Chapter 17

Portia's body stretched in a most satisfying way as Alaric pushed into her. She hardly noticed the slight burn on flesh unused to a man's possession before today. The faint sting was worth it in return for the bliss. What had seemed so unnatural a few hours ago now felt like the most perfect act in the world.

The sensation was marvelous, and in this rather shocking position, different from their earlier lovemaking. He settled so deep, she was sure that he must touch her womb. She released a shuddering breath, as she accommodated his size. She adored this moment when their bodies united and she basked in intimacy before the rise to transcendent release.

Although she loved that, too.

The bed's carved baseboard dug into her stomach, and it seemed odd not seeing Alaric's face. On the other hand, the act contained a delicious suspense.

She squirmed to encourage him to continue. And to see how that felt at this bizarre new angle. It turned out to be wondrous. A whimper of exhilaration escaped her.

Alaric leaned forward, pressing her into the mattress. He kissed her ear, the side of her face, her nape.

She twisted her head until her lips made clumsy contact with his. The kiss was succulent and untamed and frustrating, because their current position made a full exploration impossible.

After an interval as exasperating as it was arousing, he retreated. She gave an involuntary gasp. Every time he shifted, he stimulated a different place inside her.

Alaric began a long rhythmic glide, forward, back, then forward again. Every time he reached his limit, she felt as if he claimed her forever.

Portia clenched her hands in the coverlet beneath her, as the now familiar spiral toward rapture began. An incoherent sigh of surrender emerged.

He moved faster, although still with that purposeful, rocking action. Her excitement built toward release. Her muscles tightened around him, as the peak approached, irresistible as a flood tide.

When he made a guttural sound of approval, she contracted around him. He slid a hand down to squeeze her breast. Her arousal notched higher. Then higher again, when that seeking hand slipped under her bodice to tease her nipple. She gave a strangled moan.

By now, her entire body was a quivering mass of yearning. Her blood beat in time with his strokes, and her vision went foggy. Further and further she flew as she hurtled toward ultimate pleasure. The experience edged on torture, as she teetered on the brink of losing herself.

All that gathering tension erupted into a blinding flash of sublime pleasure. With a harsh cry, she spasmed around him.

For a fraught moment, Alaric went still. Then he withdrew and bent over her, arms holding her tight. His hardness rubbed the small of her back before he gave her the hot, sticky rush of his seed.

Gasping, still caught in that extraordinary whirlwind, Portia sagged under him. Fighting the urge to cry, she shifted to find a more comfortable position.

He'd launched her into a new and shining universe that touched all of her, heart and soul as well as body. How on earth could she remember that this was just a passing affair, when he took her to such heights? It wasn't fair. The beauty of what happened when their bodies united was so pure, it broke her heart.

What a fool she was. She'd believed that she understood what she agreed to when she came away with Alaric. It was too late to regret that she hadn't known enough to fear the way sharing her body would change her.

When he shifted, pleasure still rippled through her. She trembled under the brush of what she guessed must be his handkerchief, as he wiped his sperm off her bare skin.

Gently he brushed her hair aside and kissed her cheek. The action's tenderness deepened her emotional reaction to what she wished had been mere physical satisfaction. Nobody had ever cherished her like this. Her heart brimmed with joy, but it was joy pierced with longing for what she could never have.

Why must he treat her as something precious? She loved it, but it made accepting the bitter truth of her situation even harder. She couldn't reveal how she grieved that he didn't love her. He'd loathe causing unhappiness. He might even decide to end their affair.

That thought galvanized her into action. She pushed against the bed to straighten and released an involuntary groan.

"What is it?" Alaric was at her side immediately, supporting her elbow. "God forgive me, I didn't hurt you, did I?"

His frantic concern for her well-being only sharpened her worries. She must hide her unrequited love. Desolation might await once he finished with her, but that didn't mean she intended to forsake him until she had to.

"No, of course not." She battled to sound composed, but the catch in her voice betrayed her.

His hand tightened on her arm. "But you're in pain?"

Now he'd buttoned his breeches, he almost looked like nothing had happened between them. Except for the color along those slashing cheekbones and the fullness of his mouth.

Her laugh was wry. "I'm not in pain. But I've discovered muscles today that I didn't know I had."

He didn't look reassured. "You must have been uncomfortable while I took my pleasure."

She summoned a smile and trailed a finger down his cheek. He'd shaved before dinner, but now she felt the prickle of whiskers. "And I found my pleasure during… What should I call what we do?"

