“You should go,” she repeated, reminding him as much as warning herself.
But even as she issued the words, she was moving. Taking one step forward. Then another. Bridging the distance between them until he was near enough to touch again. And touching him proved impossible to resist. She tucked the handkerchief into a pocket she had sewn into her dressing gown and then flattened her palms on his chest.
His heat and strength were enough to make a burst of longing rush over her.
“You want me to leave?” he asked, standing still.
Neither taking her in his arms as she craved nor moving away.
She should say yes.
But there was something so very tempting about Mr. Wolf Sutton. Perhaps it was his impressive height, his broad shoulders. Or his wickedly handsome face. His tenderness. The kindness he had shown Edwin earlier. The disparity between their stations. The way he kissed her.
Good heavens, mayhap it was all those things combined.
Whatever the reason, she could not deny him, and she could not resist him. And in this moment of incredible weakness, him here with her, she did not want to. He is here, whispered a dark, forbidden part of herself she had thought long ago walled off. No one has seen him sneak into your chamber. Why not take advantage of the night? Why not give in to what you want?
And what she wanted was him. Wolf. More of his greedy kisses and tender caresses. More of his touch on her, those rough hands bringing her such pleasure.
“No,” she whispered, her gaze falling to his lips. “I don’t want you to leave.” She paused, swallowing against a rush of old shame and fear, the kind that had been haunting her for so long. “I want you to stay.”
For the next minute.
For the next hour.
For the night.
Whatever it entailed, she was fast losing her grip on the reins of her control.
He eyed her solemnly, his hands at last settling on her waist, anchoring her body to his in a way that felt at once familiar and right. “It ain’t my intention to cause you trouble. I’ll be discreet.”
Discreet.
That was a word often used by lovers. Aside from Landringham, she had never had one. After the viscount’s betrayal, she had never wanted another, had never even thought about opening her heart and body again.
Was that what she was intending? Was that what this—inviting Wolf to remain, touching him—meant? And why did the possibility that it was leave her breathless?
“You must go before the servants are about,” she said, taking the leap.
There.She had just invited him into her bed. Had just asked him to be her lover.
Just for one night, she thought wildly. What was the harm? Why not take what she wanted? Why could this man not be hers for just a sliver of time? Her heart was suddenly galloping, and she was about to change her mind when he leaned his forehead to hers.
“Tell me what you want.” He ran the blade of his nose against hers in a gentle caress.
Everything.The world suddenly seemed alive with possibility, like the sun rising bright and true to preside over a new day.
Her hands slid up his chest, detesting the layers of civility keeping her from him. She slipped her fingers beneath his waistcoat, nothing but his shirt separating her bare skin from his. He was so warm, the thumping of his heart against her splayed palm proving he was as affected as she was.
“I…I don’t know what I want,” she confided. “It has been so very long for me…”
It had been years. But would that scare away a man like Wolf? Did he suppose her to be experienced? Did he think her the sort of jaded society wife who had taken more lovers than she could count? Was that what he wanted? Was that why he had come to her here, at her town house?
“It has been a lifetime for me,” he said then, his voice quiet yet firm as he rubbed his cheek against hers.
For a brief moment, the abrasion of his whiskers on her skin delighted her to the point of distraction. Her nipples hardened into demanding buds beneath her night rail. Gradually, however, his words stole through the haze of lust that had enveloped her susceptible mind.
A lifetime for him.
Meaning he had never made love to a woman before?
Her head jerked back and she searched his hazel gaze, trying to determine whether or not she had heard him correctly. “A lifetime?”
“Aye.” He sent her a crooked grin that melted something inside the icy confines of her heart. “I’ve never bedded a woman before.”
He had never? Surprise mingled with another, foreign emotion. She would have believed a man of his innate charm and self-assured nature to be a seasoned rakehell. That he would have had half the ladies of London ready to throw themselves at him at the slightest provocation. Indeed, he likely had. But he had clearly not wished to indulge.
Portia blinked. “But you want to. With me.”
The words emerged as a statement. But she intended them as a question. Portia was hopelessly flustered, both from his revelation and her reaction to him. She did not recall ever desiring anyone as much as she longed for Wolf. It made no sense, for she scarcely knew him.
“I want to stay here with you for a bit of time.” He kissed her cheek. “If you’ll have me. I promise I’ll be gone before anyone should know I’ve been here, save you and the lad.”
Her fingers answered for her, hungrily sliding up his chest to the simple knot of his cravat. She fumbled with it for just a moment before the cloth came loose. “Yes.”
He hadn’t said what he wanted, what he expected, whether or not he intended to make love to her. Not precisely. And perhaps it didn’t matter. She wanted him here. Needed him here. Whatever part of himself he gave her, she would accept. No man had ever made her feel so protected, so cherished, in the manner Wolf possessed.
And after the unpleasantness of her brother’s call earlier that day and the violence which had been visited upon her, there was something so very comforting in finding herself in a protective embrace. In being desired. But not just by anyone.
By Wolf.
He dragged his lips along her jaw in slow, hot kisses that she felt to her toes. He savored her—there was no other way to describe the painstaking, sensual torture of his mouth gliding over her skin. When his mouth dipped, settling into her throat above the collar of her dressing gown, she allowed her head to fall back, giving him more of her eager flesh.
He sucked on her skin, and her knees went weak. Fortunately, he was prepared, for his arms banded around her waist to keep her from crumpling to the floor. Her desperate fingers sought the silken waves of his hair, threading through the dark strands. How good he felt, against her, surrounding her. So strong and yet tender. He caught the lobe of her ear in his teeth and gently tugged, the unexpected action causing a corresponding throb in her cunny.
He guided them both toward her bed as he tongued the hollow behind her ear, a place she had never dreamed would elicit flames of need skipping up and down her spine, making her shiver and writhe in his arms, seeking to get closer still. But he denied her what she longed for, instead urging her to seat herself on the edge of the bed. She did as he wanted, reluctantly separating her aching body from his. And then, his clever hands had moved from her waist to the buttons lining her dressing gown. One by one, he plucked, his gaze following the progress of his movement, his countenance stormy.