Too Wicked to Tame (The Derrings #2)(75)

“Heath?” she addressed the room, her voice a hush on the air as her eyes strained for a glimpse of him.

Silence. She shoved back the covers and swung her feet over the side. Her bare feet dropped down silently. She moved toward the robe draped over the footboard.

A hard hand shot out and gripped her wrist. “Leave it off. One less item I’ll have to remove.”

A secret thrill skated over her skin. He meant to have her here? With her sister-in-law two doors down? And her Grandmother directly across the hall? Portia opened her mouth to deliver a ringing set down, but the words never made it past her lips. His mouth crushed hers and her protest died in her throat.

She tangled her hands in his hair, pulling his head closer, deepening their kiss and parrying her tongue with his. He backed her up until she bumped the bed.

He broke their kiss and her eyes fluttered open. Her chest rose and fell with each savage breath that shuddered free of her lungs. His eyes glittered at her in the dark, twin spots of gleaming onyx.

“What are you doing here?” Senseless question, she knew. He gathered her nightgown against her hips even as she asked.

“I think it would be clear what I’m doing.” In a single, swift move, he pulled the nightgown over her head. Night air rushed over and she shivered. “Did you miss me?” He breathed against her temple, stirring the fine hairs there.

She managed a strangled sound, a gurgled affirmation. Miss him? With every fiber of her being.

His large hand cupped her bottom and lifted her high against him, snuggling her against his prodding erection. That hand rounded the curve of her bottom, sliding lower, fingers teasing, probing her entrance and ripping a gasp from her throat.

Then she was falling. His body came down over hers, surrounding her, pinning her to the bed.

Instinctively her legs parted wider, allowing him to settle deeper against her. Their mouths fused together, a hot, wet melding of lips and tongues, of nips and long, deep drinks from the fountain of their mouths.



The dam broke at last and she let herself go, reveled in his mouth, his hands on her body. She had decided to marry him, decided to bind herself to him—had spent two days agonizing that she had lost her chance. Even without love, she could have him, have this.

An incredible sense of freedom, of power, seized her and her hands flew to his trousers. In a heartbeat, she freed him. Her hand closed around his hard length. His groan emboldened her. A shudder ran through him and vibrated within her as she stroked him—slowly, carefully at first, then in long, firm strokes that made him breathe harder. She rubbed her thumb over his tip, delighted at his low groan, at the bead of moisture that rose up to kiss her thumb and coat the head of him.

Releasing him, she shoved hard at his chest. He fell back on the bed. She hovered over him for a moment, wishing she could see the magnificence of his body. Memory would have to serve.

Hands fumbling in her excitement, she removed his jacket, vest and shirt, at last exposing him to her roving hands. At least she could feel him. She traced the ridges of muscles along his stomach, the outline of each rib. And taste him. Dipping her head, she tongued his navel before licking her way down the thin line of hair.

She stopped, perched uncertainly. The rasp of his breath filled the air, encouraging her. Taking him in one hand, she placed a kiss at the tip of him.

“Portia,” he croaked in a voice she had never thought to hear from him. Vulnerable. Lost. Totally at her mercy. It thrilled, aroused and prompted her as nothing else could. Slowly, like he was the most delectable piece of fruit she had ever sampled, she licked him.

His body jerked almost as if in pain.

She released him. “What? Did I hurt you?”

In response, hard hands clamped down on her arms. Before she could draw a breath she was on her back and he was driving into her, so deep he touched her soul.

His mouth slammed over hers as he plunged in and out, loving her in a way completely unlike their previous times together. The first time had been a reluctant loving, sad and resigned, shadowed by guilt. Their second time had been a punishment, his way of proving to her that she wanted him. But this was wild, uninhibited. He took what he needed, pounding into her ruthlessly and she didn’t care because she wanted it too. Needed it. Needed him.

Her hips rose to meet him and she cried out as he drove harder into her, gripping her hips as if she were a lifeline, the only thing that kept him grounded to earth. Her heart swelled even as she reminded herself that this wasn’t love. Only lust. Lust in all its thrilling, consuming thrall.

Hopefully they would always have this.

And it would be enough.



This was more than lust. Heath knew it the instant he felt her shudder beneath him, felt her tremble and arch under him in the throes of her climax. His own climax followed fast and fierce.

He reveled in the sensation of his seed spilling inside her—again. Knowing he could release himself without fear—knowing nothing would please him more than creating children with this woman.

She breathed heavily beneath him, the tips of her breasts pebble-hard and rubbing his chest in the most arousing way. He propped himself on his elbows and stayed just so, buried in her, never wanting to leave.

“Portia,” he began, determined that to night, once and for all, she would agree to become his wife. Why it burned within him with such importance, he dared not examine. He simply knew that he had to marry this woman, to wake up beside her every morning for the rest of his life.