Deepest Desires of a Wicked Duke(14)

She squealed. “Oh! Oh! It’s too much.”

“I’ll take it out.”

“Don’t. Let her get used to it.”

She was gasping and sobbing, but suddenly she stopped and she wriggled again. “Oh yes. Two enormous pricks in my ass. I never dreamed of such a thing.”

“Slide in, Sin. Go in her to the hilt.”

He realized his cock was nosing in beside Willoughby’s. He was being caressed by the hot walls of her ass and by his friend’s shaft. God, he was being squeezed tight. He fought the almost instant desire to come.

He managed to fuck her for five minutes before he exploded in orgasm. The orgasm seared him. Burst inside him. The opium in his system made coming feel like he’d glimpsed heaven.

The instant his climax finished, guilt crushed him. He had to wait for Will to withdraw as well. Will grinned, looking like a naughty boy. “All this can be yours whenever you want. In London, you can experience any sexual adventure that money can buy. Anything you can dream of. Any number of whores. Any type of orgy.”

Any sexual experience. Anything he could imagine. Two women and him. Four women. A dozen women.

Sin threw on a robe and got the hell out of the room.

He’d given in to lust, when he was supposed to be in love. But the experience—it had been beyond anything he could imagine.

Downstairs in one of the drawing rooms, he commanded brandy. He flopped into a seat. Drank and kept drinking.

He’d been driven to come here by his cousin, the duchess. Today, she told him she knew everything about his past. When she’d learned he was going to inherit, she had hired investigators and she had bribed the past servants of his parents’ house. She had even found the lady’s maid who had served his brother’s wife, and for a small fortune, the maid had revealed everything. Things he had no idea anyone else knew.

The duchess had called him a monster. Told him she was repulsed by him. Insisted he must marry well—marry the daughter of a duke or an earl—to ensure he had an heir with good bloodlines.

He’d told the old hag she was insane and stormed out.

But damn it, he was beginning to think she was right. He was a monster. . . .

He had given into lust. And he wanted more. He wanted to go to a damn orgy. He wanted to do the wildest, kinkiest things....

Sin didn’t know what in hell happened to Will—when Will left the brothel or where he went. Sin was still there when the sun came up. Sitting in a chair, his head hung down, empty brandy bottle dangling from his fingers.

He knew he was going to come back to this world. He knew he wouldn’t be able to resist.

Some “gentlemen” would still marry Portia, and leave her at night to fulfill their sexual cravings. Easy to justify—a gently bred girl shouldn’t know anything about these things. She shouldn’t be putting her mouth on a man’s cock, or letting him tie her up and fuck her in the ass. A man was supposed to get that elsewhere.

But he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t leave Portia at night to give his body to other women. Nor could he change—he’d wanted to stop his sinful sexual lusts, but he hadn’t been able to do it. It was as if he was addicted to sex.

And because he couldn’t change, he couldn’t marry Portia.





4

Serenity Island

June 1821





The red ropes were soft, silky, and didn’t hurt, but the knots were secure and as much as Portia had struggled, she hadn’t been able to get free. It was infuriating.

Now the tall, broad-shouldered, dark-eyed Duke of Sinclair—the man who had ordered her kidnapping—stood at the foot of the enormous bed, staring at her.

Portia knew she should quake in fear. But this man had broken her heart and she wouldn’t break down in front of him. Fury commanded her as much as fear.

“God in heaven,” he muttered, in his husky baritone voice. “What happened to you?”

At once, he stalked to her right hand, drawing a knife out of the leather turndown of his boot. A knife with a long, thin blade and silver handle. He came to the bed, over six feet in height and muscular, leaning over her. She squeaked in alarm. In real fear, so sudden and shocking, it left her horribly immobile. She was utterly vulnerable, but somehow she was going to fight him if he tried to hurt her—

With one swipe, he slashed through the rope.

He was letting her go?

The duke moved to the rope that bound her right ankle before Portia remembered to breathe again. She’d read Minerva Press novels—stories of innocent girls kidnapped by deformed monks and taken to gloomy castles to satisfy the cravings of strange, wicked gentlemen. The girls in her family’s home devoured those stories and she always laughed at how ludicrous they were.