Page 11 of At His Lady’s Command

“Bloody hell, woman,” he said angrily, freeing her instantly and stepping away. “I could have killed you! What on earth were you thinking?”

“I…er…that it might be a nice surprise?” Portia replied awkwardly, blinking to get her eyes used to the low light.

Her nightshirt-clad bodyguard rubbed his jaw, before swiftly lighting several more candles in the bedchamber. “Soldiers are not so enamored of surprises at midnight. Especially unknown noises coming from places they shouldn’t…Good God. You are covered in dust and cobwebs. I hope we aren’t about to be attacked by an army of spiders, furious at having their home destroyed.”

Wonderful. Foolish and a fright.

As the ground refused to swallow her up, Portia’s shoulders slumped. Much like at Cheapside, if she’d been injured it would have been entirely her fault. She definitely should have told him about the passage—and her plan—in advance. “Could I have a cloth?”

“Come over to the washstand,” he said, taking her elbow and guiding her across the room.

“This went quite differently in my mind,” Portia blurted, as Denham sponged her face and unbound hair like she was a child in the nursery. “More pleasure. Much less henwit.”

“Oh?” he replied, dusting off her nightgown.

“I thought perhaps we could spend the night together. You know, before we have to go to London and Kitty waves her propriety wand and attempts to turn me ladylike.”

“I’m not sure that is possible. My nerves are too overset…unless of course you can think of a way to atone for your actions and soothe them.”

Relief surged through her at the light humor. After such a thoughtless misstep, she wanted to demonstrate exactly how contrite she felt.

“I can think of one thing,” said Portia, sinking to her knees. “If you would lift up your nightshirt.”

Denham sucked in a breath. Then he touched her shoulder. “No surprises?”

“No surprises. I swear.”

Slowly she eased her palms up his calves and thighs, enjoying the sensation of rough hair and firm muscle beneath her fingers, wanting to cheer when his thick cock twitched and began to harden. It was more than a little fascinating watching the process this close, and although her mouth watered to taste him, Portia only touched his cock with her hands. Caressing. Teasing him by alternating the firm touch he enjoyed, with feather light strokes of her fingertips along his shaft, across the swelling head now growing damp, underneath where his heavy balls dangled.

He shuddered. “Please.”

“Please what, Denham?” she murmured, exhaling lightly right on the tip of his cock. “I cannot read your mind.”

“Suck me,” he gritted out, placing one hand on the washstand shelf for balance, and resting his other hand on her hair. “And at the same time maybe…touch yourself?”

Her quim clenched. “Why, Captain,” she purred. “How positively wicked. I suppose I must remove my nightgown first so you can watch?”

“I think so, yes, my lady. Perhaps we should adjourn to my bed, though.”

“My knees would appreciate that,” Portia replied, unable to halt a grin. “Blasted wooden floors. You’ll recall I’m no spring chicken.”

Denham laughed raggedly as he helped her to her feet. “Neither am I. Can’t have one of us getting cramp and yelping. Would be such a shame to get caught after you battled the perilous jungle of cobwebs and centuries-old dust to break into my room.”

“Oh, get into bed, you insolent devil.”

After stoking the fire for warmth and light, Denham removed his nightshirt and settled on the bed, propped up on his pillows. He was a Greek statue come to life; massive shoulders, broad, hair-dusted chest, flat stomach, and those long, muscled legs. Not to mention that truly splendid cock.

A little self-consciously, Portia removed her nightgown and chemise. Fortunately her breasts were small, for they definitely weren’t as pert as they’d once been. And in stark contrast to her slender torso, her hips and backside were decidedly too fleshy. “Well,” she said over-loudly, to overcome the unwanted feeling of inadequacy. Her body was what it was, and had done her great service thus far. “Shall we?”

“In a moment. My recollection of those raspberry nipples and that divinely bare cunt did not do them justice. Additionally, that backside of yours is so lush. Walking behind you is always a pleasure, but seeing it naked…beyond compare.”

A blush scorched across her cheekbones. “Fustian. You are clearly in need of spectacles. Now. I hope your nerves have recovered, for I’m going to suck your cock.”

“And touch yourself?” Denham asked, his dark eyes glittering.

“And touch myself,” Portia agreed, squirming on the comfortable bed, her nipples tingling and her quim throbbing at this deliciously naughty banter. How delightful to have a lover who could be both serious and lighthearted, who didn’t seek to change or restrain or correct her desires, but indulge them.

Bracing herself on her knees, her thighs spread wide for extra balance, she slid one hand between her legs to cup her mound, and wrapped her other hand around his engorged cock. Rubbing both in unison, she then leaned down to dart her tongue across the damp head.