Page 18 of The Duke Says I Do (Scoundrels of Mayfair #4)

Good God, he was turning into the worst kind of satyr.

Granville drew a deep breath and battled to remember that up to a few hours ago, Portia had been a virgin. Since then he, heaven forgive him, had tupped her three times. In a bedamned evening. He was in perpetual heat for this woman. Where the hell did he find the energy?

Watching Portia’s pink, cushiony lips framing filthy words made him hard again. What the devil was she doing to him? She possessed a powerful magic. She just had to look sideways for him to think about having her.

Now here she was saying “fuck” with such innocent relish and turning him molten with desire. He told himself to calm down. Then he remembered something else that she’d said while he pronounced words he’d never spoken to a gently born woman in his life. The idea entering his mind was so explosive, he swelled against his breeches.

“Alaric?” she asked in a suspicious tone. “You look rather wild.”

Wild? He was a rampaging beast, ravenous for the sweetest flesh he knew. She had no idea what awaited.

“I believe I interrupted you,” he purred, scenes of depravity careering through his mind.

“When I said fuck me?”

He gritted his teeth. She really needed to stop saying that or he’d fuck her indeed. “No. Before.”

“Before?”

“Before I had you from behind.”

A smile of astonishing lewdness curled her lips. “That’s the way animals mate.”

Arousal thundered through him, but he’d noticed her discomfort and felt like a brute. So no matter how overheated he became, she needed time to recover. Even if restraint was likely to incinerate him to embers. “Did you mind?”

That provocative expression intensified. “It was the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me. And I say that as a woman who has had the most exciting day of her life.”

He grimaced. “I’m trying to do the right thing, my darling. You’re not helping. I promised we’d make it into a bed.”

Her gaze softened at the endearment. “We almost made it last time.”

He wanted to stop talking about last time. Otherwise she’d end up under him again.

“You were taking down your hair.” Granville couldn’t believe that he was yet to see her naked. And hadn’t she expressed an interest in seeing his body, too?

She ran her fingers through the untidy mane. “You’ve since taken care of that.”

“Now it’s time to take off your dress.”

“You first.”

Startled, he stepped back. “What?”

Portia’s jaw set in a determined line. It was a touching reminder of the woman he’d rescued in the East End. “You’ve seen considerably more of me than I’ve seen of you. It doesn’t seem fair.”

He laughed with unfettered pleasure. “I love how direct you are.”

“Does that mean you agree?”

His hand already reached for his neckcloth, which a glance in the cheval mirror in the corner told him was in a woeful state after that unforgettable rogering. “I warn you, I’m nowhere near as beautiful as you are.”

“Let me be the judge of that.” Folded arms plumped her breasts in a most intriguing way. Granville swallowed, reminding himself that he possessed some self-discipline.

He tugged the neckcloth free and dropped it to the carpet. He tried not to glance toward her discarded drawers. If he dwelled too long on the fact that she was bare beneath her gown, he’d be on her.

His shirt fell open, uncovering his body halfway down his chest. She’d seen him without his shirt before, so the greedy lick of her eyes on the vee of skin surprised him. By Jericho, it felt like she touched him with hot fingers, even if a couple of feet separated them.

“Now the coat.” Her husky tone betrayed sensual curiosity.

“You’re very imperious,” he said idly.

Another of those devastating, self-assured smiles. They were new today. Every time, they shot an arrow of fire straight to his balls. “You like it.”

Damn it, he did. He was putty in her hands. Well, putty, if the definition of putty included something as rock-hard as his dick.

Granville liked that she felt confident enough to give him orders. He liked that she kissed him when the urge struck. He liked that she found his never-ending desire for her as piquant as he did.

He tugged off his coat and threw it down beside his neckcloth. Hobbs would have a fit. Now Granville stood in front of Portia in shirtsleeves and the gray silk waistcoat with its exquisite embroidery.

“That’s pretty.” Portia pointed at him. “Take it off.”

He shot her a direct look. “Your turn.”

How he wanted her to remove her dress. He wanted it with the kind of urgency that kept a man awake all night. But when she crossed to sit on a chair near the fire, he recognized that she set out to torment him first.

