Having sex with Tav hadn’t been in her plans—in fact, she’d had specific rules against this very situation—but then again, neither had revealing him to be a duke. Plans changed, she reasoned, and it wasn’t like this was impulsive. It was inevitable, it seemed. She’d felt the urge to jump him upon their first meeting, which was mid-macing, and had been fighting her attraction ever since. This, whatever was happening between them, was kind of a foregone conclusion. She’d regret detonating this foundational pillar of Project: New Portia later; for now, she’d glory in the explosion.
They crept up to her room instead of his office. Jamie and Cheryl were out at a pub quiz night—he could be the one risking bumping into them afterward.
They’d kept their hands to themselves on the way back to the armory—after all, she didn’t need Mary or any of the other neighborhood familiars catching Tav’s hand up her shirt. Both of them had been on the verge of breaking out into a trot and had kept giving each other heated looks, their intent likely clear to anyone who paid attention, but none of that mattered once she closed the door to her room and shoved Tav up against it.
“That was the longest walk of my life,” he groaned as his hands came to her hips and tugged her close against him. The blunt tips of his fingers pressed into her hips and she swallowed a soft moan. She loved how strong his hands were—strength that came from grinding and fighting, from artistry and dedication. Each time he held her it sent a possessive thrill through her.
“Not gonna lie—I scoped out a few dark corners on the way in case we couldn’t make it,” she said.
Laughter rumbled through his chest. “I’d be amenable to testing out dark corners sometime.”
Sometime.
I like you.
No. Taking his words seriously was asking for trouble. She would operate as she always had; no catching feelings, no getting hurt. She was a damned expert at that. She ignored what he was insinuating and focused on his mouth, his firm lips, his hands sliding into the waistband of her pants in search of the hidden clasp that would release them.
“How are these secured?” he growled, tugging at the waistband. “Magic? Are these chastity trousers?”
She grinned against his mouth. “Mmm, yes, they’re enchanted. Only the chosen one can get into them. Pantscalibur, or as they were known in Middle Welsh, Pantsvich—”
“Very funny. Oh, what’s this?” His fingers found the eyelet hook along the side of the pants just then and deftly unhooked it, then grasped at the pull of the zipper and tugged slowly. He kissed her again as his fingers worked. The pants were too tight to fall to the ground, but now there was room for his hands to slip inside, for his palms to glide over her silk underwear and his hands to cup her ass.
She shuddered and moaned into his mouth.
“It appears I’m the chosen one,” he said, his mouth moving from her lips to press hungry kisses along her jawline and down her neck as his hands held her firmly in place. “Yay, me.”
“I’m trying to come up with a dirty sword in the stone double entendre but fuck your hands feel amazing,” she said, and maybe that was even better than a joke because he exhaled harshly against her neck and the tightened his grip on her, the combination rapidly unraveling her control.
No.
Her hand went to his belt again, this time to tug it open, and her other hand slid up under his shirt, following the trail of hair from the taper at the waist of his pants to where it spread over his chest. She kissed at his neck as she undid his belt and his aggravating button fly jeans. Finally, finally, her fingers encircled his thick, warm cock and he groaned and . . . it was in that moment that Portia realized she had no idea what she was doing. Well, she knew what she was doing, but she was usually loosened up by a drink or two while doing it. When was the last time she’d given a hand job totally sober?
Without the inhibition-loosening effects of alcohol, little annoying thoughts started to eat away at the lust and frenzy that had propelled her through the streets of Bodotria and toward her bed.
Does he like what you’re doing? Are you pulling too hard? Not hard enough. Should you just get on your knees? Yeah, yeah, do that. Every guy likes that, right?
She started to drop down, eyes locked on Tav’s, but his grip slid up to her shoulders and tightened, sending a thrill through her but also confusing her because he was holding her in place.
His gaze on her was still intense, hot, but he seemed to be searching her face for something. His expression was so serious that for a second Portia was mortified, certain she really had given the worst hand job ever and he didn’t trust her teeth anywhere near him, but then he grinned and shook his head.
“I thought we agreed that I’m the chosen one here, love. That means I get the reward and I have something else in mind, if it’s all right with you.”