Juliet had spoken of conjugal union, but not only was that far too clinical for these fiery encounters, there was nothing conjugal about what she did with Alaric. And not likely to be either.

"You want to talk about vocabulary?" he asked in disbelief. He shifted to link his hands loosely about her waist. "After that?"

She rose on her toes and kissed him, appreciating that she could do it properly this time. When he kissed her back, she sensed that what they'd just done had given him more than physical satisfaction, too. His kiss and the shocked "after that?" told her everything that she needed to know.

Portia's disquiet had receded by the time she drew away. Her smile felt more natural, as she slid one hand behind his neck and gazed up at him. "How else will I know what to ask for?"

His laugh still held a trace of incredulity, even as his brows lowered in thought. "There are plenty of unacceptable terms."

"Good."

This time, he kissed her. "You're a rebel against your class, Portia Frain." Once if he'd said such a thing, she'd assume that it was criticism. Now she heard admiration in the musical baritone. "I should avoid you. You'll overturn the status quo before you're done. Then what will a dispossessed duke do with himself?"

He made her sound brave and daring, instead of a hopeless misfit in the society that she'd been born into. "This particular duke is welcome to work in my kennels." Sincerity crept in, despite her teasing. "I'm so impressed with how you've handled Jupiter. It's a waste that you've never owned a dog. You have such a deft touch with him."

And with women. A shiver rippled through her, as she recalled Alaric filling her to the hilt from behind.

His lips quirked with the ironic humor that always made her heart contract with longing. "That's all right, then. At least I won't starve."

"Should the revolution break out, I'll keep you in bread and cheese, Your Grace."

"Fresh bread?"

She stifled a giggle, enjoying his nonsense. "Don't push it."

He laughed. This time, his kiss was more intense. She was breathless by the time he raised his head. He stared down at her as if he'd never seen anything so wonderful in his life.

Portia reminded herself not to trust that expression. This was only their first night together, and already she was melting into a lovelorn puddle. If she wasn't careful, before they were done, he'd guess that she loved him and that her offer of a trouble-free affair was only so much hot air.

He bumped his hips forward. "I like to push things."

Heat bubbled through her, although she wasn't sure that she was up to another bout. She wanted him. She always wanted him. But so far, they'd come together in a variety of unorthodox places. The hay. The table. Bent over on a bed. She'd loved everything that he'd done, but the unaccustomed activity left her aching.

"I know you do." Her eyes narrowed on that striking face. "Stop avoiding the question. If I want you, what should I say?"

"Just that."

"What?"

"I want you."

"Really?"

He shrugged. "Works every time."

"What else can I say? Just in case I want some variety."

The fond tolerance in his sigh made her fall a little bit more in love with him. "You just want to hear all the dirty words, don't you?"

She tugged the curls at his nape. "I am after all a rebel."

The green eyes gleamed with approval. "Very well."

When he didn't continue, she gave his hair a sharper pull. "Alaric."

"There's swiving and tumbling and tupping and bedding and rutting. Coitus."

"Yes?"

"Any of those will do."

She frowned. "They don't sound very dirty. You can do better, I'm sure."

"Copulate. Fornicate. Have intercourse. Know in the biblical sense. Lie with. Seduce."

"More." Even with her sparse experience, most of those seemed too banal.

His lips twitched. "Portia, you're a lady. A man minds his tongue in the presence of a lady."

"Not always. I like what your tongue does."

He looked startled before chuckling with such surpassing salaciousness that her secret places clenched in involuntary response. "You don't know the half of what my tongue can do, my sweet little lamb."

She laughed at the description, even as curiosity sparked. What did he mean? "That sounds like you're going to lick me all over."

Sly humor lit his eyes to dark emerald. "We'll just have to wait and see, won't we?"

She responded with a growl. "Stop treating me like a fool, Alaric. And tell me what I need to say if I want you to…swive me."

"That will work."

"But there's more?"

He gave another long-suffering sigh. "I suppose so."

"If I wasn't a lady, but an amorous milkmaid, what would I say?"

"Roger me?"

"That sounds awful." Her nose wrinkled in displeasure. "I've never met a Roger I liked."

"You'd like it if I rogered you."

A huff of shocked laughter. "No doubt."

"The thing you could say…"

"Yes?" She found this discussion titillating. She feared that she was no longer the lady Alaric called her.

"Fuck me."

The word was short, sharp, vivid. And she was sure utterly forbidden in polite company. How delicious. An exultant smile curved her lips, as she gathered the nerve to speak. "Fuck me, Alaric."