She lifted her skirts. All the saliva evaporated from his mouth, as he wondered if she meant to display herself. But after a gleaming glance under her eyelashes, she positioned herself to show only her knees and two nicely curved calves in white stockings.

With deft hands, she untied the ribbons around her ankles that kept her slippers in place. She raised her skirts higher to reveal the pretty garters that held up her stockings. A few quick tugs to loosen them before she dropped each garter to the carpet. Then using her skirts to preserve her modesty, she perched her heel on the edge of the seat. Slowly she unrolled one stocking and laid it on the floor near her garters.

Breathing became more difficult as Portia revealed each inch of bare skin.

A faint smile hovered around her lips, while she repeated the action for her other leg. Even slower. She knew exactly what she was doing, the beautiful witch. When she set her bare feet on the floor and rose, he wanted to beg her to keep going.

“The waistcoat,” she said. “I’ve done my bit.”

“For now,” he gritted out, as his fingers fumbled with the silk-covered buttons down the front. It took an eon to undo them, but finally he shrugged out of the garment and cast it to the floor.

Only shirt, breeches and boots remained. Portia’s eyes dropped to the bulge in his breeches, and her smile deepened. “You seem to be in extremis, Your Grace.”

He grimaced. “This is what you do to me.”

“Aren’t I clever?”

“Portia…”

She remained unmoved. “Shirt next.”

“What about your dress?” He sounded like he starved, and she dangled a juicy steak just out of reach.

“In time. I’m slightly ahead when it comes to undressing, you may recall.”

How the hell could she sound so calm? While he balanced on the edge of a precipice.

“Very well,” he rasped, struggling out of his shirt. The blasted rag suddenly had ten sleeves.

Finally he stood bare-chested. He was gratified to note that she didn’t look so sure of herself anymore. Her gaze ate him up, and hectic color marked her cheeks.

“Goodness me, you’re a magnificent sight,” she said in a reedy voice. “You should give up wearing clothes altogether.”

He snorted with amusement, even as he reveled in her praise. “And break my tailor’s heart? Not to mention my valet.”

“More noblesse oblige, I see,” she said with a hint of dryness.

She stepped forward and placed both hands on his pectorals. He shuddered under the contact. Her erratic breath betrayed rising excitement, spoiling the illusion of control. He caught her hips in loose hands, resisting the urge to seize her and bundle her over to the bed.

The reward for restraint was the chance to drink in the wonder on her face, as she explored his chest. Raking her fingers through the light covering of dark blond hair. Running her hands up and down his arms in a breathtaking mix of caress and curiosity. Toying with his nipples.

Granville bared his teeth. “You should stop.”

He could tell that she begrudged looking away from his chest. “Don’t you like it? I hoped you might. I like it when you do this to me.”

How he loved hearing that she enjoyed his touch. Self-deprecation turned his mouth down. “Of course I like it. Too much. I’m on the brink here.”

She traced the line of his collarbones before lifting her hands. “Can I help with your boots?”

He realized with a shock – and a pang of self-disgust – that he was yet to have her without taking off his boots. A reminder of why for the moment, he needed to keep his head. “Thank you.”

She caught his hand and led him across to the chair. He collapsed onto the seat and watched her fall to her knees before him.

God help him, he was doomed. His good intentions became more threadbare by the second. He wouldn’t be human if seeing her now didn’t stir thoughts of her taking him in her mouth.

When he’d planned this meeting at his isolated hunting box, he’d assumed that Portia would be unsure and hesitant. They’d already done more than he’d imagined in his wildest dreams.

She’d been thrillingly willing. Perhaps over the next few days, he might coax her to accept his dick into her mouth. The thought made his already stiff cock swell.

Granville pushed the incendiary prospect out of his mind. He already had enough difficulty clinging to self-control.

He stretched one leg toward her and watched as she gripped the heel and toe and gave the boot a good tug to remove it. That magnificent bosom jiggled. Which didn’t help his self-control either.

More enticing heaving of breasts with the second boot’s removal, then she took off his light stockings. She remained where she was, staring at his feet with an attention that he was sure they didn’t deserve. “Portia, is everything all right?”

