Page 26 of A Bride for the Duke of Sin (Ton’s Wolves #3)

CHAPTER 26

H e must have gone mad —that was the only explanation as to why he was dragging her out of the opera house by her wrist.

The small crowd that had gathered at the foot of the marble steps parted before them, their mouths slightly agape, their eyes following the spectacle with avid interest.

Phoebe smiled at them as she tried to keep up with Ethan’s longer strides. Resisting him would only attract more unwanted attention to them. Heaven only knew that Lord Dexford might seize upon the smallest evidence of their disharmony, not to mention what the small crowd was probably deducing from the scene before them.

Nothing close to the truth, unfortunately .

The ton was blessed with keen powers of observation. However, that did not mean they were particularly blessed with the deductive powers needed to correctly interpret what they saw or heard, limited as they were by their own prejudices.

They were, unfortunately, greatly adept at spreading misinformation.

“Where are you taking me?” Phoebe demanded, shooting him a quick glare as he helped her into the carriage. “Ethan!”

“To the estate,” he barked at the footman.

Phoebe seethed. He did not even bother to answer her directly!

By the time she settled into her seat, her frustration had reached its breaking point. She was vibrating with rage.

How dare he herd her into the carriage as if she were nothing more than a docile sheep! The moment he closed that door, she would?—

Lips—warm, strong, undoubtedly Ethan’s —crashed against hers the moment the carriage door closed behind him.

She blinked. Once. Twice.

And then, her eyes fluttered shut, her arms flying around him as she clung to him, her lips moving against his.

Their breaths mingled heatedly as his tongue swept past the seam of her lips before delving deeper into the cavern of her mouth.

Probing. Exploring. Staking his claim.

Phoebe let out a slight cry of surprise when the carriage jolted forward a little, but Ethan held her close to him, his arms like steel bands around her.

“This farce has gone on long enough, Duchess,” he murmured gently.

He traced the backs of his fingers over the curve of her cheek as his eyes flashed with barely concealed desire.

“You are mine,” he growled. “And I need to make sure you remember that.”

She let out a little huff of laughter. “Now, you are just being silly.”

He grabbed her hand and pressed it to the hardness between his legs. Her eyes widened in shock at his bold move.

“Tell me what part of me is being silly,” he whispered huskily. “I have been kept in a painful state of perpetual arousal, while you tempt me at every turn.”

“ I tempt you at every turn?” she squawked.

But the knowledge that she had driven him to such a state filled her with a sense of feminine pride. Her fingers curled slightly around his erection as a smile began to spread across her face.

I did this , she realized, her eyes growing wide with wonderment.

“Keep doing that, Duchess, and we might not be able to make it to the estate before I cross every single one of your boundaries.”

Then cross them! Phoebe wanted to scream at him, this horribly obtuse man.

Her every nerve thrummed in anticipation. Every slight jolt of the carriage only seemed to heighten the familiar throbbing between her legs.

Dear heavens, was she actually aroused inside the carriage? How absolutely, thrillingly scandalous!

“Do not look at me like that,” he told her hoarsely.

She blinked. “Like what?”

“Like you are begging me to ravish you with your eyes.”

Heat flooded her cheeks all the way to her chest. Was she actually doing that?

She hastily looked away, even as her fingers curled into the folds of her skirt.

She wanted him. More than anything . And she knew he could tell, the rogue.

The rest of the journey back to the estate was spent in tense silence. But Phoebe could hear her heart pounding in her chest, feel the blood rushing in her ears. Even her breath seemed to come out unnaturally loud.

They arrived to find the estate lit only by a few lamps and no Morton to greet them at the door.

How strange. Even though balls tended to end in the early hours of the morning, she would always find the faithful butler waiting for her at the door.

Had Ethan warned Morton off, too? She would not put it past him.

However, she did not dwell on the butler’s strange absence, for she found herself pushed against the wall, her husband’s chest pressing against her as his lips ravaged hers once more.

She threw her arms around him and responded eagerly, opening up for him with wanton abandon.

Later in the morning, she might be mortified by the intensity of her response to him—but not tonight.

Tonight, she would revel in his lips trailing down her neck. Tonight, she would delight in the way his hands boldly mapped out her curves through the layers of fabric of her dress.

He sucked on the delicate skin at the juncture between her neck and her shoulder, eliciting a soft cry from her lips as the sensation shot like a bolt to her throbbing core.

Phoebe let out a soft sigh, tilting her head to the side. Baring more of herself to him, to whatever he wished to do to her.

“Sweet Duchess,” he growled. “Do you like my lips on you?”

Yes! Dear God in heaven, yes!

He swept his thumb across the peak of her breast, and she felt the sensation spearing through the layers of fabric straight to her center.

“Can you feel yourself getting wet for me, Duchess?” He chuckled.

It was almost embarrassing how he could easily tell her response to his touch, to his words.

“Tonight, I am going to touch you everywhere ,” he promised her. “And then, I am going to feast on you.”

She clutched at his shoulders, her knees going weak at the wicked oath in his voice. For a moment, she feared that her legs would actually give way beneath her, but then he swept her off her feet and began to walk up the stairs.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked for the second time that night.

