He surged against her, and lowered his head until their mouths were sealed. This kiss was gentler than the last, but every bit as potent. He kissed her long and slow, his tongue dipping into her mouth to slide sinuously against hers. All the while, his fingers remained tangled in her hair, holding her still, angling her head so he could deepen the kiss. She was aflame, breasts heavy and full, nipples hard.
His other hand swept up her inner thigh, higher and higher until his fingertips met with her hungry flesh. And then, he did the most wicked thing. He cupped her, his touch possessive and firm, holding her cunny in his big, work-roughened hand. She liked the way it felt, the way he held her there, as if claiming the most elemental part of her. Acknowledging she was his in a pure, primitive form.
Oh, how she liked it.
And how she wanted more.
He withdrew from the kiss, still cupping her mound, and looked down at her, his countenance so intense, it stole her breath. “You’re mine.”
She did not even bother to deny it.
Wanton that she was, Portia parted her legs, arching into him. “Yes.”
His clever fingers parted her folds, slicking the evidence of her desire up and down her seam. “So wet for me.”
She would have answered him, but he circled over her entrance and sank a finger deep inside her then. All she could manage was a groan as her inner muscles clenched on him in glorious welcome that shot pleasure straight through her. The sensation was followed by the frantic need to release his cock from his trousers. She went to work on the fastenings, gratified when he sprang free, hot and hard in her waiting palm. He sank a second finger inside her, his thumb finding her swollen bud and stoking the fires of need ever higher. Each glance of his touch, coupled with the thrust of his fingers as he fucked her fast and furious, took her closer to the edge.
Her gaze was riveted to the sight of him, so thick and long, the bulbous tip ruddy and weeping. Had she been able to contort her body, she would have bent and taken him in her mouth, licked up his mettle, tasted him on her tongue. But his fingers were moving, angling, finding the center of all her pleasure, pinning her to the bed. Instead, she rubbed her thumb gently over his cock head, smoothing the pearlescent liquid over him. He was so wondrous, so large, overwhelmingly masculine. Everything she wanted.
“Look at me, Countess,” he commanded.
And she did as he asked, helpless to do anything else, her stare moving from his demanding cock, following the trail of dark hair above it, over the twin juts of his hip bones, the cords of his belly, past his formidable chest graced with the dragon and its curling tail. All the way to his hazel eyes.
He continued his ministrations, crooking his fingers, gliding in and out of her wetness. It was so good, she cried out, rocking her hips as she chased the pleasure he gave, seeking more. So good, her eyelids fluttered closed as she surrendered.
“No,” he rasped. “Don’t close them. Don’t shut me out. I want to watch you as I make you come.”
She forced her eyes open. Forced herself to hold his gaze, to keep stroking him as he fucked her. It was unbearably erotic, his gaze holding hers, his fingers inside her, the silken heat of him in her hand. He increased the pressure and pace, and she lost control.
Pleasure burst open like a blossom.
She rode his hand, crying out as bliss rolled through her. Cried out and held his gaze, and it was so intimate, holding his stare, his fingers deep. So good, so perfect. When the last wave of pleasure subsided, he withdrew and brushed her fingers aside, gripping himself and guiding his cock to her entrance.
“I wanted you naked, but I can’t wait another moment to be inside you where I belong,” he said.
In the next breath, he thrust, and she was filled. So gloriously, deliciously full, the sensitivity brought on by her pinnacle heightening every sensation as his thick cock moved in and out of her. She did not care that she was still fully clothed. The need to be one with him supplanted all else.
Portia wrapped her legs around his waist, holding tight to his shoulders as he pumped his hips, driving deep and then retreating before slamming into her again, finding that same place that caused her to go wild. She was even wetter than before, the slickness of her cunny making a sound that echoed in the small room, along with their panting breaths.
“Kiss me,” she said breathlessly. “I want your mouth on mine.”
With a growl, he did as she asked, sealing their lips together, taking her mouth in a kiss that was voracious. They tongues met. Teeth nipped. And she was falling apart again. He made another low sound that told her he was fast losing control as well, and the knowledge had her spending once more. Her orgasm was wilder than the last. She clenched on his cock, and he drove into her as pleasure tore through her. But this time, he did not withdraw.
Instead, the warmth of his seed filled her.
She kissed him fiercely, showing him with her lips and tongue the depth of her emotion as she held tight to him, draining him of every last drop. She wanted it all. Wanted every part of him. Wanted him.
Forever.
The realization hit her, along with a returning sense of awareness.
They had taken a risk. And it was a risk she had taken before. But this was different. Wolf was different. She did not feel a modicum of regret.
He broke the kiss, pressing his lips reverently to her throat as he buried his face there, his breathing harsh, his body still joined with hers. “Let me take care of you, Portia. Let me love you. If you’ll not marry me, I understand. I’m not a nob, and I’ll never be one. But I am the man who loves you, and I want to make you my wife.”
It seemed impossible.
Granville would never allow her to marry a man like him without exacting some manner of revenge. But here in Wolf’s arms, his body still pulsing inside her, anything felt possible. Maybe she had not learned a single lesson in all her years. Perhaps she was the same foolish girl she had once been. Whatever the reason, she rubbed her cheek against Wolf’s, kissed his ear, his hair, any part of him she could reach.
“Yes,” she said. “I cannot live like this, without you, any longer.”
It was the truth. She wanted this man. Wanted his love. Wanted to be free. Needed him, if she were honest.
And she had to believe it was possible.
Somehow.
If she did not have hope, what else was left?
“Trust me, love,” Wolf said softly, as if sensing the direction of her troubled musings. “I’ll find a way.”
* * *