Wonder edged her smile. “Even your feet are beautiful.”

Granville glanced down at his toes. He couldn’t see it.

“You’re just lost in a fog of pleasure.” He was, too.

She rose on her knees to kiss him. He expected passion, but her lips were tender. With Portia, sweetness was as mighty as passion. It had the ability to stab straight through to his heart. By the time she was on her feet, he lay back in a complete daze.

A daze that vanished in an instant when she turned her back and swept her hair out of the way. “Can you undo my dress, please?”

At last. At last. Hallelujah, at last!

With unsteady hands, he unlaced the blue gown until the dress fell away to reveal the pale skin of her back. “Your stays, too?”

“Yes, please.”

He placed a nipping kiss on one shoulder. “I’m done.”

Her shiver was visible. “Ooh, that was nice.”

She turned to him, eyes heavy with desire. Her hands clutched the drooping bodice to her breasts.

“Will you show me?” he asked gently. “Please?”

After a brief hesitation, she lifted her hands away and gave one of those alluring wiggles. For a suspenseful second, the dress clung to the perfect slope of her breasts, before slithering to the ground to reveal her remaining undergarments.

As if the loss of her gown marked a turning point, Portia quickly discarded her corset and untied her petticoats. Only the cotton, knee-length shift remained.

Granville noted the lavish curves made mysterious under sheer white material. The breasts that had haunted his fantasies. The intriguing dip of her navel. The shadowy delta between her thighs.

He stepped forward and swung her up into his arms. With a startled laugh, she hooked her hand around his neck. “What are you doing?”

“You’ll see.” He carried her across to the bed and placed her crosswise on the mattress, letting her bare legs dangle to the floor.

“But…”

When she tried to wriggle away, he caught her leg. “Trust me, Portia.”

An uncertain blue gaze focused on him. Whatever she saw there must have reassured her because she lay flat again and stared at the ceiling. “I do.”

That shouldn’t sound like a declaration of love, but somehow it did. His heart overflowing with joy and gratitude, Granville fell to his knees and caught her thighs.

“Let me show you what my tongue can do, my lady,” he murmured, carefully pulling her knees apart. Anticipation was headier than wine.

He delayed a moment to remind himself to take his time and do this properly. He also lingered to take in the beautiful sight of her cleft, satiny with readiness.

When he didn’t begin, she tensed under his touch. “You’re looking at me, aren’t you?”

Her voice was higher than usual. She must guess his plans.

“You’re gorgeous everywhere.” Granville smiled with wolfish eagerness, so perhaps it was a good thing that she looked anywhere but at him right now.

He saw her swallow. “That’s…lovely to hear. But I feel rather—”

“Self-conscious?”

“That’s one word for it.”

His smile widened. “The woman who seduced me in a haystack won’t let a little embarrassment stop her.”

“If you say so.”

“I most certainly do.” He filled his lungs with the scent of Portia’s need and placed his lips on her clitoris.

“Alaric!” she cried, bucking in surprise. Then cried out again when he flicked his tongue against the sensitive bud.

***

So many new experiences had assailed Portia on this extraordinary day that she felt inured to surprises.

Until Alaric put his mouth in a spot that she’d never imagined a man would want to kiss. She’d never imagined that she’d want a man’s lips down there either. If the thought had occurred to her. Which of course it wouldn’t.

That fiendishly clever tongue traced her cleft and teased the place that gave her such pleasure. On a choked cry, she buried shaking hands in his soft hair. He made a muffled sound of encouragement and drew on that sensitive spot. As lightning bolts of response juddered through her, she widened her legs.

Familiarity didn’t lessen the glorious magic. If anything, the rise to release became faster and easier. After three days of this, she’d go up in smoke at the mere sight of Alaric.

When he deepened the pressure, the throb of her blood turned urgent. She lifted her hips to catch every second of the remarkable and shocking things he did.

Another shudder shook Portia, as he pushed his tongue inside her. In a paroxysm of pleasure, she writhed against the bed. She was so close. So tantalizingly close…

He penetrated her with one long finger. She jerked in helpless reaction and tipped over into a fiery universe. Through the inferno, she waited for him to unite their bodies. He’d been ready for most of the night.