He began walking her back toward the bed, his hands sliding down the front of her blouse and undoing the buttons one by one. He slid the shirt back over her shoulders and they both stepped over it when it pooled on the floor. Now she was in just her lace bra and tight pants and heels, a style Tavish seemed to appreciate.
He leaned down and kissed her again, an action that seesawed between harsh and gentle, desire and denial. One of his hands smoothed down over the curve of her breasts, over her stomach, until his fingers had notched into the vee between her thighs. Those thick fingers she’d admired since the first morning she sat across from him in his office began to move now, circling over the fabric of her pants and underwear. The pressure was steady and firm, with no tentative fumbling as he searched for her clit. He zeroed in fast and hard, leaving her gasping with the sudden onslaught of pleasure. He was good with his hands in every situation, it seemed.
Her hips rolled and her head dropped back as she pressed into his touch.
“Do you like that?” he asked, rubbing faster, pressing deeper. Pleasure washed through her in time to his motions, rippling out from her clit to her toes to her fingertips in tingling waves.
“Yes,” she managed before pressing her teeth into her bottom lip to keep from crying out—they weren’t supposed to be doing this after all. Tavish’s laugh rumbled as he alternated the speed of his caressing.
“Good.” He tipped her back onto the bed, a move that was just a step below gentle, and followed her down as she fell backward onto the mattress, one hand still working. The other hand pressed her shoulder down into the mattress and Portia shuddered at the weight of it, which gave her pleasure just as much as the hand between her legs did.
Then he was kissing her as he rubbed, and though they’d been at it off and on for the last half hour, he kissed her like a lover who hadn’t seen his beloved in months. She wasn’t one for romanticizing, but he kissed with the lush, seductive artistry of Klimt, dark passion hidden beneath rich, solid strokes. His fingers pressed and his tongue caressed and she knew when the moisture of her desire had seeped through her pants because he Mmmmed into her mouth with a devilish delight that made her toes curl.
“Fuck, Tavish,” she whispered.
He was settled between her thighs, mouth fused to hers as he got her off with one hand. His other hand tugged at her bra straps, pulled the band roughly down over her stomach before his palm scraped over her breasts, the calluses and scars of his trade adding to the friction. He licked into her mouth, and then his thumb and index fingers closed around her nipple and pinched just hard enough to make her gasp and buck up beneath him.
He pulled his mouth away and his hand stopped moving, making her realize she’d caught his rhythm and had been riding it like she was in was the most important dressage competition of her life. “Too much?” he asked.
Somewhere in the back of her mind a voice told her she was supposed to deny liking such things, but instead she licked her lips and shook her head.
“Not enough.”
Tav groaned a laugh and then his lips pressed into her neck, then her collarbone, and then clamped around her nipple. He lashed it with short, hard strokes of his tongue. Her hands dove into his thick hair as she writhed and fought against the cry rising in her throat.
She didn’t know if it was his added years of experience or just innate talent, but Tav seemed to know exactly what pushed her buttons. His grip was strong and sure and his mouth and tongue moved with one mission: to drive pleasure into her. He gripped her nipple lightly between his teeth and tugged, as if reminding her that he could pleasure with any part of his body he so chose.
“Oh fuck.” Her body slid wildly against his and he did that thing again—pressing her down into the mattress with one hand to keep her in place. She let out a moan and he grinned, eyes on her and other hand at the waistband of her pants.
“More?” he asked, and waited for her shaky nod to tug her pants and underwear both down with one hand. His fingers slipped against her clit without the barrier of fabric, sending sparks of pleasure zipping through her. He wasn’t any more gentle than he had been, but it was exactly what Portia wanted from him. He rubbed hard circles into her wetness, still holding her down by a shoulder.
“I can feel you trembling. Are you close, love?” He slowed the motion down so he was moving his fingers in deep, torturous circles over her sleek nub.
“Yes, Tav,” she choked out. So close. She reached out to grip the length of him where he bulged against his boxer briefs. He grunted a curse as she pulled him through the flap. She stroked him as he stroked her, and watching the muscles in his jaw tense and his eyes squeeze shut almost pushed her over the edge completely.
