And Portia herself, it would seem, was guided by a similarly frantic desire. She hitched her legs around him as he had suggested, bringing her wet heat flush against his aching cockstand. He knew a fleeting moment of concern, hoping he would not disappoint her or disgrace himself. But then, his body took control. Gripping himself, he brushed the head of his cock over her quim. The kiss of her warm, slick flesh on his was enough to spur him on.
He found her cunny as if he had always been meant to, as if it were where he belonged. When he slid inside her, the grip of her was so perfect, he had to grit his teeth to stave off the urge to slam deep and hard.
“Christ, you feel good,” he managed tautly, holding himself still, so still.
“You feel wonderful,” she returned, clinging to his shoulders, her hair cascading down her back in wild disarray. “Why did you stop?”
Movement, aye. That was the way of it. He knew that. Had fantasized about it. Hell, he’d even seen it on numerous occasions when he’d happened upon a doxy and a drunken swill frantically shagging in the darkened alleys of the rookeries. But this was new, and while he had never before made love to a woman, he also knew that he would never again make love to another who enthralled him the way Portia did.
Two days, and he was hers. Irrevocably. Utterly. He’d never felt anything like it.
Still holding her hips, he thrust forward, until he was fully sheathed, deep inside her.
“Better?” he ground out.
“Oh yes,” she whispered.
There she was, nude and beautiful, his lovely countess with his cock inside her. Wolf took a moment to savor the sight of her, all creamy and pink, the satiny flow of her hair, the elongated nipples he had sucked, the expensive counterpane and elegance of the chamber reminding him who she was and who he was and why this was so very wrong. Deliciously, beautifully wrong.
He lost control then. Fully gave himself over to the instinct roaring through him to thrust in and out. God, she felt like everything he had ever imagined, only a bloody thousand times more wondrous. He leaned back as he fucked her, watching as his cock moved slickly in her juices, in and out of her cunny, her breasts jiggling with each thrust. And it was so damned erotic, he was going to spend before he was ready. He never wanted this to end, wanted to go on like this forever.
“You have to…withdraw,” she gasped out through ragged breaths. “Before you…”
Aye, he knew what she was after. He had brothers. They talked.
“You needn’t worry, Countess,” he reassured her, dropping a kiss to the bared curve of her shoulder. “I’ll protect you.”
Always, he wanted to say, but didn’t. It was a foolish promise, for his place in her life was temporary. They both knew it.
He didn’t want to think about that just now. So he dipped his head lower and took one of her hungry nipples into his mouth, sucking hard as he thrust into her again and again. She tightened on him almost instantly, quietly crying out and throwing her head back. Wolf allowed himself another thrust before withdrawing. Taking his cock in his hand, he spent, heart pounding, the rush so exquisite he feared he might collapse with the overwhelming power of it. He sent pearlescent spurts all over her belly before collapsing atop her on the bed.
* * *
Portia woketo the darkness of the night and a soft rustle of bedclothes, movement on her bed caused by another. It was at once strange and yet comforting, until her sleep-fogged mind recognized the source and the reason. Wolf. Her body still hummed with the pleasure he had given her, the first time and then again before they had both fallen into a sated sleep.
The second time had been slower, less frenzied. Every bit as wonderful. He had held her close and kissed her sweetly as they had both reached their completion. And once more, he had withdrawn before spending. Her ill-fated liaison with Landringham had taught her enough to know never again to be so foolish with a man. She was grateful, every day, for her son. However, as a widow of a year, if she were to fall with child, it would be obvious to everyone that Blakewell had not been the father.
Wolf pressed a kiss to her temple now, jolting her from her madly whirring thoughts. “I must go.”
She swallowed down the urge to tell him to stay. Doing so would be foolish and reckless. And she had already proven both of those traits earlier when she had given in to the passion that had once ruled her. She had known, from the moment she had invited him to remain with her for a few, stolen hours, that their time together had to be finite. Far too much was at stake.
Instead of burdening him with her worries, however, she kissed his cheek. “You will take care that no one sees you?”
“Of course, Countess. I told you I’ll protect you, and I mean to.”
Her title felt a bit like a rebuke after the intimacies they had shared. It occurred to her what he must think. He was leaving her, and her only concern appeared to be over whether or not her servants would witness him departing from her home.
She reached for him, regret slicing through her that they could never have more than this night. “Wolf.”
He paused, the glow of the fire in the grate illumining him slightly, though not nearly enough for her satisfaction. How she wished for the brace of candles to be blazing once more, that she might enjoy one more glimpse of his handsome face.
“You needn’t fear. I’ll sneak away same as how I found my way in.”
His low reassurance was troubling, for it reminded her that it was either frightfully easy for her home to be broken into, or he was deceptively good at the criminal act. Neither of which prospect seemed a particularly heartening one. She decided to discuss the matter with Riggs in the morning in as nonchalant a fashion as she might adopt.
But that wasn’t her concern at the moment. Her concern was Wolf. Because he was leaving, and she was filled with emotions she could neither convey nor properly voice.
“Thank you,” she said quietly, the words falling between them in the darkness where it already seemed the closeness of hours before had begun to dissipate. “I want you to know this was a first for me as well. This is the first time I have…lain with a man since my son was conceived.”
She did not want to say made love. Referring to the furtive couplings she had known with Landringham thusly would be wrong. Oh, she had believed herself in love with him. But he had disabused her of that notion when he had proven how dishonorable and callous he was. She had never been anything more than a diversion to him.
Silence fell, punctuated by nothing more than the ticking of the mantel clock and the steady rise and fall of their breaths. For a moment, she feared she had said too much. But then Wolf’s head bent toward hers and he kissed her softly, tenderly on the lips.
“No,” he said, his voice husky as he withdrew. “Thank you. This was a night I’ll never forget.”