Читать книгу Want Ad Wife - Katy Madison - Страница 10
ОглавлениеI hope you do not mind, but I shall write you every week even though I know it will take months for a reply. I feel I will get to know you much better if we exchange more letters.
I very much want the security of a husband, a home of my own, and a family, too. What is important to you?
John wanted nothing more than to make Selina his wife. Excitement coursed through his veins. He didn’t like the darkness, but it at least rid him of the concern about shocking her by undressing in the state he was in. But before he kissed her, he wanted no barriers to the rest of what was to come, especially not if she was willing. And he took from her whispered words that she was amenable to becoming his, scared though she might be. Really, she’d told him twice now, which was two times more assurance than he should have needed. It just would be better if her manner matched her words.
He stood, untied his drawers and reached for the buttons of his undershirt.
She rustled on the bed. He imagined she was ridding herself of her nightclothes, and his heart pounded harder. The bed’s squeak as she moved shot anticipation through his veins.
He couldn’t see her baring her body to him, but if he couldn’t see her, she likely couldn’t see what he was doing, either. So his haste wouldn’t scare her as he tore his underwear off half unbuttoned.
Hopping and nearly yanking his own feet out from under him, he shoved off his drawers, which wouldn’t have won him any praise in the seduction department. What woman would want to make love to a man who was acting like a randy schoolboy?
He had to calm down, slow down. Sucking in a deep breath, he filled his lungs and forced himself to move slowly, deliberately. She’d still be in his bed if he took the time to take care of his clothes. After her thorough cleaning of the flat, he didn’t want her thinking she’d married a man who would chuck his clothes every which way and expect her to pick up behind him. He sucked in another deep breath and exhaled out of his nostrils.
His heart thundered as he folded his underwear and set it on the chest at the foot of the bed.
The covers rustled on his side of the mattress. Was she coming toward him? His anticipation spiked. She must be eager and ready—thank goodness, because trying to go slow was like trying to hold back floodwaters.
Her cool fingers and the sleeve of her nightgown brushed his fevered skin at his hip. Desire burned in him, and he groaned.
She gasped and jerked back her hand.
Even if his naked state surprised her, she had come toward him, reached out to touch him. She must be prepared for more to happen. His heart kicked.
“Take off your nightgown.”
“No!” Her voice was high and tight, a match to her frigid hands.
The shock of her resistance stole his breath. She might as well have tossed a bucket of cold water over him. He winced. He’d thought her ready, at least a little aroused, but it was his own fault for barking an order at her. He should have hailed the warning sign of her cold fingers. In his own anticipation, he’d nearly come at her as if she were as primed as he was. She sounded terrified, not the least bit keen, in spite of her words.
A weight bore down on his shoulders. Seducing his wife was not going to be smooth or easy, after all. He wouldn’t use brute force to plow through her resistance, as the shopkeeper had done with his miserable wife. If it was possible for Selina to care for him, John wanted a wife who viewed him with affection, not resentment and anger. “I don’t want to fumble with fastenings I can’t see in the dark.”
“I mean...it’s not necessary.” Her hushed whisper spoke volumes. “I don’t have to take it off for you to...us to...”
No, he supposed it wasn’t entirely necessary, but he hadn’t planned some shameful coupling with a barely lifted nightgown, as if their joining would be a sinful thing. That wouldn’t go far toward making her view the intimacies of marriage with any pleasure.
The fire in his loins reduced to a glowing ember of need. Even though she didn’t desire him, he still wanted, needed to make her his tonight. God help him, he had to find a way to make her relax and then enjoy their joining. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I know what I’m doing.”
The bed swayed as he sat and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. She jerked as if he’d scalded her.
“Easy,” he murmured, as he rubbed her upper arm. She shouldn’t find anything threatening in that.
Except she was coiled up tighter than a wound spring.
“I’m just a little nervous,” she whispered.
“More than a little,” he said dryly.
“I’m sorry.”
“Try to relax.” He slid his hand down to her elbow.
