Page 13 of A Bride for the Duke of Sin (Ton’s Wolves #3)

CHAPTER 13

S he was glorious .

The sight of her with her back arched over the chair, her feet perched on the very tips of her toes, her mouth open as she cried out in pleasure, was the single most erotic thing he had ever seen in his life.

When her breasts spilled out of her bodice, it had taken every ounce of his self-control to keep himself from crawling over to her, begging her to let him taste the rosy, puckered flesh of her nipples.

When he urged her to touch herself, it had taken everything in him not to drop his breeches and stroke himself before her.

I am going to lose my mind in a fortnight, dammit!

For a moment, all he could hear was her soft pants as she recovered from the intensity of her climax over the loud pounding of his heart.

There was nothing he wanted more than to bend her over the table and sink himself into her wet heat…

But there would be another time for that.

Right now, she looked so dazed that he doubted she would ever be able to stand.

At least not right now.

“Ah… that was…” she stammered, consciously tugging her bodice over her breasts. “What I meant to say was… Thank you, husband.”

Ethan wondered how he ever managed to smile back at her.

“Now, I believe I must return to my rooms…”

She stood up and wobbled dangerously on her feet.

The little fool , he cursed inwardly as he instinctively rushed to catch her.

Did she really think she should stand up right after her first orgasm?

Not on my watch.

She gave him a tremulous smile. “And thank you for that as well.”

“You are in no condition to stand up and walk about,” he chastised her gently.

“I am fine.” She waved him off. “I can—Ethan!”

She let out a slight shriek as he simply placed an arm beneath the back of her knees, another one around her shoulders, and hoisted her clear off the floor. Her arms immediately wound around his neck, and he grinned.

Now, this was even better.

“Ethan, what are you doing?” she demanded. “Put me down at once!”

“I love it when you say my name like that, Duchess,” he teased her. “Especially when you screamed it earlier.”

Her cheeks reddened at his words. “Rogue. That will never happen again.”

“We will see about that.”

There was nothing he liked more than a challenge, but right now, she was still reeling from the aftermath of her first climax. There will be enough time in the future for what he had in mind.

If she would allow it.

He carried her up the stairs to his bedroom and called for the servants to draw a hot bath.

“Put me down, Ethan,” he heard the goddess in his arms huff. “The servants?—”

“Are paid well enough to keep their mouths shut, especially in matters pertaining to their masters.”

“But—” she protested. “But these are your rooms!”

He regarded her with a raised eyebrow. “And?”

“What I mean to say is that… well… these are your rooms.” She fumbled for the right words in the most adorable way possible. “And you know, I have my own?—”

He chuckled as he set her down on a chair, tilting her chin up. Her eyes darted to the side, refusing to meet his.

“You are the Duchess of Sinclair now,” he reminded her gently. “And these are your rooms, too.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the servants quickly draw the bath and exit without a sound.

“I am not going to do anything you do not want me to,” he assured her. “I only want to…”

What exactly? He had never paid so much attention to a woman after the deed was done before.

But Phoebe was different.

Even if he struggled with the pain of his arousal, he wanted to see to her comfort first.

She is my wife, after all . I will ensure that she is not treated so shabbily.

“This was your first time to feel sexual pleasure, I gather?” he asked her.

She nodded wordlessly, her cheeks flushing again.

“I only want to see to your comfort,” he murmured, reaching out to brush that wayward golden lock away from her neck. “A warm bath should ease any aches you might feel.”

This time, she allowed him to help her out of her clothes and her chemise, and she warily accepted his support as he walked her to the edge of the tub. As she lowered herself into the warm water, she let out a soft sigh.

She smiled up at him. “You are right. It does feel heavenly. Thank you.”

He did not say anything, merely smiled at her as he picked up the washcloth and began to scrub her arms delicately.

“Ethan, I think I can?—”

A single look from him halted her protestations.

“I just think I can do this for myself,” she mumbled weakly.

“And like I told you before, wife,” he whispered hoarsely, “you do not have to do everything by yourself. You are my Duchess now. For all your other cares, you have your husband to worry about them for you.”

She said nothing more, merely ducking her head as she let him clean her up. When he reached her thighs, she stiffened slightly but soon relaxed under his gentle ministrations.

