“Mpf,” she breathed against his lips, and there was lust and relief and humor all rolled up into that sound, like she’d been waiting for this moment without knowing it, too. She licked into his mouth hungrily and sensation clanged up his spine. Yes, she’d been holding herself back, and now that she wasn’t Tav had no reason to either. Their tongues darted and clashed and bloody hell he hadn’t realized how spot-on his little spiel about delayed gratification had been. He’d waited and denied and fantasized and now that she was in his arms again, it was even better than he remembered or imagined.
Her kiss tasted of the rice dessert they’d eaten, cinnamon sweetness. Her grip tightened on his belt as his hands clenched on her shoulders. Her shirt was silky smooth under his fingertips, but not so much as her tongue as it slid over his. He traced his fingertips over her shoulder blades, then flattened his hands and brushed down, down, until the curves of her ass filled his palms.
“Oh dammit,” she moaned against his mouth, pulling away.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“I’m not.” Her gaze was dark, intense and her lips were full and moist. “Look, I think this isn’t going to go away. This thing between us.”
He wondered if by thing she meant “excruciating need to fuck each other senseless.”
“I think not,” he said carefully.
“In fact, I only know one way to get rid of a persistent thing,” she said. Her expression suddenly went shy, her gaze softening as she shifted from foot to foot. “Let’s do it.”
“Do what?”
She glared up at him, but it was a vulnerable glare, somehow.
Tav laughed, caressed his hand up her silk-clad back. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to think . . . I didn’t take you to dinner because I expected this to happen.”
“Why did you take me to dinner?” she asked.
Tav wasn’t the smoothest talker, but he could have pulled out some line designed for seduction. He decided to tell the truth instead. “Because I like spending time with you. I like you. And I wanted to make you feel good.”
She suddenly looked away from him, as if she could see out into the darkness where the waves rolled in from along the horizon to slap against the docks. When she met his gaze again, there was challenge in her eyes and her response was sharp. “It is a truth universally acknowledged that chemistry like this never lives up to the hype. I’ve scratched enough itches to know.”
Ah. She’d already told him she wasn’t looking for more. These were her terms and conditions. No more I like yous, then. This was a lark, she was telling him with her careful avoidance of his confession, and although it was something he’d likely regret, he decided he’d just go with the flow. After all, he didn’t want a relationship either. He wasn’t stupid enough to allow his heart to be drawn and quartered a second time.
Just sex. He could do that.
Aye.
“You know, you’re right,” he said. “I’ve scratched a fair few itches myself and never quite felt a need to go back for a second helping.”
It felt wrong, comparing her to past lovers, but that’s how they were playing this. Cool. Casual.
Ach, he was too old for this shite.
“You’re mixing your metaphors,” she said, running her hands over his chest like she’d finally been extended an invitation. It felt bloody good, just that quick, warm press of her palms through his shirt. Tav grasped her hands with his own, stopping their motion.
“Well begging your pardon, but most of my blood isn’t in my brain right now. You’ll deal.”
She giggled. “I’ll deal.” She stepped forward, her right thigh notching between both of his as she pressed against him. The weight of her breasts pushed against his torso, her stomach grazed over his erection, and that delicate scent of hers mixed in with the salty air off the firth. “One and done?” she asked, mischief and lust pushing away the shyness she’d displayed a moment ago.
He wasn’t sure if she was declaring that to be the arrangement or asking whether it was even possible between them, but he didn’t clarify because she was close and desire danced in her eyes and he needed to taste her again.
He caressed her face once, twice, and then molded his lips over hers. He kissed with his eyes open because he wanted to see that freckled nose wrinkle in concentration—and so he could start navigating them back to the armory and not into the firth, though even a dunk in the cold sea wouldn’t cool him down now.
Portia had thrown down a challenge that had nothing to do with class or etiquette or fake posh shite. He didn’t suppose there were rules in Debrett’s for what they were about to do, but all the better. A wild, passionate energy was flowing between them, and Tavish doubted either of them planned on being polite.
Chapter 19
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.