Sinclair caught her shoulders and drew her back. “Portia, what are you doing?”
“What do you think I’ve thought about since I lost you? I kept thinking I could never hold you again. Never kiss you. I’ve thought of you in a grave—it’s been agony.”
“I’m sorry—”
“I’ve dreamed of what it would be like to make love with you for ten years.” There. “I can’t believe I admitted that. You’ll laugh at me. You’ve done the wildest, most erotic things, and all the while you were doing that, I’ve foolishly dreamed about you. And now, I have you here. And I can do everything to you I’ve dreamed of.”
“Portia—”
“I don’t care about respectability. I thought I’d lost you forever. I thought I would never, ever make all those dreams come true. Then I knew I never would unless I made them happen.”
Breathing hard, she put her mouth over his again. Her hands explored him, tugging his shirt, struggling to get it out of his waistband. She knew he’d never do this to her—undress her without her agreement—but she seemed to have gone mad. She wanted him desperately.
He pulled back, just enough to growl, “I used drink and orgies to try to blank out the pain of losing you. It didn’t work. And when we figured I should pretend to be dead to flush out the murderer, I never thought you really cared, Portia. I’m not worth your love—”
“You’re very worthy of this,” she declared.
Her fingers touched the waistband of his trousers.
For ten years, she’d known she could never really have him, but she could fantasize.
Taking a deep breath, she slid her hands right down across the placket of his trousers, right to the bulge she felt there. Pressing her hand firmly, she ran her palm along it. Curled her fingers around it through the fabric. It felt alive—it swelled and moved.
She pressed tight against him before he could say no, trapping her hand against his growing erection. She felt it get longer. It was becoming quite enormous.
She dropped to her knees in front of him and pulled his trousers down with her. His cock, as he called it, sprang up. She inhaled the rich, intimate scent.
Then she opened her mouth wide—she’d never opened her mouth so big—and she bent forward and took his cock inside, marveling at the heat. Tasting his earthiness. Feeling him pulse and swell and grow so thick, she suddenly wondered if she really could do this.
“Portia, what are you doing?”
She sucked and he let out a long groan and she saw his legs shake.
She was going to do this until he collapsed in pleasure.
* * *
Sin almost fell over in shock as Portia opened her sweet, innocent mouth and his rigid cock disappeared between her soft lips.
Her silken lips slid over his sensitive flesh, rubbing and stroking and caressing the head. Then she took him deeper, her lips and tongue stroking his shaft.
He almost fell to his knees.
He cupped her face, knowing he should stop her. She was an innocent. Gently bred. Sweet and good.
“Portia,” he muttered, “you shouldn’t be sucking my cock.”
She let it slide out and he cursed himself. Blasted honor. He wanted this—but he couldn’t ask Portia to do something that only a courtesan should do. At the same time, he couldn’t imagine being so intimate with anyone but Portia. Not anymore.
Her little tongue flicked across the head.
A gentleman should step away, but her hands clamped on his buttocks, holding him there. Bastard that he was, he didn’t want to move.
Her tongue laved all over the head of his cock. Strummed the sensitive, tight piece of flesh at the notch in the crown.
“Portia, no. You’re a gently bred girl.”
She stopped. Eyed him with a raised brow as she slid his prick out of her beautiful mouth. The loss of heat almost crippled him. But it was better that way.
“Why shouldn’t I do that? You did it to me.”
“That’s different.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re—dash it, you’re a respectable girl and you shouldn’t know about things like that.”
“Sin, I’ve seen far more than that in the last few days. Now, I don’t see anything wrong with what we’re doing. I don’t see anything wrong with wanting to pleasure you. All I wish to do is make you feel good. And it gives me pleasure to do this to you. I rather like holding you in my mouth. It makes me feel strong, for you are rather vulnerable to me right now. But more than that—I find it very erotic.”
How could he argue with that? He couldn’t make any sound out of his tight throat louder and more coherent than a growl.
But she was an unmarried gently bred girl. And he should stop her before—