Page 22 of At His Lady’s Command

“I do try,” Randall said, smiling faintly.

“Such talented fingers. And then there is this magnificent beast, that I adore to ride,” she continued, giving his cock a loving squeeze.

He coughed. “You aren’t going to give it a name…are you?”

Portia grinned as she swirled her tongue across the swollen, damp head. “Mighty steed? Or perhaps rampant stallion?”

“If you commission a miniature saddle, I’m leaving.”

“Now that would be a shame. I shall have to prevent such a travesty.”

“How?” he asked gruffly.

“Like this.” Circling the base of his cock with her fingers, she took as much as she could into her mouth. Sucking him. Licking him. Swallowing his salty, earthy essence as it dripped onto her busy tongue.

“You…you don’t have to.”

“I enjoy sucking your cock,” Portia said, after pausing briefly in her ministrations. “Seeing your face, hearing you moan, feeling you grow thicker and harder in my mouth because I am pleasuring you just how you like it. It reminds me that I know what my captain needs. That you are mine. And it makes me very wet.”

Randall sat up. “Ride me, Portia. Please. I need to feel you all around me. Your cunt gripping my cock, your breasts against my chest, your nails on my back, your lips…”

Giving his cock one last lick, she moved up again. Then she took his pulsing erection in hand and fed it into her greedy quim. “Is that better?”

“Fuck,” he whispered, his breaths harsh, shuddering pants as he leaned down to suck her taut nipples.

Portia whimpered as each rhythmic tug of his lips and flick of his tongue sent a sizzling jolt straight to her quim. Bracing her hands on his broad shoulders, she rocked against him, circling her hips, using her inner muscles to tease and torment. Unlike their deliciously rough, chaotic fucking over the desk, this was slower, more sensual. Loving. As though they had all the time in the world, like a couple at home who had decided that a lazy afternoon in bed would be just the thing. In the haven of his arms, she could almost believe in a happily ever after. But as though reminding them this was indeed a stolen hour, the clock in the corner of the room chimed faintly.

“Not yet,” she said, pressing closer to Randall, abrading her nipples against the hair on his chest, biting his neck, scratching her nails down his spine.

“Yes,” he rasped in her ear. “Mark me as yours, Portia.”

Fierce as an Amazon, she rode him hard. All too soon came the familiar tightening, the crashing waves of overwhelming sensation, and she buried her mouth in his shoulder to muffle her orgasmic cry. Only then did she pull herself up and off his cock, before reaching down to stroke him to a bucking, spurting, gloriously messy completion.

Sated and breathless, they clung together for one long precious moment before letting go.

“We have to return to Butler House,” said Randall, as he left the bed and fetched his handkerchief so she could wipe her hands. “And think of a new strategy. Clearly, there are ten peers Halstead approves of who would marry any woman, probably even Medusa herself, for that dowry.”

Portia snorted. “I look like Medusa with these awful curls. I only wish I had her ability to turn men to stone. Then I could have a nice row of peer statues in the garden for the pigeons to decorate.”

“A most appealing thought.”

They dressed, helping each other with buttons, and smoothing fabric, until at last there was no reason to remain in their temporary sanctuary.

“We owe the Dares a great debt,” said Portia, glancing one last time around the beautiful, tranquil room, before they reluctantly made their way back down the stairs.

“We do.”

“A-ha! There are my new favorite lovebirds,” said an amused feminine voice, and they both turned to see Madeline standing in the entrance hall, looking very pleased with herself. “You left the bed intact, I trust?”

Portia shook her head. “Destroyed.”

“In at least twenty pieces,” said Randall.

Madeline giggled and twirled a curl around her finger. “Outstanding effort. My young scholarly husband will be delighted to learn that age slows neither lust nor love. Tea?”

“We can’t today,” said Portia regretfully. “I would adore a proper visit, but my wretched stepmother only permitted us an hour out in the curricle. An hour! After a morning of entertaining thirty avaricious peers in the drawing room.”

“Good grief. No wonder you both looked so wild-eyed on arrival. Dare was concerned.”