Page 73 of The Duke Says I Do
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.
