A Wedding In Springtime(89)

His hands circled, cupped, teased, until her breath came fast and her legs gave way. He helped her sit down on one strong thigh even as his free hand undid the ties of her night rail, exposing her breasts. She gasped at the sensation of his mouth on her breast, his tongue circling, his soft lips caressing. He suckled her until she whimpered, giving herself wholly to the experience.

He shifted around, placing her easily on the bed, and raked her up and down. Instead of wanting to cover herself, she leaned into his gaze, giving herself to him, for in his eyes she saw nothing but pure desire and awe.

“Take off your gown,” he rasped. “But leave that wrap on.”

It was an impossible request, but she was more than willing to comply. She removed the wrap for a moment, tossed the sensible flannel night rail aside, and slid back into her gauzy wrap that hardly hid what it should. In fact, it was more of a tease than anything, and when she met his eye again, she knew it was having a powerful effect.

He fumbled with his shirt buttons until she laughed. “Here, let me help.” She began to undo the buttons of his shirt. Instead of helping, his hands went to her, smoothing down her arms to her shoulders, where he massaged away the tension she had carried with her.

When she had relieved him of his shirt, she smoothed her hands over his toned chest. He looked good in his clothes; he looked better without them. Unlike some men who used clothing to hide flaws, his clothing only hid perfection. His muscular chest and rippling abdominal muscles made her want to kiss him. So she did.

She ran her lips across his chest as he had done to her, earning her a sharp intake of breath. She trailed kisses down until she came to his trousers. With shaky fingers, she untied his trousers, fumbling with the closures which were unfamiliar to her. With a grunt of impatience, he helped her remove the last of his clothing until he was standing before her naked, giving her his full attention.

She stared at his male member, having never seen one before. She touched and he groaned. She ran her hand down his length and he trembled.

The candle in the lantern gutted, plunging them into total darkness. She welcomed it. He gently pushed her back and she moved up to the top of the comforter and snuggled down underneath, with him next to her. He opened her wrapper like she was a precious gift and ran his hand from her breast down to her thighs.

Wanton that she was, she embraced him in return. He started soft and slow until he touched her in a place that made her gasp. He moved against her, with her, until something building inside her was bubbling up to the surface. She pressed herself closer, running her hands down his back. He slowed and nuzzling closer, he kissed her. His kiss was long and deep and opened the door to a world she had only before visited in her dreams. He was everything she ever wanted and she was flushed with arousal and pounding love and a sudden flash of pain in the realization that he must have found her wanting, for he would give her all of himself, except his name.

He kissed his way slowly down her throat until he lavished his attentions onto her breasts. She arched her back, giving herself over to him. She may not have won his heart, but he had a kiss that could make a girl forget. He covered her like a warm blanket, propping himself with an elbow so as not to squish her, but never ceasing his sweet caress. He moved faster and faster until she writhed beneath him, panting, crying out in spite of herself. Something within her was building stronger and stronger until she was certain it would consume her, and she rushed headlong into it.

Waves of sensation crashed over her, flooding her with indescribable pleasure. He plunged himself inside her at that moment, mixing pleasure with a sliver of pain even as it brought a new wave of pleasure rippling through her. He moved within her and cried out.

Collapsing beside her, he was instantly asleep. She took several deep breaths, the aftershocks of pleasure and pain still rippling through her. She closed her eyes and sunk down into the soft mattress. She sighed and fell into a dreamless sleep.





Thirty





Grant woke in a groggy stupor, unwilling to be wrenched from the blank unconsciousness only whiskey, with a mixture of whatever other hard spirits he had in the house, can produce. His need overtook his reticence and he forced himself to sit upright, grabbing for the chamber pot. He heaved the roiling contents of his stomach until he feared he may have tossed an organ of some importance. His body shook involuntarily with a sudden clammy chill.

“Are you all right?” asked a woman’s voice from behind him on the bed.

Grant closed his eyes and shuddered again. Had he brought a doxy back home with him? He could not remember it. Then again, he could not remember anything about the night before. He must have been truly far gone to bring back a lightskirt to his mother’s house. Some things one does not do, and this was one of them.