His gaze was intense as it rested on her face and he pumped into her hand. She picked up the rhythm of his touch between her legs, matching the slide of her hand against his cock. Portia was overcome with sensation, she was so close but she couldn’t . . .
Then Tavish’s hand slipped from her shoulder to her neck, his fingers loosely encircling it, palm resting on her collarbones. His brows raised and she nodded, and then he increased the pressure just the slightest bit. It wasn’t enough to impede her breathing, but the weight of it paired with the two fingers he slid inside of her at the same moment were enough.
“Oh, fuck! Tavish!” Her back arched and she grabbed on to his forearm with both hands as she clamped around his fingers and rode out the impossible sensation flowing through her. Sparks from an anvil, fireworks—all of that good shit—flashed behind her tightly squeezed eyes as her orgasm crested over her. She didn’t know how long she writhed and bucked—and how long he held her down through it—but when she finally opened her eyes, panting and short of breath, he was staring at her hard.
“Okay there, lass?” His voice was hoarse with need.
She responded by tugging him onto the bed beside her and kissing him, her hand frantically searching out his cock and closing over his own—he’d been working himself as he watched her fly apart beneath him.
She leaned back, taking a breath from their frantic pace, and watched him stroke himself. The kernel of a crush in her chest that had grown into a cornfield all simultaneously popped into popcorn from the heat of it. Fuck. She’d already thought him sexy, but now she’d be stuck with this image of him lazily touching himself, invitation in his hazel gaze, whenever her brain wanted to mess with her.
She reached into the toiletry bag beside her bed to pull out a condom, knocking his hand out of the way to slide it onto him. He chuckled at her rush, a sound that was cut short as she slid the condom down. She waited a moment, until he pumped up into her fist impatiently, and then knelt over him and followed suit with her body.
He wasn’t lacking in the girth department, and Portia rested on the tip of his cock for a moment, gaze locked on his as she slowly took him into her. The slow, deep stretch of him felt more intimate than anything Portia had ever experienced. He leaned up on his elbows to watch her, them, though the more she took in, the more tightly his eyes squeezed shut.
She squeezed his torso between her knees as she rode him, loving the thick friction of him inside of her, relishing the way his hips moved as he pushed up to deepen their joining. Her hands rested on his chest as she met his shallow stroke with a deep one, pulling a moan from both of them.
“Jesus, Portia.”
After that there was just the slap and slide of their bodies against one another, their hushed moans. He leaned up, one hand sliding into her hair to hold her gaze with his and the other gripping her hip as he pumped up into her.
“You’re . . .” His eyes closed and he grit his teeth. “You’re driving me crazy. You beautiful . . .”
His words trailed off as she swiveled her hips in his lap, meeting his upward thrusts from a new angle. His hand in her hair guided her mouth to his for a bruising kiss and his hand gripped her hip enough to cause sweet shocks of pain.
“Tav, I’m gonna—” Then she cried out into his mouth as her body went taut with ecstasy. He let out a series of curses as he pounded up into her and then they both toppled over onto the mattress, a tangle of sweaty limbs and heaving chests.
Shit, Portia thought. Now what?
Of course she hadn’t thought ahead to this part. After the hookup. She would usually get up and go now, but this was her room. They lived in the same building.
And I don’t want to.
“Fuck’s sake,” Tav drawled miserably, and Portia steeled herself.
“This bed really is uncomfortable.” He shifted around a bit until he was cradling her in his arms. “Why didn’t you tell me you were serious about that?”
She let out a snort of disbelief and he nuzzled into her neck.
“And you called me a princess,” she asked.
He nuzzled some more—he was a cuddler apparently. She tried to ignore how good and natural it felt to be with him like this.
“Eh, so about that simmering and itch scratching and hype and what not?” His voice was only a little playful.
“We’ll see how we feel in the morning,” she said carefully.
His hand slid up her waist and cupped her breast. “Morning’s a long way off,” he mumbled into her neck. Portia allowed herself to sink into his touch. He was right; sometimes it took a few rounds to really fuck a man out of your system. By the time the sun filtered through the fog of Bodotria, they’d be over each other for sure.
Totally.