Page 62 of The Duke Says I Do
He wiped the sticky mess from her stomach, then flung the ruined garment to the floor. She stroked him once more, then let her arm drift to her side. He loved that she wasn’t coy. She made no attempt to hide her carnal satisfaction in their couplings.
Granville drew her up for a kiss that he hoped conveyed what a miracle she was. He wanted to tell her that she was marvelous. He wanted to praise and explain and soothe. But his ability to muster a coherent sentence forsook him.
Portia, too, it seemed. She hadn’t spoken since their bodies united.
He’d find words later. This time, he had no doubts that she was happy.
When he lifted her off the table, she was floppy with weariness and satiation. She sagged against him, as if all her bones had disintegrated in that titanic wave of pleasure. He caught her lush arse, and she curled her legs around his hips. Her arms circled his neck, and she buried her face in his chest.
A couple of tottery steps before he collapsed into a cushioned armchair beside the fire. It took little effort to arrange her on his lap. Which was lucky, because he wasn’t in much better form than she was. Her head rested on his shoulder and her lovely legs splayed loose across his knees.
Granville put his arms around Portia and held her close as ecstasy receded. It was a long time later before he said, “Next time, I’m taking you to bed.”
***
It was cold and rainy outside. Here beside the banked fire in the lodge’s kitchens, Portia was beautifully warm. The man she loved held her safe in his arms.
She stirred from sleep to squint at the plain slate clock on the mantel. Nearly an hour had passed since that thrilling encounter on the table. She must have dropped off straightaway. Hardly surprising after she’d been so on edge all week, afraid of what might happen once she and Alaric were alone. Even more afraid that something would stop her going away with him.
Not to mention the overwhelming emotional reaction to losing her virginity and discovering what pleasure awaited in a lover’s arms. This lover anyway.
She glanced up at Alaric, the movement setting off a volley of unfamiliar pangs and twinges in her body. He slept, too.
His musky scent filled her nostrils. Sandalwood and Alaric, the perfume of paradise. With a little bit of horse included. Her lips twitched, as she pictured his self-deprecating smile if she shared that thought with him.
Heavens, she must be crushing him. She should move, although it was the last thing she wanted to do.
Gingerly she eased herself up from where she curled in his lap. Not gingerly enough. Hazy green eyes opened, and he gave her a smile of such heart-stopping sweetness that she wanted to cry. For most of their acquaintance, those eyes had been remote and watchful. Joy filled her, now that he removed the barriers between them.
His arms tightened. “Where the devil do you think you’re going, madam?”
“I’m squashing you.” Sleep weighted her voice.
His lips quirked. “It’s a lovely way to die.”
Love crammed her heart, as she aimed a playful punch at his arm. “Ungallant, sir.”
Laughing, he folded her back against him. “Your pardon, my lady.”
He caught her chin and brushed his lips across hers. Not a kiss of passion but one of such tenderness, her heart tilted.
Portia glanced down and noticed that her breasts were bare. She tugged her shift into place but didn’t bother buttoning her dress.
She rested her head on his shoulder. If she could summon the energy, she’d be scared out of her wits at the revelation that she wanted to cuddle up to Alaric until the crack of doom. She’d arrived determined to remain levelheaded. Yet already on their first night, she fell victim to impossible daydreams.
She’d slipped into another doze when he spoke. “Tell me why you seduced me in the stables.”
He sounded interested, not resentful, she was relieved to hear. The hand that she pressed over his heart curled in a caress. It was bliss to touch his naked skin. “Stables have been rather lucky for us, don’t you think?”
His chest expanded on a soft laugh. “Undoubtedly.”
She placed a kiss on his pectoral.
“Why are you giggling?” he asked idly, his hand playing with her tangle of hair.
“The hair on your chest tickles my nose.” She loved the evidence of how his masculine body differed from hers. Places he was hard and she was soft.
With gentle insistence, he tugged on her hair to raise her face to his. This time, his lips lingered. “Better?”
