The Duke Goes Down (The Duke Hunt #1) by Sophie Jordan

Gaspy little cries escaped her that might later embarrass her, when she reflected. But not now. Now there was only this. Now only raw hunger.

His low groans encouraged her, fed her passion. An aching pressure built inside her as she moved, increasing the delicious friction and tightening the coil in her belly. Her eyes widened as she felt the familiar swell coming. The pressure built and built and she increased her movements, becoming wild and completely lacking rhythm as she raced toward it, searching for her release.

“I’m close. Come with me,” he choked, his chest tensing, muscles bunching tightly beneath her fingers. Her nails scored his skin as she worked desperately over him. “Get there, Imogen.”

“I’m almost . . .” She rocked and felt him deeper. He hit an angle that made her fly apart. She cried out, every nerve bursting. A full body tremor started at her toes and worked its way through her. “Ohhh.”

His arm came around her waist again and he flipped her on her back. He drove into her, still going, still pumping hard. Sharp gasps spilled from her lips as her climax came hard and fast. He raced toward his own release, pounding into her, launching her into another climax.

He groaned and stilled inside her, his weight a delicious thing on top of her.

She went limp, folding both her arms around his smooth shoulders.

His arms slid around her, coming around her back, hugging her closer, his lips nuzzling in her neck. As solid and heavy as he was, she didn’t want him to ever move. She wished they could stay like this forever. Never leave each other or this bed.

It was a lovely wish.

“Imogen,” he whispered.

“Hm?”

“I don’t want walks with anyone else.”

She exhaled. Perhaps it didn’t have to be just a wish.



Perry watched Imogen for several long moments, studying her as she slept and imagining waking to this—to her—every morning. He could not envision a better life. Not even when he had been the duke.

Certainly he had to figure some things out. He wasn’t going to bring a wife to his mother’s house.

Wife. Yes. He was thinking of that. What else could he be thinking at this point?

He wanted to marry her. It felt right. The notion of building a life with her thrilled him more than anything he’d ever had—anything he had done or ever wanted to do. And build they would. Nothing would be given to them. No royal dukedom with all its contingent wealth would be handed down to him for the simple matter of his existence.

They would start a life together. Build a life together.

But until then, he should remove himself from her bedchamber. Morning light already spilled through the window. He needed to make haste and go before her father or housekeeper roused themselves. He did not want to scandalize the household with his presence in Imogen’s bedchamber.

He eased from bed and quickly dressed himself. Moving to her desk, he searched for a piece of paper to leave her another note. He smiled as he contemplated what kind of clever message he would leave her this time.

Not finding anything on the top of her desk, he opened a drawer and ruffled through for some stationery.

His gaze arrested on one piece of paper, his name leaping out at him. Well, rather his old name: the Duke of Penning. He lifted it from the drawer, scanning the words.

His hand started to shake.

The paper dropped, fluttering through the air and landing on her writing desk with a whisper. Strange. That slight whisper sounded as loud as a horn in his ears.

His own letter-writing task forever forgotten, he turned, staring at her where she slept, her brown hair soft all around her on the pillow.

He could still feel her. Her hair wasn’t the only soft thing about her. Her skin. Her breasts. The pillow of her lips.

Perry blinked once hard, as though attempting to shake the very real memory of those sweet things from his mind. A moment ago he had thought to never lose those things. He had thought to keep them forever. Now he felt the desperate need to forget. To put those things so far from his mind that he never wanted them again. Never wanted her again.

He’d lost everything. Because of her.

And then he’d decided to give everything up—for her.

The irony was bitter and terrible and he felt a little like he was dying inside.

He’d cast out any hope or desire for an heiress. He’d given up the notion of reclaiming a semblance of his old life. A life of comfort and affluence. He’d decided to happily settle for whatever life he fashioned for himself as long as he could spend it with Imogen Bates.

All this time he could have been playing the doting suitor on any number of prospective ladies, but he had forgone that, immersing himself in Imogen Bates.

Clearly a waste of time and energy.

What a daft fool he’d been.

He released a soft bark of laughter. She must have enjoyed tying him up in knots—seeing him brought so low and then watching him pant after her all the while knowing she was the reason for his downfall.

She stirred in the bed. “Perry?” She moved beneath the coverlet, her legs kicking it free.

He crossed his arms over his chest as though to trap them, as though he needed to be certain he would not reach for her.

She lifted her head, pushing that honey-brown hair back from her face as she scanned the chamber, her gaze searching and landing on him. “Ah. There you are.” She patted the bed beside her. “Come back to me.”