She had not given Sloan much pleasure during their first sexual encounters; she’d been too nervous and inexperienced even to try. But now he was giving her the chance.

And she wanted to take it. She wanted to make this man, as remote and icily detached as he was, feel the same hot, uncontrollable pleasure he aroused in her.

Her fingers cupped him tentatively as she watched his face. The bronzed skin was pulled taut across lean cheekbones while the pulse beat so strongly in his throat, she could see its throbbing rhythm. Her exploration grew bolder, learning the feel of him, the sensations of swollen sacks nestled in soft dark hair, the long, thick shaft that was hot and silken to the touch, the flushed, bulbous head with the encircling ridge….

With effort, Sloan lay completely still, allowing her to set the pace. Only his hand moved, guiding her, showing her how to stroke and arouse him.

“Like this?” she whispered.

“Exactly … like that…” he agreed, his voice an uneven gasp.

In fascination she fondled him, caressing until he arched his hips in fitful need. Yet Heather was not inclined to satisfy him just yet. She wanted to draw out the intimate moment, to drive Sloan as mad with desire as he did her.

Following her intuition, she rose up on her knees. She wanted to taste him. Daringly, she bent over him, her long hair caressing his body as she pressed her lips to his engorged flesh. Sloan groaned.

Her own body aching shamelessly for him, she placed a questioning kiss on the velvet-smooth head. His every muscle went rigid. Greatly encouraged, she touched him with her tongue, tasting salt and musk and male sweetness. His head moved restlessly on the pillow. Her tongue traced the rigid length, and she felt a surge of triumph when his fists gripped the sheets.

The last remnants of shyness fading, she continued her sensual assault, sliding her lips down over the swollen crown as her fingers caressed him.

It was the startling boldness of her next intimacy, however, that made him shudder. She sucked gently, drawing him into her mouth with an innocent passion that inflamed him.

Pulsating wildly, Sloan let the male ache wash over him in ripples of pleasure-pain. “Duchess…”

“My name is Heather,” she whispered against his hot flesh. “Say it, Sloan.”