" She felt enthralled by him, enthralled by her own sexuality. He bared something in her that she hadn't even known was there before she married him.
Something base, primal. Had it always been there, this fierce drive to feel? Or was it something that had been engendered by his touching her?
Her touching him?
She knew that she should be wary of this part of herself. Ladies were often exhorted to ignore any animal urges. To be polite. Formal. Cold.
But the flames of her desire, meeting and burning higher with his compulsion, were intoxicating.
It felt wonderful.
Too good to ignore. Too good to give up.
And when his fingers traced the wetness of her vulva, into the depths of her pleasure, she cried out, her eyes still caught with his.
He smiled, crooked and sinister because of his scar, but a smile nonetheless. A smile that wasn't exactly nice or gentlemanly.
But a smile that was all for her.
Only her.
No man- no one- had ever looked at her so before. "
― Elizabeth Hoyt , Duke of Desire (Maiden Lane, #12)