Instead, his fingers moved in a ruthless invasion that lifted the crest of her response. She’d just started to come down from the outer edges of the cosmos when her muscles spasmed again.

“Alaric?” she asked in bewilderment, as her insides turned liquid. With another cry, she tumbled into another titanic climax.

“That’s perfect.” His growl rumbled through her. “Go with it.”

As if she had a choice when a tide of euphoria swept her into the middle of a turbulent ocean.

He leaned in and used his tongue as well as his fingers. She felt battered by rainbows, dazzled by flares of light, transformed to flowing rivers of silk. This time, when she broke, she crumbled into shards of flaming starlight. A broken cry emerged from a throat tight with emotions – and words that she could never speak aloud.

He persisted, his touch turning gentle. The last wave of pleasure was as sweet and soft as a shower of rain on a hot summer’s day.

Gasping, she lay upon the mattress, legs as loose as muslin draped on either side of him. While she subsided into a pool of exhausted satiation, her hand slid from his hair to lie open at her side. Her eyes closed while she struggled to fill lungs as empty as a tinker’s pocket.

She’d lived through an earthquake. Several earthquakes. Aftershocks quivered through her in luscious little surges.

She heard him shift and stand. “Portia, say something.”

She didn’t open her eyes.

“Portia?”

She swallowed, hoping her voice worked. “You can’t expect me to talk after that.”

“You liked it then?”

A faint smile tugged at her lips. “Stop fishing for compliments.”

He gave a soft laugh. The bed dipped as he curled up next to her and took her into his arms. She went unresisting. Heavens, right now, she doubted that she’d summon an ounce of resistance if a bear sprang out of the wardrobe to eat her.

He kissed her on the forehead. Even through the weariness, his tenderness made her smile.

When she stirred, Alaric stretched out beside her, leaning on one elbow. He watched her with a light in his green eyes that made her susceptible heart ache with futile longing. This, what they did together, was wonderful. It would be more wonderful still if he loved her.

Mentally, she kicked herself. What was the point of howling after the moon? In fact, if she did, it would mar her present happiness. Which would be a tragedy indeed.

She was happy. Her body felt sleek and replete and heavy with animal satisfaction. Her hand traced a wandering path up his bare chest. She loved touching him. He was warm and hard and altogether a treat to discover. Her hand snaked behind his neck.

One thing that she’d never questioned about Alaric Dempster, even when dismissing him as too dreary for words, was his cleverness. He got the hint straightaway.

His kiss made her toes curl into the coverlet.

When he lifted away, his eyes were dark with arousal. That slumberous look kindled simmering heat in the pit of her stomach.

He caught her chin. “What’s wrong?”

Portia released a breath laden with both puzzlement and self-disgust. “How can I be interested in…you know again?”

His lips twitched, as his hand dropped to toy with the ribbon that closed the top of her shift. “All those dirty words I taught you and ‘you know’ is the best you can do?”

She didn’t smile. “Is there something wrong with me?”

It was his turn to frown. “No, you’re utterly perfect.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Although it was nice to hear.

“I would.” He tugged at the ribbon with more purpose until her shift gaped.

She glanced down to see her breasts on flagrant show. “Is it normal to want to keep doing…”

“You know?”

She tugged at his hair. “You’re not taking me seriously.”

His smile widened. “Yes, I am. You’re worried that I think you’re a brazen hussy because you can’t keep your hands off me.”

Oh, dear, she wasn’t wrong about him being clever. That wasn’t what she was saying, but she knew enough to understand that the world despised women with unquenchable sexual appetites. She braced to ask the question. “Do you think that?”

Alaric gave a short laugh. “Portia, you’re hardly an example of unbridled debauchery. For pity’s sake, you were an innocent until you fell into my nefarious hands.”

She bit her lip and regarded him uncertainly. “We’ve…swived three times. As well as whatever you call it when you kissed me between the legs.”

“Lick-twat.”

She winced. “It’s much nicer than it sounds.”

