Deepest Desires of a Wicked Duke Read online

  The matter-of-fact way he explained it suddenly made her feel cold. “That was tremendously clever. You certainly fooled me. I thought you were dead.”

  Sinclair winced, gazing into her eyes.

  “We concocted the plan together,” Saxonby added quickly. “Once Sin was ‘dead,’ he could investigate with impunity. We figured the murderer would be surprised, thrown off guard. Or get cocky. We hoped the fiend would give himself—or herself—away. That was the reason we couldn’t let you in on the plan, Portia. We had to ensure the murderer was convinced of Sin’s death.”

  She realized Saxonby was trying to take half the blame.

  “Portia, I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Sinclair said hoarsely.

  “But you did anyway.” She pulled away from him, stepped back, and wrapped her arms around herself. What a fool she’d been. “You let me think you were dead without even a thought of what I would feel. You hurt me again, and you didn’t care.”

  “God, Portia, I did care. It ripped my heart out to hurt you. I was afraid if you knew the truth, the murderer might see it in your eyes. And Sax promised to protect you with his life. He also promised not to tell you. I almost gave in and revealed myself to you. He talked me out of it once. Then Sax told me what you said in the kitchen. I guessed you were acting as bait to lure out the killer. I only wish my damn shot had gotten him—or her.”

  “You fired the shot that saved my life.”

  “I’m normally a damn better shot. But I was afraid to hit you. Portia, love, I’m sorry if I made you suffer. But I never thought you would hurt so much.”

  She gaped at him. “But why would you think that? Why would you think I wouldn’t care?”

  “I thought you still hated me, over what I did.”

  “I don’t, Sinclair. I—” She couldn’t say it, but she knew she loved him. But she was afraid to say it. He was wild and attended orgies. She was domestic and boring.

  And apparently he didn’t trust her enough to confide in her.

  Saxonby softly cleared his throat. “I’ll leave you alone to discuss things. Sin, you can tell her what we’ve discovered. Which isn’t much. Lock the door behind me.” Sax went to the door. He opened it and said, loud enough for any eavesdroppers to hear. “I’ll leave you alone with him, Miss Love. To say those last things you wish to say. I’m sorry he’s gone.”

  Then he closed the door. Sinclair took quick strides to the door and turned the key.

  She watched his body move with lithe grace. She wanted to be angry he’d tricked her. She wanted to be hurt that he hadn’t trusted her.

  But she couldn’t be.

  All she could think was that he wasn’t dead. Thank heaven he wasn’t dead.

  Something snapped in her. For days, she’d been surrounded by sex and by death and all she wanted was . . . was love. She wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed to his chest.

  “Portia.” With his words, his chest rumbled beneath her. His hands gently caressed.

  No—she was tired of chaste embraces. She had thought he was gone. For twenty-four hours she’d been filled with pain. And . . . regret.

  She arched up on her toes, grabbed the fabric of his shirt for balance, and kissed him. Wild and openmouthed and wanton.

  Her lips caressed his, hot and demanding. She wanted to kiss him hard. She almost wanted to hurt him with her mouth. She wanted to make him be the one who was melting and begging and in pain.

  Her hands ran over his chest, stroking his hard pectoral muscles through his shirt. He was so warm—warm and alive. She was heady with relief, panting with anger—how couldn’t he have trusted her? But the anger made her want to touch him more.

  Through his shirt, she found his nipples and she strummed them, tweaked them, played with them the way he had played with hers. She broke away from his kiss to put her mouth to his linen shirt and try to suck his nipple through the cloth. When he sucked her, it made her suffer agonies of desire and she wanted to do that to him.

  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—

  God. His hips bucked forward.

  She had moved her head, opened her mouth, and was taking him inside as deep as she could. Sin watched his cock vanish, his fingers caressing her hair. Silk-soft hair as brilliant as flame. He’d always known that hair meant she was fiery. As much as she denied it.

