All About Seduction(100)

“It doesn’t matter.”

But clearly it did. She could hear it in his resigned tone and it hurt deep inside her. Her throat closed and her eyes burned with unshed tears. She had looked forward to this moment, had wanted to feel Jack underneath her, inside her, maybe release him from the promise he made to keep his hands off of her, but she feared what Mr. Broadhurst would do if she let herself get drawn into loving Jack. “I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

“You’re not disappointing me.” The edges of his lips turned up, but his eyes looked sad. “We can get this done whenever you’re ready.”

He twisted, reaching under the pillow beside him. She feasted on his long lean form and the way the muscles bunched under his skin as he moved. He rolled back, then pushed the covers down, exposing his thick male instrument surrounded by a nest of dark hair. Her fingers itched to explore him.

Jack cursed silently to himself as he drew out the ointment he’d stashed under the pillow. He’d blown it. She had been a hairbreadth away from touching her lips to his and he couldn’t resist telling her to kiss him. If he’d just been a second or two more patient, she would have closed the distance. But his blood thrummed in his veins and throbbed in his cock. The wait for any response from her was driving him mad. She was so close to giving in, but stubbornly resisting.

She couldn’t know it, but that near kiss had been what pushed him to readiness. And if all it was to be was stud service, he needed her to get on now, before the deep aches in his body made his desire recede. Maybe in the aftermath he could tempt her further.

She pulled her nightgown up around her thighs. He watched, hoping for a glimpse of heaven, but she seemed oddly determined to retain whatever modesty she still possessed. He hadn’t kissed her, hadn’t ever seen her totally naked, hadn’t so much as caressed her breast, but he had slid his cock in her and come. Modesty at this point seemed oddly endearing, and hugely frustrating.

She clutched the hem of her nightgown tighter and put one knee on the bed and then the other, and then she swung her leg over him like she was mounting a horse. On her knees, she hovered above him as if gathering courage to bring their bodies together.

“Before we begin, I got this for you.” He removed the lid from the earthenware crock and held it out.

She looked at the creamy contents and then back at him, her forehead furled.

“It’s honeymoon ointment. It should ease you.”

She blinked rapidly several times and then averted her face. She tilted forward and planted her hands on the mattress to his sides. She was so close, but so far away.

“Down there,” he added, because she seemed confused. “I don’t want to keep hurting you.”

She made a peeping sound of protest.

He waited for her to move or say something, but she hung over him, the soft insides of her thighs against his hips, her nightgown brushing his cock, her hands planted on either side of his chest. Her head dipped down, her hair dragging across his chest, preventing him from reading her expression.

He put his free hand on her hip and she startled.

“Caro?”

She squeaked again.

“Do you want me to put it on you?” He held his breath, knowing she would refuse to let him touch her there.

Then she moved her head up and down.

Excitement pulsed through his body. Before she changed her mind, he dipped his fingers into the crock and came out with a generous dollop. With his other hand he lifted her nightgown—not that he could see anything with her head nearly on his shoulder—and reached down to press the thick glob between her inner folds.

She tensed.

Resisting the urge to spread the ointment around, to explore her secret garden, he held his fingers motionless. “It will take a minute to soften.”

But he could already feel the consistency changing from lardlike to greasy with her heat. She tensed, clutched the sheet and held very still.

“Am I hurting you?” Slowly, he smeared the ointment around.

She shook her head, her hair dragging his chest and sending spikes of wanting to his groin.

But her female flesh felt puffy, as if inflamed and sore. God, had he done this? His heart flopped oddly in his chest. He swallowed hard trying to rid himself of the tightness in his throat. How could he ever convince her sex could be enjoyable if she were suffering?

She whimpered. With her face averted, he couldn’t tell if it was pain or pleasure.

“You feel swollen,” he whispered. “I must have hurt you a lot last night. I’m so sorry.”