Page 66 of The Viscount and the Vixen
“I’m not sprawled.”
Lifting his head, he held her gaze briefly before lowering his eyes to her breasts. “You can’t go into dinner like that.”
She laughed lightly. “No, I suppose I can’t.”
Stepping back, he lowered her skirts, then began to fasten his trousers. She didn’t want to acknowledge how bereft she felt with his leaving. He whipped off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. She’d barely clutched the opening closed when she suddenly found herself in his arms, being carried from the room.
“I can walk,” she said.
“After the way you cried out, I assume you’re far too weak. Your legs are still trembling.”
She felt the heat suffuse her face. “You weren’t so quiet yourself, you know.”
“And whose fault is that?”
She didn’t bother to hide her smile as she laid her head against his shoulder.
Gilbert stepped into the hallway. “My lord, dinner—is Lady Locksley all right, my lord?”
“She has come apart at the seams, Gilbert.”
Portia slapped her hand over her mouth to stop her laughter from erupting.
“My lord?”
“My London seamstress is not as accomplished with a needle as I was led to believe,” Portia said, surprised she was able to keep her voice so steady. “Her stitching didn’t hold as it should.”
“As you can well imagine, Gilbert, Lady Locksley has had quite a shock. We’ll be dining in our bedchamber. Have Cullie bring up a tray in an hour.”
“In an hour, sir?” Gilbert asked as he managed in spite of his arthritic knees to hop out of the way as Locksley barged past him and into the foyer.
“An hour, Gilbert. I need to settle my wife’s nerves first.”
Once they were headed up the stairs, she took his earlobe between her teeth and nipped gently, relishing his groan but wanting it to sound more tortured. “When we get to our bedchamber, you might as well rip everything off. It’s beyond saving.”
His responding growl served to make her wish he’d walk faster.
He’d never known a woman like her—ever. Following along with his tale about the seams, she matched Lady Godiva for boldness, and he could well imagine her riding naked through the streets without a single blush forming anywhere on her person. And damned if he didn’t want her again with a fierceness that made him feel barbaric.
After he kicked the door to his bedchamber closed behind them, he did precisely as she suggested and ripped what remained of her clothing from her body. There was something immensely satisfying and feral in the rasp of rending satin and silk, in the way that Portia simply stood there and let him have his way with her, her eyes smoldering with needs that matched his own. When she was completely bared, he lifted her back into his arms, carried her to the foot of the bed, and tossed her onto her stomach, leaving her legs to dangle over the mattress.
Breathing heavily, she rose up onto her elbows and gazed back over her shoulder at him as he tore off his own clothes, buttons popping off and pinging onto the floor with his haste. So desperate to possess her, he’d considered merely unfastening his trousers again but he enjoyed too much the feel of her silken skin against his. He was going to take her fast and hard, but by God, he wanted no cloth between them this time.
When he’d shed the last of his clothing, he stepped between her thighs, parted them with a spreading of his own legs. Leaning over her, he layered a series of kisses along her shoulder, following the curve of her neck. “You said I could take you from behind,” he rasped.
Her eyes heated. “So I did.”
He bracketed her hips, lifted them slightly, and plunged into the molten depths, her cry of satisfaction echoing between them. He slid one hand around until he brushed the tight curls at her apex, then parted the folds and pressed a finger to the swollen nubbin. He applied more pressure, caressing her outwardly while slowly stroking her inwardly. She whimpered and wiggled. He rained kisses between her shoulder blades, could feel her tightening around him as her whimpers turned to throaty moans and her breaths became uneven.
“Fly, Portia,” he rasped near her ear before swirling his tongue along the delicate shell. “Fly.”
Her cry came as she bucked against him, and her muscles closed tightly around him. He grabbed her hips and pounded into her a mere handful of times before his own release tore through him, darkening the edges of his vision until all he could see was her profile, with lashes half lowered, lips parted in wonder.
Sinking down, he pressed his cheek to hers, placing his arms so he bore his weight, and his chest barely skimmed her back. But it was enough to tame the beast that raged within him, the one that wanted her to be different than she was, to be the fortune-hunting title chaser that he’d thought he married.
She shifted her arm slightly, and her hand was suddenly in his hair, holding him near. And he realized with unerring accuracy that he had made many mistakes in his life, but when it came to her, he may have made the greatest one of all, because it was quite possible that he could come to care for her a great deal.
And that was the very last thing he wanted. Unfortunately he feared it might be too late to worry over what he wanted.