  She sucked him deep and hard. Pure erotic pleasure streaked through him. She bobbed on him and he moaned. Moaned the way a young man did the first time he felt sexual pleasure and didn’t have any sense of control.

  He’d had this done to him a few thousand times. Ten years of orgies meant a lot of cock-suckings. But never one like this. Never once had he felt his heart getting tugged with each pull on his prick.

  Her hands found his balls and she cupped them. His most vulnerable place. He’d known what it was like to feel pain there, to experience sexual torture. He’d experienced that with Estella. He refused to let any woman touch him there. But he knew Portia was exploring. Her touch was so delicate, he could barely feel it. And that made it all the more intense.

  He let her caress his balls.

  Like a cushion, her lips pressed to the head of his cock as her fingers toyed with his balls, lightly squeezing them. The hairs tugged and that was damned erotic too. Her fingers traced the seam of them, then went lower, stroking the bridge between balls and anus.

  Sin was holding his breath. He felt his muscles tighten, ready to shoot his come. Deep breaths. He needed them or he would lose it and come in her mouth. He’d never been so close to shooting his seed during oral sex in a long, long time.

  Watching her was the most erotic thing. His chest rose with ragged breaths. She took him deep—deeper than any courtesan had ever done. Did that because she was genuinely exploring, genuinely trying to delight him. Then she sputtered and jerked back hurriedly.

  He stopped her by gently holding her head. The poor sweet needed to breathe.

  He drew back, pulling his cock right out of her mouth. “That was remarkable.”

  “I didn’t mean to choke—I won’t do that again.”

  “You took me so deep, love, I’m not surprised. But if you keep doing that, you’re going to make me come. That would end our fun for a while—because it would take me awhile to recover from an orgasm that intense. I want to make love to you. Do you want that?”

  * * *

  Portia didn’t try to take his cock back into her mouth. Her jaws ached a little from stretching around him. She could taste his earthiness on her lips and tongue.

  He tasted . . .

  A little sweet, a bit salty, a lot warm, and just a touch sour. He tasted . . . naughty.

  She sat back on her haunches and looked at him. Sinclair’s breath came fast and his chest rose and fell under his white shirt. Sweat gleamed on his brow. His eyes were bright, a deep glowing brown, and hazy with desire. His cock had bucked up when it left her lips and it stuck up and out from his body, rigid as a staff. The veins were prominent. It looked aggressive and thick and hard and beautiful, and she’d never seen it quite so huge.

  Heat seemed to be washing over her too. When he’d said “an orgasm that intense” she had both blazed and ached inside. Had she made him feel so good?

  She’d found it rather thrilling to do it. She never dreamed he’d want to go even further. And she knew exactly what she wanted.

  “I want you inside me,” she said bluntly. “I actually hurt inside, from wanting you.”

  Suddenly, he lifted her. Up in his arms and he carried her to the bed—one white sheet on a huge mattress.

  Kisses pinned her there—his body over hers, his mouth kissing her lips, her throat, a spot behind her ear that made her squeal.

  Then he moved, lifting up and off her. She wriggled in frustration and pain until—

  In one fast motion, he pulled off his shirt, yanking it over his head. His body made her want to weep. Such a pronounced vee shape to his torso. Such muscles that bulged as he pulled his shirt free of his arms.

  Portia gulped.

  She loved watching his muscles move. She marvelled at the curve of his pectorals—so firm. His biceps bulged, too big for her two hands to grasp. His nipples were so tight and hard, like hers, but smaller. His cock bobbed as he moved, and it moved like it was heavy, made of wood, and she was sure it must hurt to have that huge thing swinging in front of him.

  His trousers were already dropped down, caught at the swell at his thigh muscles. His shape was so different than hers—narrow hips with defined hip bones, and a flat expanse of abdomen, shaped by the rock-hard muscles underneath.

  He pushed off his boots and slid his trousers down, baring his legs. Even seeing his naked feet was incredibly erotic. And so intimate. Maybe because this was the first time she’d seen his feet. Long and well-shaped, and thoroughly male, with elegant toes.