“To my rooms,” he murmured, a wicked smile flashing in the darkness. “I cannot have you screaming my name at the front door now, can I?”

Screaming .

Dear heaven, Phoebe felt her insides turn into liquid fire at the promise in those words.

Ethan was already rock hard and aching for her in the carriage when he pressed her hand to the evidence of his arousal.

Now that he had laid her on his bed? He had never wanted a woman more than he did Phoebe at that moment. The only thing that stopped him from rucking her skirts to her waist and plunging into her was the fact that she was a virgin.

A very tempting one, but a virgin, nonetheless. And as his wife, she deserved every consideration he could offer in his lustful state.

Phoebe, however, regarded him with a pensive gaze and an almost relieved smile.

Relieved about what exactly?

“What are you thinking about, Duchess?” he murmured as he gently caressed the curve of her cheek.

She flushed at his intimate tone. “I… Nothing, really. I was merely relieved that I told the servants about the maintenance of your rooms…”

He groaned and pressed her into the bed. “I would not have you think of servants and cleaning when you are in my bed, damn it.”

He kissed her again as his hands deftly plucked at the buttons that ran down the back of her dress. As her gown slipped to her elbows, he trailed his lips down a fiery path to her jaw and then the side of her neck, coaxing a gasp from her when he lightly nibbled on her collarbone.

Servants and cleaning, indeed! He would have her screaming and thinking of nothing but his hands, his mouth, and his cock buried deep inside her.

Her fingers curled into his shoulders, bunching the fabric of his jacket and his shirt in her palms as he dragged her chemise down to expose her chest.

The cool air hit her fevered skin long enough for the rosy peaks to tighten into little buds, before he reached for her and cupped the soft flesh in his palms. Gloried in the feel of her in his hands. She let out a soft cry and arched into his touch, wanting more of it all over her.

“So impatient.” He laughed huskily as his lips descended to wrap around a rosy bud. “Very well, then…”

He kissed his way down her body, from her glorious breasts with their rosy peaks down to her abdomen, dragging her gown and chemise down with him until the fabric bunched at her waist.

Her fingers speared into his hair as he did with aching slowness what he had promised her earlier—he would feast on her.

With a wicked smile, he tossed her skirts up and disappeared under the fabric.

“Ethan, what are you?—”

He laughed softly, feeling the downy curls at the apex of her thighs tickle his shaved chin.

“Let me make this good for you, sweetheart,” he told her huskily. “I want to bring you this pleasure.”

He ran his tongue along her crease, and all protestations seemed to have died in her throat. Instead, a soft cry was all he heard as her thighs clamped around his ears.

She was like a ripe peach in the summer sun, her nectar coating his tongue with an inexplicable sweetness that made him think of sunny afternoons and soft green grass.

“Ooh!”

With his thumbs, he gently parted her center, opening her to every rasp of his tongue. He found the hooded bud at the apex and swirled his tongue around it before sucking on it lightly.

Phoebe let out a soft scream as she writhed beneath him. She ground her hips against his mouth, seeking more of his tongue, more of his touch.

He gave her no chance to recover, his tongue lashing at her hot, honeyed center as he devoured her. When he felt her shake a little, he inserted a finger into her channel and groaned.

Gods above, she was so tight, so hot. The thought of burying himself in her heat nearly had him spilling his seed before he could even thrust into her.

He felt her body tensing up under him and smiled to himself. He worked his finger inside her, finding that soft, ridged area and curling his digit against it as she bucked underneath him, his name falling from her lips like a prayer. An entreaty of sorts.

“That’s it,” he crooned into her flesh. “That’s my good girl. Let it go, sweetheart.”

He sucked on the aching bundle of nerves gently, his finger stroking her walls, until she burst apart with a shuddering cry, her back arching off the bed from the sheer force of her climax.

“Ethan, oh, Ethan!” she sobbed as he gathered her into his arms.

He kissed her sweaty forehead, holding her as she rode out the waves of her orgasm in his embrace, murmuring gentle encouragements in her ear until she stopped shaking.

“That was…”

She spoke in halting sentences as he covered her body with his.

“Your climax, sweetheart,” he told her.

His eyes fell to her breasts, and he noted the marks of his passion on her creamy skin. Pride suffused his chest at the sight of his handiwork, like an artist admiring his masterpiece.

“That was absolutely exquisite,” she gasped, raising her eyes to his. “Surely that cannot be everything, though?”

He groaned and rolled over to press his body against hers once again. “Not quite, sweetheart. There is more.”

She lowered her gaze shyly to his chest as her palm slid under his jacket. He bit back a groan as her fingers brushed over his nipple. He caught that mischievous little hand before she could unravel him further.

“You must understand that there will be no going back from this,” he warned her. “Once my body is joined to yours, you will be my wife in full. Mine . My Phoebe. My Duchess.”

His heart thudded in his chest as he awaited her reply.

She looked at him, her eyes like dark emerald velvet sprinkled with gold dust. Desire shone fiercely in them.

He had his answer.