“I’m glad you think so.” He cupped one breast. His touch was casual, but the air became more charged by the second. He focused on her breast with a concentration that turned the weight of arousal between her legs liquid.

She spoke in a rush, with embarrassment and also because her heart accelerated with excitement. “Now here I am, wanting to do it all over again.”

Something about the curve of Alaric’s lips expressed his contentment with that state of affairs. Or perhaps he looked so pleased because he toyed with her breast. “I want to do it all again, too. And I was there for everything else we’ve done today.”

“But you’re a man.”

His hand stilled and at last he looked at her. Lazy sensuality shone in his eyes. “I’ve never fucked a woman three times in a matter of hours. Going on a fourth time. You’re utterly irresistible to me.”

Portia stared into his eyes, reading a conviction that assuaged her fears. “That’s good,” she faltered, shaping her hand around his nape in a caress.

“It is.” He closed his eyes briefly in visible enjoyment of her touch. She couldn’t interpret it as anything else. “It’s even better that I seem to be utterly irresistible to you.”

“You are,” she admitted.

“Heaven knows why.”

“You’re…” She struggled to find an adequate word to describe him. Thrilling? Lovable? Potent? Unforgettable? “…superb.”

He kissed her again, taking her nipple between his thumb and index finger. She whimpered in helpless surrender, as he tugged at the point.

“I think you’re superb, too, you know.” The way he fondled her breast had her shifting against the bed.

“Mutual enchantment?”

“The best sort of enchantment.”

This time, she pulled him down for a kiss. Still kissing, he hauled her up to sit on the edge of the mattress. He nibbled a devastating trail down her neck. He paused at the curve of her shoulder. The sensation of his breath on her skin stoked her arousal.

“Shall we take off your shift? It’s time.”

His musky scent tinged the air that she breathed. “Very well.”

Alaric’s smile was one of the sweet ones that always made Portia feel like her world was made of bonbons and champagne and daffodils. “Thank you.”

She shifted out of his arms to stand before him on trembling legs. His Adam’s apple moved as he swallowed.

“You take my breath away.” His voice cracked with emotion.

She gazed back, her unruly heart cramping with painful longing. “You make me feel…”

“Yes?”

“Like a goddess,” she whispered.

He didn’t smile. “Good.”

He rose and kissed her again. Her head whirled by the time he released her and caught her shift in his hands. “Lift your arms for me,” he murmured.

Without hesitation, she obeyed. Alaric pulled her shift over her head and tossed it to the floor. For the first time in her life, Portia stood naked before a man. Her heart lodging in her throat, she avoided his eyes. It was an effort not to shield herself with her hands.

A tiny voice in her mind said that self-consciousness was absurd after all they’d done. But Portia felt more virginal than she had before losing her virginity in that glorious tussle in the hay.

“Say…say something,” she stammered, blushing hotter than the sun.

When the silence continued, she forced herself to look at him. What she saw punched the breath from her lungs until lights flickered behind her eyes.

She hadn’t been sure how he’d react to her nakedness. With lust? Possessiveness? Pleasure?

In truth, all three were present in his expression. But mostly, she saw wonderment.

His gaze devoured her, and his hands opened and closed at his sides as if he hardly dared to touch her. If she hadn’t already loved him, she’d have fallen in love with him at that moment. Forever.

“I’m not worthy.” Awe edged his voice. “You are a goddess.”

She’d become used to his wry humor. But his hushed statement held no trace of irony. He sounded completely overcome.

Her shyness receded, and she drew herself up to stand proudly. It was a silent presentation of all that she was and all that she had to this man she adored. This time, when she sought his gaze, she didn’t falter.

Portia wasn’t ashamed of her desire. Because she realized with growing elation that he wanted her to meet him as an equal in passion.

With a single stride, he crossed the space between them and hauled her into his arms. His mouth was hot and demanding. It told her that he burned for her. She responded with unconstrained fervor.

Alaric toppled back onto the bed, taking her with him in a fury of touching and kissing. When he rose above her, she placed a shaking hand on his shoulder and smiled into his vivid features. “Nothing more happens until you take off your breeches, Your Grace.”

He already reached for the buttons.