  Every inch of him was delicious.

  Then he turned to toss aside his trousers and she thought she might faint from the sudden stoppage of her heartbeat. His buttocks were naked. His cheeks looked so tight and firm she doubted her fingers would dent them.

  She licked her lips, realizing she had actually drooled a little.

  Then she thought of gripping Sinclair’s hard bottom as he drove into her and she let out a little whimper.

  He turned. “What’s wrong, love?”

  “Oh God, I can’t wait any longer. Come here. Now.”

  His grin widened and she struggled with the fastenings of her dress. “Do you want to just pull up my skirt?”

  He took over, leaning over her to undo her dress. “I want you naked. I want to taste you everywhere. Especially your sweet, juicy pussy.”

  She knew what he meant. Like before. When he’d licked her—her pussy and made her come.

  “I . . . I don’t want to wait that long.” She wanted to be filled. She watched the sway of his cock and wanted to feel it filling her. Thrusting. Going deep.

  Portia went weak with need.

  She fell back on the bed, holding her arms out to him. She didn’t know how to invite him erotically. How to look enticing for him. She had her legs spread, her knees up, ready for him.

  But he lifted her, taking the time to undress her.

  His hands brushed her skin as she did. She was almost ready to cry. She tried to help, pushing her dress up before he had all the fastenings done. She almost tore it getting it off her head, but she didn’t care. So many clothes! It was driving her mad—stays, a petticoat, and a silly shift.

  But then she realized she was completely naked in front of him. Bare breasts and tummy and her private place. All exposed to him.

  “God, you’re beautiful.”

  The awed look in his eyes startled her. He looked as if he really thought she was beautiful.

  She was slim. Rather too slim, but then she was always busy with work and her brothers were frugal with the allotment for buying food for the home.

  She didn’t know why she felt so shy. He’d seen her naked bosom before and he knew exactly what he was getting. Small handfuls with pink nipples. He’d lifted her skirts. But he’d never seen her completely naked.

  His cock was leaking. She realized a thin stream of liquid fell from the tip.

  He moved over her. As he did, he eased her back so her head landed on
the soft pillow and she sank back into the mattress. His strong thigh slid between her legs. Then he was over her, all broad chest and rock-hard stomach and lean hips. His cock jutted out and bumped her tummy, leaving a sticky trail.

  Lowering his mouth to hers, he kissed her. Long. Slow. His biceps bulged as his arms supported his weight. She felt small beneath him, small and delicate.

  His lips caressed her neck. Ooh. She arched her back, lifting as pleasure struck. He suckled her neck and she writhed beneath him on the bed.

  Cupping her right breast with his hand, he lowered his mouth to her nipple. She watched his tongue come out and tease it, drawing it until it grew long and flushed and hard. He did the same to her other nipple.

  “Julian,” she whispered. She was lost. It was as if she’d tumbled back ten years. She was desperately in love all over again.

  He started to kiss lower.

  “No.” She moaned. “I want you inside me. I can’t wait any longer. I feel all wet for you.”

  His smile was tender as he looked down on her. She watched his long fingers trail down her abdomen. Touch her nether curls, then caress and part her lips. She felt her moisture. She was slick with it, and his fingers grew slick and slid over her little sensitive bump.

  She looked up at him, begging with her eyes.

  “Patience. It’s more fun if I build your anticipation. Let me play with your clit until you’re ready to beg—”

  “I am begging. Already. Please.” She tweaked his nipples. Lifted underneath him. Reached down and wrapped two hands around his long staff and massaged his fluid into the soft but full and taut head.

  “When you do that, I’m ready to come,” he growled. He grasped his shaft too and pushed it downward.

  “Doesn’t that hurt?”

  “It’s worth it.”

  The full head pressed to her pubis; then he slid it lower, drawing it over her clit—as he’d called that place. Now she finally knew its name. She almost cried out, before she bit her lip, remembering she had to be quiet.