Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
He gentled his kiss, bringing her along with him patiently, even as his cock grew hot and thick against her front. How wondrous, to lust for his own wife so violently.
But he would not make her afraid. When he felt his passions rising to the breaking point, he drew away, for he wouldn’t consummate their marriage here on the stone floor of a weapon-filled chamber. It might have been an apt location, considering what came before, but they’d both be sore and scratched afterward.
As she returned to her normal senses in a breathless, charming way, she looked over at the sword, then back at him. “You’ve disarmed me,” she said.
“I love you,” he said in return. “That was what I wanted to say when you held me at sword point. I’ve come to understand that I love you, because you are complicated and moody, and lovely, and more trouble than an armful of kittens.”
“Oh.” She still clung to his chest. “You love me because I’m difficult?”
“That doesn’t mean you must continue to be difficult. I’d rather you didn’t, for you’ve already earned a spanking for pointing that sword at me, and I seem to remember I still owe you one from before.”
She frowned. “That’s not a very nice thing to say just after you tell someone you love them.”
“Ah, but I spank you because I love you. I’ve figured that out also. Still, let’s save that for another time. Ophelia,” he said, deciding to just be honest with her. “I want to kiss you again. I want to come inside you and pleasure you as I did at the inn.” He felt her tremble again and hurried on. “There’s nothing to fear. I won’t hurt you. You mustn’t be afraid.”
“I know, but… The thing is…” She gave a little sigh. “I don’t know what to do. I have no idea how to begin, or how to go on, or how to…reach that point we reached before.”
“My love, if you come to bed with me, I’ll show you.”
“Right now? Before dinner?”
He eyed her lips, and the tempting expanse of her décolletage. “I don’t think I can wait until after. After all this time, I don’t want to wait any longer.”
She seemed to understand that, cupping his cheek to drop a shy kiss on his lips. “I’ve said I would be brave.”
Now he was the one who fought a shudder, not of fear, but desire for his wife. “It doesn’t take bravery,” he said, lifting her into his arms. “Only willingness and enthusiasm, and a bit of stubborn spirit, which you possess in spades.”
*
She’d dreaded going to bed with him since they’d married, because of fear and an unwillingness to be vulnerable to him.
Now he was taking her to her own room, where they would have marital relations, and she held his hand and went voluntarily, even though her heart pounded hard in her chest. She’d wielded his shining swords and found joy in singing again, so she could do this too.
Probably.
When they entered her bedroom, he shut and latched the door so Rochelle wouldn’t intrude, then drew her close. “Let me kiss you again,” he said.
She liked his kisses more than she’d expected to when he first embraced her in the armory. Her lips didn’t know what to do, but his worked very well, and seemed to show her just what would feel exciting. Wasn’t that what she’d wished for? Excitement? She’d thought she must travel and have wild adventures to find it, but it was right here, if she was brave enough to accept it.
As he kissed her, he ran his fingers over her hair, and sometimes pressed them beneath her ears, or upon her nape. “I like that,” she whispered. It made her feel centered and safe, and desired. His kisses were hot but not messy, demanding but not overbearing. He smelled clean and male, and she sought his cravat, to touch and loosen it. His fingers trailed down to the back of her dress, flicking open the buttons.
She knew this first step, anyway. Both of them needed to undress. As he moved her bodice down over her shoulders, massaging her at every step, she worked clumsily at his buttons, but there were so many. She made a small, complaining noise of defeat as he kissed her shoulders and the curve of her neck. He loosened her stays and petticoat, and somewhere in the process of removing those, his coat was coming off, his waistcoat, his cravat, all undone by his deft hands and tossed across a chair.
“They will wrinkle,” she said in a soft voice, as if her own expensive gown wasn’t in a heap upon the floor.
“We’ll not worry about wrinkles right now.” He reached beneath her chemise to tug at her garter strings, pausing to grasp her trembling thighs. “Why must we have so many clothes?”