Her forearm came up, blocking him. If he continued it would be like making love to a porcupine. His gut turned. He wouldn’t let himself think her fear was of him specifically, but of the act. But this wasn’t going to happen tonight. He would have to give her time to get used to him, to be comfortable with him. He sighed. “We aren’t doing anything you aren’t ready to do.”
Her stillness was louder than a scream would have been. As tightly coiled as she was, reaching down under her legs to scoot her back on the bed might result in her landing on the ceiling or fleeing across the room. No, he was better served sitting with her and talking, even if it was odd to be on the side of the bed, their feet on the floor.
“You’re not ready.” He half wondered if he should put his underclothes back on, but it might seem even more awkward. “It’s okay. I’ll just hold you tonight.”
“I don’t want you to stop,” she whispered.
Yeah, he could tell that from her lack of eagerness. Still, his ears buzzed, his entire body buzzed. “I would like to kiss you again.”
A quiver moved through her.
Fear or the beginnings of desire? He couldn’t tell because the darkness cloaked her expression. He shifted closer.
She tensed.
Fear. His gut churned. “When you’re ready for me to.” He closed his eyes—not that they were of much use, anyway. All he could make out was the vague outline of things as his vision adjusted to the darkness.
She twisted toward him. His breath caught.
Her lips landed more on his chin than on his mouth. As she tried to reposition, her nose bumped his. Her ineptness was charming. He’d been worried about misgauging distances in the dark—not that he expected his wife to be skilled at kissing, but the darkness was as problematic for her as it was for him. He wanted to tell her that, but wasn’t sure she’d appreciate his attitude.
“Easy,” he muttered, as he caught her head and held her still. He brushed his thumb across her lower lip. The soft, moist flesh trembled slightly. The gesture was as much to locate her mouth as it was to test if she would yield to him. But the charge of wanting slammed him square in the chest, like being bowled over by a galloping horse. Taking his time was killing him. But he had to grab the reins of his need and control it. He had to give her time. He would give her time to get used to him. He would kiss her a few times and then insist they go to sleep.
“I’m sor—”
His mouth on hers silenced her apology. Once, twice, three times he brushed his lips against hers. Even though every fiber of his being screamed at the restraint, he wanted her to know that he wouldn’t attack her. He could control himself. He would control his desire.
She’d had enough time to twist away or push him back, but when she didn’t, raw energy thrummed through him.
He angled his mouth across hers, probing at the soft seam. She let him in, and his pulse buzzed in his veins.
Her mouth was warm and sweet. She turned more toward him, so it was easier to position her against his chest. He had a plan, which involved slow, thoughtful kisses and a full stop, but it flew out of his head. As their mouths pressed against each other, and her tongue swirled with his, he crushed her against him. The feel of her breasts squishing against his chest sent desire charging through him.
Her arms circled his neck. The brush of material against his skin was a reminder of her blowing out the light, balking at removing her nightgown, and blocking him when he slid his hand down her arm. But she was kissing him now. Still, he loosened his grip and stroked her back, slowly, carefully, hoping to provoke a moan. Then he was lost in the long slope of her back.
Her fingertips pressed lightly into his shoulder, still cool, but not as bad as they’d been earlier. Was she warming to him a little?
His heart pounded, and he burned with need. His breathing was so rapid he couldn’t measure the cadence of hers. Had it quickened at all? He had to hear her, because he couldn’t take any clues from what he couldn’t see.
He ended the kiss, and moved to her neck.
She stiffened.
Damn. No progress. He should tell her to go to sleep. “We should stop now.”
“No. Don’t stop,” she said. “I don’t want you to.”
Her arms tightened around his neck, but he had no idea if it was in protest or encouragement. Finding her lips again, he kissed her deeply. She kissed back, and he had a hard time keeping his hands to places he could touch her in public. But he couldn’t measure her willingness, not without seeing if her skin was flushed or her eyes bright. He scraped her hair back, looking for a sensitive spot behind her ear. Surely she had one.
Pulling away, he stood. “I’m lighting the lamp.”
“No!” She snatched his hand and pulled him back toward the bed. “I’m undoing my buttons now. Please.”
He pressed his knees against the edge of the bed. “Selina, what is it you don’t want me to see?”
“Me.”