Ethan, on the other hand, was doing his damnedest to focus on his task, which was not exactly easy when his erection was already straining against his breeches and there was a very beautiful water nymph in his bathtub, enjoying his attentions.

Later, when the water had begun to grow cold, he helped her out of the tub and carefully patted her damp skin dry before helping her into one of his robes.

The garment was far too large for her. The sleeves hung past her fingertips, and the hem dragged to the floor.

Still, Ethan had never seen a more beautiful sight than Phoebe in his clothes.

Then again, he was finding that every single thing about her aroused him, and this was going to be a problem for them.

“Phoebe.”

“Hmm?” She raised her gaze lazily to his as he took a towel to dry her hair.

He took a deep breath. Released it slowly. “I cannot stay here in Sinclair Estate.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “What do you mean? This is your home.”

He smiled and pressed a light kiss to her damp hair. “And it is yours as well, Duchess,” he told her. “I respect your boundaries, sweetheart, but I find my fortitude being tested with every breath that I remain under the same roof as you.”

He met her gaze in the mirror. With her hair damp, and her lips slightly parted, it was already taking all of his self-control not to drag her to his bed and have his way with her.

But if he did that, she would never forgive him, and that was something Ethan could not live with.

Instead, he patted her head affectionately. “Thus, I have made up my mind,” he continued. “You shall stay here at the estate, and I shall leave for my townhouse tonight.”

“Tonight?” she echoed.

“Yes, sweetheart. Tonight.”

“Oh.”

It was getting very hard to ignore the crestfallen look on her face—which was why he had to leave quickly.

“Do write to me if you ever need anything,” he told her with his best imitation of a nonchalant smile. “Be it a sofa for your library, or gowns and jewels—anything at all.”

She turned around and looked up at him with a frown. “But when will you come back?”

There was a plaintive note in her voice and a slight pout that was beginning to form on her lips.

Ethan laughed at himself inwardly. He was tempted—oh so tempted—to believe that she was disappointed at the thought of him leaving.

A man could dream.

He lightly tapped her chin. “Now, that is not entirely up to me, Duchess.”

He pressed another soft kiss to her temple. He could not resist it, and she did not protest.

“I hope to hear from you soon, sweetheart,” he murmured huskily in her ear.

And then, before he could be tempted to retract his words or do something he would ultimately regret, Ethan turned away and walked out of his rooms, calling for Huxley.

Phoebe was in a state of confusion.

Only moments ago, she had felt herself shatter from the sheer pleasure overwhelming her senses.

And then, Ethan took her to his rooms and gently helped her clean up.

And now, he was gone.

Well, he was not really gone —it was only to his townhouse and still very much London. It was not like he was running to the other side of the world, eager to put some distance between them.

She should be happy, really. Husbands rarely took into account the desires of their wives. It was already admirable that he restrained himself from consummating their marriage when she requested it.

That he should respect the rules she had put in place for their relationship was rather staggering.

Despite his rakish ways, Ethan was proving to be a most amenable husband.

But his townhouse? Did that mean that he was going back to his usual ways? Or his mistresses?

Phoebe frowned. She set the hairbrush down on the smooth, polished wood of the vanity with far more force than she had intended.

As far as the other ladies of the ton were concerned, he was already being quite considerate. After all, a man had his needs , as they often said, and if Phoebe was determined to hold true to her word that she would not surrender her body to him without love, then he had to get those needs met elsewhere .

It was simply the way of the world. Why did she feel so bothered by it?

“Well now, Phoebe,” she sighed bitterly to herself. “You have gone and done it. You have married a man who is willing to let you live the carefree life of a spinster that you had always wanted, and who is willing to foot the bill at that. What are you so anxious about now?”

She picked up the brush and ran it a bit more forcefully through her damp hair, wincing when it caught in a particularly tight knot.

With Ethan out of her hair, literally, she would have all her time to herself. She would not have to worry about catering to the needs of her husband. She could even go out and have the entire estate fitted according to her tastes.

She was not going to mope about like some tragic heroine in a lonely castle.

She was going to enjoy her newfound freedom and do whatever her heart desired!