Chapter 15
T he moment she had become his duchess had changed everything. It shouldn’t have, but it had, and Rufus was trying not to come apart.
But there was an inescapable fact. She wasn’t just Portia any longer. She was the Duchess of Ferrars. Rufus rubbed his temples.
The hours and hours of lectures his father and tutor had imparted on him raced through his head. He blinked and tried to shove that all away.
She was perfect. She would be perfect.
He could feel the drive to be the duke his family had always insisted on rising up, stealing the air form his lungs. Just as he had been trained, he would always be a great duke.
She would be a great duchess too. He’d ensure that. And with his help, her own natural skills would make her the best Duchess of Ferrars that the title had ever known.
It was a harsh set of thoughts for a wedding night. But his was not a normal wedding night. The wedding nights of dukes never were. This was a sealing of agreements, of a deal, of a union of two powerful families, intent on increasing their power.
That’s what his father had always insisted.
Yet, his need for her was intense. As he lingered on the other side of her chamber door, all thoughts of duty threatened to scatter. She was not just his duchess. She was Portia.
Witty, feisty, strong.
That was who he wanted to make love to this night.
Drawing himself together, he raised his fist and knocked.
“Come in,” she called.
He closed his eyes for a moment, willing the war within him to step back. Feeling the din in his head quiet a bit, he grabbed the handle and strode in, his dressing gown whispering over the woven rug.
She stood waiting for him, bathed in moonlight.
The nightgown kissed her perfect body as if the moon was caressing her with gauzy fabric.
The thin silk skimmed her breasts and taut nipples. It flowed like water over her curved hips, and he longed to cross the room and tear it from her body.
He was a duke and had known many women. It was what men of power did. His father had ensured he’d had a suitable education. And he was a man of strong appetites and had had many mistresses over the years who made no demands of him.
But she?
She did something to him that no woman had ever done. She made him wish to lose himself entirely in her. He could never allow that. But he would savor her all he could without giving in. No, he would always hold the reins of control and attend to the rules that had been carved into him.
Dukes did not lose control.
Dukes maintained their power.
They were never powerless.
They were above everyone and everything.
Even love.
And if he gave himself over, he’d surely lose that power, would he not?
So, he would be the one in control.
“Do you like it?” she whispered.
He inclined his head. “Do you?”
Portia licked her lips, stroking one of the delicate ribbons between her breasts. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”
He smiled slowly and crossed to her, slipping his fingers under the thin material at her shoulder. “You look stunning, but you will look even better out of it.”
Her perfect lips parted, and she did not resist as he slid the silk down her body, leaving her bared before him.
“Are you nervous?” he asked.
“Yes,” she replied, her eyes wide.
He was going to show her pleasure. He was going to make her glad she belonged to him.
“Surrender to those feelings,” he replied softly. “Do not fight them, or you will be tense.”
She nodded, considering this before she murmured, “Kiss me?”
Portia offered her lips to him, but instead, fearing he would lose his wits entirely if he gave into the intimacy of their kiss, he gently tilted her head to the side. For when he kissed her, he felt as if he was releasing his soul to her, and he had to be terribly careful.
He kissed her throat as if they had all the time in the world. As if he was not fighting the urge to claim her like a man of old, such was his hunger for her. But that… That was impossible for so many reasons.
A low moan of pleasure slipped past her lips and she clung to his shoulders. Wordlessly, he picked her up and carried her to the inlaid table near the fire.
She linked her legs about his waist, gasping with surprise at how easily he held her up.
He supposed he should take her to the bed and simply get on with it.
But he did not wish to do that. During the day, he would follow all the rules. He’d be the duke he had to be.
But at night? Here in these rooms, he could leave the Duke of Ferrars behind and simply be Rufus.
Here with her, he could be all that she needed him to be. Even if he could never let that side of himself be truly free.
Gently, he laid her back and gazed at her pale body stretched out before him.
Her hair splayed about her face, teasing over the mosaic patterns on the table. He traced her collarbones, then raked his hands down her breastbone, over her ribs, and around her hips.
Her eyes widened, as if she was both surprised and awed by his passion.
He bit his lower lip, contemplating her breasts, anticipating their taste. Slowly, he lowered his head, then took each pink nub into his mouth in turn.
A stunned breath escaped her lips, and she rocked her hips upward.
Slowly, he kissed her, licked her, nipped at her body, teasing it to life, marking it as his.
Once he paused at the juncture of her thighs, he closed his eyes, ready to be drunk on her pleasure. For her pleasure made him feel as if he was the most powerful man alive. Far more than any dukedom ever had.
As he did in the theater, he took her soft, already slick petals into his mouth and teased her until she was moaning and arching against him.
Her hands slid into his hair and she tugged to the point of pain. How he loved making her lose herself to bliss.
To prepare her, he slipped a single finger into her hot core and then another.
Her legs shook as she neared her pinnacle and he did not stop, finding that sweet spot inside her, whilst he circled and kissed the spot without.
Her legs suddenly tensed, and she let out a wild cry.
It was only then that he stood and let his dressing gown fall to the floor. He took his cock into his hand, slid the head up and down her slick sex, and then rocked forward.
Her eyes widened as he thrust past her maidenhead, but she was so ready that it was no obstacle.
She sucked in a sharp breath but then melted again as he began to thrust ever deeper into her core.
The hot ecstasy of it was almost terrifying. She was so perfect, such paradise, that all his control was slipping away. Her sweet body took his and made it one with her own. And with each thrust, he feared he would lose himself forever.
He tried to resist it. To fight it, but when her legs came up and locked about his hips, pulling him even closer, as if she would unite them for all time, he could hold back no longer.
They crested the wild storm together. He cried out her name as his hips shot forward.
His thoughts disappeared, the world vanished, and when he lowered himself, utterly spent, he caught a glimpse of what true joy could be like.
And it was the most terrifying thing he’d ever felt.
For joy had always, always been crushed out of him.