Deepest Desires of a Wicked Duke(117)

Clarissa placed a velvet bag in Portia’s hands. “This is everything you need to convince the Duke of Sinclair that you are not dull or sweet. This will completely entrance him and win his undying passion, I promise.”

“Why are you doing this for me?”

“You saved my life. Anything you ask of me, it will be my pleasure to give.”

“What am I exactly to do with these things?”

“There is something for you to wear that will surprise him. And something for him to wear that shall give you the chance to make him open his heart. Once he is vulnerable, he is yours to command.”

“Sin? Mine to command?”

“When you’ve pleasured him, have you ever had moments where you have felt great power?” Clarissa asked.

“Well, yes. I suppose I have.”

“Then take him to that moment. And use it wisely. Now, for your instructions.” Clarissa drew the most astonishing thing from the pouch. Her explanation of what should be done with it was blunt. And thoroughly shocking.

In the mirror over the vanity table, Portia saw her face was brilliant red. Her hair faded into blandness compared to her scarlet cheeks.

To her surprise, when she finished her vivid explanation, Clarissa embraced her. A warm, impulsive hug. Clarissa stepped back and wiped her eyes. “Good luck, my dear.”

With that, Clarissa left. Portia knew Sin would be coming upstairs with wine and food. It had been a whirlwind since they’d returned to the mainland.

They had gone from the quay to meet the local magistrate, who interviewed them all about the events on Serenity Island. The tale had sounded fantastic, and Portia had seen doubt on the magistrate’s face. Of course, he couldn’t accuse two dukes and an earl of lying. But he had wanted to ask more questions in the morning and requested that they stay at the local inn. Willoughby was dead, but he was a viscount, and his crimes would have to be made public. The murders had to be explained. Families of the victims must be told.

She knew Sin had paid a small fortune to acquire the best room and hot baths—hers had been heavenly. He had ordered the best wine and brandy and food to be prepared and brought to their room.

Now, she had just a few moments to prepare before Sin came back.

Portia took the items in the bag and laid them on the vanity. Could she do this?

What she held in her hands was a harness made of supple leather straps and shining metal rings and buckles. It looked like a horse’s bridle, but it most certainly was not a piece of tack. Secured to the leather, protruding out, was an ivory phallus. A fake cock that was long and huge and rather like—

Well, like Sin’s.

Could she put it on and wait for him wearing it?

For a start, she could not even figure out how to put it on. She couldn’t figure out which straps fastened through which buckles. She did it wrong twice—had the phallus sticking out behind her once.

Then she had it all fastened and she stood in front of the mirror.

Her courage failed. “No, I can’t do this—”

The door latch clicked and she spun around in shock. She was standing nude, a fake ivory phallus sticking out from in front of her privates, as Sin walked in.

* * *

He was looking at Portia’s lovely naked breasts, her rounded hips, her flame-colored pubic hair . . . with an erect cock sticking out.

His brows had shot up and Sin knew his eyes were as big as a young boy’s as he stared at her.

She blushed. She looked down at her feet. Then she took a step toward him and the cock wobbled and she suddenly laughed, then sobbed. “What must you think of me?”

“Portia, where did you get that?”

That was not the best thing to say. Certainly not in a shocked, stunned tone of voice. He should have been hustling her to the bed for inventive carnal fun.

But he was so damn astounded.

“Clarissa suggested I try it. I was afraid . . . I was afraid you don’t want a real marriage because you want to go back to wild sex and orgies. I wanted to explore wild sex with you. I want to share that with you, if we were to marry.”

“You do?” He couldn’t believe his ears.

He wasn’t going to question anymore. He set down the tray of food on the dresser—the nearest surface. Staring at Portia, he tore off his clothes. She reached down and touched the fake cock, making it bounce, and his knees almost buckled.

Swiftly he got naked. His prick was almost as rigid as the ivory one.

He approached her, almost light-headed with lust. That had to be all his blood draining down to make his prick as thick and hard as a cricket bat.

He wrapped his hand around the shaft of her phallus. With wide gray eyes, she stared down.

“Now that is rather shocking,” she whispered. “Seeing your hand wrapped around what looks like a cock. My cock. Which, of course, it’s not really.”