Three Nights with a Scoundrel (Stud Club #3)(71)

His body fascinated her, too. His small, flat ni**les and smooth chest, the trail of dark hair that led down to his groin.

He balanced his weight on one arm and angled her hips with the other, preparing to enter her again. His every muscle and tendon tensed.

“Wait.”

He waited. Reluctantly. She looked up, into a gaze razor-sharp with yearning. His eyes let her know just how much sanity this delay would cost him. But he waited, because she’d asked.

His erect, ruddy manhood lay heavy on her stomach. At last, here was some facet of Julian she could fully know. When it came to this most elemental expression, a man could have no disguises, no complexities. This part of her husband was simple, honest, and currently very straightforward. She wanted to explore and understand him, from tip to root.

So, just as a lady should do with any new acquaintance, Lily began by offering her hand.

She brushed a fingertip against his swollen, dusky crown. The entire organ flinched. Startled, she pulled her hand away.

He retrieved it, curling her fingers around his thick, veined shaft and showing her how to slide down to the base, then up again. His breath heaved in his chest as she cautiously stroked, testing his girth and length with her fingers, swirling her thumb around the broad, plum-like head. Her hand came away wet with an iridescent shimmer and streaks of her virgin’s blood. So raw; so wildly arousing. She felt unhinged from this pristine, white-linen world.

“Go on.” She stretched her arms above her head, lifting her br**sts and offering herself for the taking.

And he took.

Spreading her thighs with his own, he sank into her in a slow, powerful glide. He set a steady rhythm, working a bit deeper with each thrust. As he stroked into her again and again, he covered her body with hot, desperate kisses, interspersed with words. Lily wished she could catch them all. She recognized the double flicker of her name, a few phrases here and there. Comprehension came and went in little thrusts of carnality.

“You feel,” she glimpsed. A bit later, “Can’t help—” Then “beautiful” and “so wet” and “God” and “I love.”

“I love this,” she told him, running her hands over the straining muscles of his back and pulling him close. “I love you.”

His tempo increased, and she felt him growl against her neck. Then he shuddered, stroking into her deep—once, twice—and was still.

He lay spent and heavy atop her. And that was a good thing, because without his weight, Lily thought she just might float away. Such happiness.

I am a wife, she thought. I am Julian’s wife.

After a moment, he rose up on his elbows, smoothing the hair from her face and pressing tender, breathless kisses to her brow and cheeks. “Are you well?”

She nodded. “Very well indeed. And you?”

“Never better.” He touched the corner of her lips. “And I say that with all honesty, Lily. Never better.”

Joy lifted her heart.

He withdrew from her and rolled aside, wrapping his arm about her midsection to keep her close.

She turned on her side to face him. “Will you teach me to converse in signs, the way you spoke with Anna at the coffeehouse?”

He blinked at the abrupt change of topic.

“I mean,” she went on, “I only ever learned the finger alphabet and never practiced it much at that.” Although, after her night at the coffeehouse, she’d excavated the crumbling pamphlet from her bureau drawer, practicing the signs for each letter until she could recall them from memory.

He rose up on his elbow. “Of course I’ll teach you, if you wish. Bear in mind, it’s rather like a dialect. The signs I use are one part my mother’s local language, and one part learned at the coffeehouse. Finger-spelled English is more standard, if you ever mean to use it with anyone else.”

“Perhaps we could practice both.” She trailed a finger down the center of his chest. “We are married now. We have a lifetime ahead of us, and I hate the thought of missing a single word you say.” She pushed herself to a sitting position, folding her legs under her bottom and pulling the counterpane over her lap.

Carefully, and embarrassingly slowly, she signed letters with her hands.

I … L … O … V … E … Y … O … U

Smiling, he took her hands and kissed them each in turn. Then he sat up beside her and said, “There’s a way to signal the end of a word. Watch carefully.”

She stared intently at his hands, noting the subtle wrist motion and slant of gaze he used to separate each cluster of letters.

I. L-O-V-E. Y-O-U.

And then, T-O-O.

She blinked furiously, her eyes misting with tears.

His hand cupped her chin, tilting her face to his. “For God’s sake, Lily. Don’t cry. Is it such a terrible thing?”

“No. It’s wonderful.” She wiped her eyes with her wrist. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to weep. We love each other. We’re husband and wife. It’s the happiest day of my life, truly. It’s only … I wish it hadn’t taken us so long to figure it out.”

He stared at her for a moment. Then he threw back his head and laughed.

“What?” She sniffed. “What’s so amusing?”

“Lily. You have no idea.” He scratched the back of his neck, still grinning. “Answer me this. Do you know that you rub your left ear when you’re vexed?”