Reborn: The Duke’s Obsession

"Ugh... Mmmmm… E…Eric." Delia moaned as she grabbed a fistful of his hair, pushing him closer to her center, her legs trembling, her breath coming out in an uneven gasps. She was getting close. So close that she could feel it.

But with a surprising force that was born from the pure passion of her action, Eric lifted her down from the vanity table. He gently turned her around and bent her forward so that she was leaning over the smooth, wooden surface, her hands gripping the sides for support. Her legs were still trembling from the intense pleasure she had just received, a weakness she had never known before.

Eric stood behind her, his own breathing heavy and ragged. He untied the belt of his silk robe, letting it fall open. He then lifted the hem of her simple nightgown up to her waist. As he slowly, deliberately, inserted himself inside her from behind, a sharp, surprised gasp escaped her lips. She looked up and saw their reflection in the large, ornate mirror in front of them.

Eric wrapped his large, warm hands around her neck, his touch surprisingly gentle, almost reverent. He leaned in, his lips close to her ear, his own gaze fixed on their reflection in the mirror. "The mirror," he whispered, his voice a low, husky growl, "it seems to be enjoying the view."

He said it as he began to thrust inside her, his movements slow and deep at first, allowing her body to adjust to his. He then picked up the pace, each thrust causing her to arch her back, a soft, involuntary cry escaping her lips. One of her hands left the side of the table and went up to his neck, her fingers tangling in his damp hair as she arched into him, her own breathing increasing to match his.

His own hands left her neck and gripped her waist, pulling her back against him, syncing their bodies to the same primal, passionate rhythm. After a while, her hands, now trembling, gripped the edge of the table tightly, her gaze locked on the shocking, beautiful, and utterly scandalous scene being reflected in the mirror.

"Eric," she gasped, her voice barely a whisper. "This is… this is… ugh."

Eric removed one hand from her waist and moved it up to the single breast that was still peeking out from her fallen nightgown. "This is what, Delia?" he said, his voice a low, teasing murmur as he fondled her breast, his thumb and pointer finger gently squeezing her already aching nipple.

Delia replied, her mind clouded with a desire so intense it was all she could do to form words. Her voice came out in short, sharp gasps, followed by a low moan.

"This is too much, Eric. I don't think… I don't think I can take it anymore." Her legs felt like they were barely holding her up.

"Should I stop?" he asked, his voice a cruel, delicious whisper in her ear, though he did not slow his movements.

"No," Delia replied, the word a soft, desperate plea. " Please don't."

Eric continued his powerful, steady thrusting. He brought her face up with one hand, forcing her to look at their reflection in the mirror. Her dark, messy hair was plastered to her skin from the sweat of their passion, and her beautiful blue eyes were staring back at them, wide and hazy in a way that was undeniably lewd.

"You need to enjoy this sight, too, Delia," Eric said, his own voice now strained with effort. "You need to look. Just look at how completely crazy you make me." He threw his own head back and exhaled, a raw, guttural sound of pure pleasure. "Oh, Delia," he groaned. "You are a sight to behold and you feel so deliciously good inside."

He felt her inside, her muscles gripping him tightly, convulsing around him. She was on the very edge, just moments away from her own powerful orgasm. Sensing this, Eric picked up the pace, his own control shattering as he began to pound into her with a final, desperate urgency.

Delia held onto the table for dear life, her own body shaking uncontrollably as they both found their release together in a wave of pure, mind-shattering pleasure.

Her fingers were still holding on to the edge of the table. Her whole body was shaking with a soft tremor, and she could feel her heart beating fast against her ribs. Eric stood behind her, his own breathing deep and slow. He gently kissed the back of her neck.

"I love you," he whispered against her warm skin.

He moved lower, planting another soft kiss on her shoulder blade.

"I love you," he said again.

A small, happy sigh escaped Delia's lips. She felt safe and completely loved. "Eric," she murmured, her voice quiet.

"I'm right here," he answered, his hands resting gently on her waist.

She tried to turn towards him, but her leg suddenly gave out. She let out a small gasp as she started to fall, but Eric's arms tightened around her instantly, holding her up.

"Whoa, easy now. I've got you," he said, his voice full of concern. He looked down at her, his expression soft.

Delia leaned her head back against his strong chest. A weak smile touched her lips. "I'm okay. My legs just doesn't have strength in them anymore. I'm tired."

He chuckled softly. "I understand. Let me take care of you." His hands moved with care as he helped her out of her clothes. He then lifted her easily into his arms. Delia wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder. He carried her into the bathroom and gently lowered her into the large bathtub.

After they had taken a warm bath to wash away the sweat of their passion, they held onto each other in the large, comfortable bed, their naked bodies tangled together underneath the soft, heavy sheets. The room was quiet now, the only sound their own soft, even breathing.

Eric pressed a soft, lingering kiss to Delia's forehead. She was already fast asleep in his arms, her body completely and utterly exhausted, her face a picture of innocent, peaceful contentment. He watched her for a long time in the soft moonlight, his heart so full of a love so profound it almost hurt. He whispered. " Tomorrow will be an interesting day indeed too bad I won't be there to witness it. You left me with no other choice, Lord George. I believe I've been patient enough."