Deepest Desires of a Wicked Duke(42)

She’d never expected how it would make her feel. She had run, panicked, because of what happened to her as she’d witnessed all those people making love together. A wash of heat that melted her from within. A pounding of her heart. A pulsing, throbbing ache inside her.

“Angel, are you all right?”

She could barely breathe. She couldn’t speak. Sinclair had pursued her and she didn’t want him to know what was happening to her.

She had almost wanted to go to Willoughby when he’d crooked his finger. She wanted to be touched everywhere by women and men. She wanted fingers to caress the place between her legs that absolutely screamed with agonized need. She wanted to feel someone pounding deep inside her.

She wanted it to be Sinclair.

Oh God.

Portia hurried away from him as fast as she could, passing through the room across the corridor. She’d walked into a gallery, one devoid of paintings. Glass-paned doors lined the wall. She pushed one open and stepped outside. Into a fierce, salt-filled breeze. Her skirts whipped around her. There were no trees on the rocky outcrop that was Serenity Island and gusts blew up to the house, tugging at her hair. Water droplets blew into her face—from rain or from the sea, she didn’t know.

Sinclair came up behind her. “Don’t run, Po—Miss Love. Are you all right? Did that shock you?”

She couldn’t run anymore. Not in the wild wind. So she turned. She lifted her chin. “Did you really do things like that at your parties?” It was a silly question. Of course he had.

He looked suddenly awkward, which surprised her—that he would be self-conscious. “Yes, Portia. That is exactly what happens in orgies.”

She lifted a brow. “Is that really better, more exciting, than sharing lovemaking with someone special, someone you love?”

He didn’t answer, but pain was written on his face.

She pulled her hair back—a curl had blown into her face. “That’s what you traded my love for? Women who put their breasts in your face, then into the faces of other men?”

This was wrong of her—she was behaving judgmentally when she’d almost been crippled with lust and desire just watching. She had never been hypocritical in her life.

He took a step closer and bent his head so he could look her right in the eye. “I was wrong. I was a damned fool.”

She couldn’t admit it to him, but when she saw Sadie on top of the earl’s face, she’d remembered Sinclair doing that to her.

And when she saw the Incognita take that long thing into her mouth, she’d thought . . . what would it be like to do that to Sinclair? Would it thrill him? What would it feel like? Taste like? She had held his erection in her hand. She remembered how big and hard it had felt. How hot it had been against her palm. The thought of sucking on it and making him moan? Meltingly arousing.

His lips were close to hers. His wide, soft lips. Ten years ago, he’d kissed her and made her melt.

She hadn’t kissed for ten years. Ten years!

She couldn’t stand it anymore.

Her fingers went up and she touched his jaw—the strong line of his jaw. The bristle of his stubble tickled her. “You truly regret ten years of sex with women like Sadie and her dangerous bosom?”

“Yes.” It came out husky and deep. He was so close she heard it over the wind. “It was like an addiction for me. When I lost you, I gave in to it.”

“An addiction? I don’t understand.”

“It’s a craving, like one for alcohol or opium. It consumed me. I needed wilder and wilder things to arouse me and capture my attention. I did things—things I will never talk of. What you saw tonight was simple, mild group sex—”

“Mild!” she gasped. Her cheeks burned.

“I’m sorry you were shocked.”

“Not shocked . . . exactly.” The words came out in breathy patches.

He stared. “You weren’t shocked,” he repeated.

“It was . . . actually interesting.”

“Portia, you were aroused by it?” He looked stunned.

She blushed ever harder behind the mask.

Then he closed the last inch of distance between them, with the wind howling about them, and his lips gently caressed hers. It was like she’d touched a shooting star with her mouth. Heat and sparks rushed through her.

Sinclair deepened the kiss, opening his mouth, and kissing her in a lush, earthy way. His tongue came into her mouth, warm and teasing.

It was so intimate to be kissed with her mouth open. So scandalously intimate. Portia moaned. She leaned against his chest. She slipped her hands up to his shoulders. Firm and broad. Wider and more muscled than they were when he was a young, beautiful man of nineteen.