Was she scarred or malformed? She seemed too sound of limb to be suffering anxiety over an unusual body, but she could fear a scar would repulse him. “I will not find fault. I only want—”
“I can’t. I’m not ready to be seen naked by you. I don’t know you.”
He barked a laugh. “I’m damn sure trying to rectify that.”
He sensed more than saw her turn away. His mouth went dry and his jaw ticked. If he could pull back his laugh, he would. Or his raw language.
“Which is why I want a little light.” He slid his hand across the bed to her. He found her still-covered form and moved his hand along until he touched her arm. “I just want to see you to be certain I am not hurting you.” Or rushing her, or if he was pleasuring her.
“You’re not hurting me,” she whispered.
“I haven’t done anything that might hurt you, yet.” Somehow that sounded as if he would hurt her. Swallowing a growl, he found her hand and pulled it up to his mouth. “That didn’t come out right.”
He kissed the back of her hand, then turned it over and pressed his lips to the inside of her wrist. Her fingers trembled in his grip. Desperation to calm her warred with desire that was building too rapidly. A man’s passion poured easily and rapidly, like water, while a woman’s was slower and sweeter, like honey or molasses. But John was beginning to think he was trying to pour stone.
She made a small sound as he flicked his tongue across her pulse. Yet as he went to push her sleeve up, the cuff was buttoned tight.
He plucked at the material. He’d dreamed of this night for a long time. He wanted it to be perfect, but need and desire rushed through him, squelching his plan of restraint. It would all be over too quickly if he unleashed his desire. Still, he could only think about thrusting between her legs, until he was spent.
Yet she seemed an unwilling passenger swept along on this current. He needed her to at least feel desire for the act, if not for him. But he had no knowledge of what she liked, except kissing.
He would show her kissing. “Selina, I am your husband. I promised to cherish you and I will.”
It was a not too subtle reminder of her vows. She was his wife. He didn’t have to be gentle or patient, but he would be.
“We don’t have to consummate the marriage tonight,” he said firmly.
“But isn’t that what you want?”
“Hell, yes!” He meant to say more, to tell her more... A white thing lifted in the air, distracting him and stealing his breath.
He caught the nightgown, pulled it from her hands and tossed it toward the trunk. His eyes must have adjusted a little more, because he could at least see she was kneeling on the bed. But it wasn’t enough.
Her wants mattered, too. Certainly her comfort was more important than his gratification.
He caught her shoulders. Her skin was cool to his touch. He couldn’t tell if she was pushing forward only out of a desire to please him. Slowly he slid his hands over the delicate collarbone to her neck and up to her jaw. Holding her head still, he pressed his lips to hers, gently. Then he told her, “I’m lighting a candle.”
Selina tensed all over. Her heart pounded. “No,” she protested.
But he was already off the bed and crossing the space.
Her spine knotting, she scrambled to get under the covers, pulling them to her chin as she lay flat on her back.
The strike of a match was like nails on a chalkboard. She couldn’t let him see the damage her pregnancy had wrought on her body. But she also needed the marriage consummated so he couldn’t spurn her.
Her husband was near the stove. His back was broad and more firmly muscled than she would have expected in a shopkeeper. Her eyes dipped to his narrow hips and the firm hemispheres of his backside. Her breath snagged and then came out shakily.
He turned, a stubby candle in a holder illuminating his chest, and lower, where his instrument stood tall, surrounded by a nest of dark hair. Her breath whooshed out. A frisson of energy rolled through her.
She snapped her eyes shut. But the image of John seemed glued to the inside of her eyelids. The covers lifted beside her, the breeze making her shiver even though it wasn’t cool. The mattress swayed and dipped as he slid in beside her.
“You can open your eyes now. I’m covered,” he said flatly.
She opened her eyes.
Propped up on his elbow, John lay beside her. His brow puckered. He wasn’t entirely covered, as the sheet was tugging down where he’d put his arm over it, and she was trying to keep it up to her chin. Poor man, she must be confusing him with her nunlike modesty.
Although what was he waiting for? She’d thought she’d indicated her willingness to proceed several times. She’d even kissed him, a bold move if ever there was one. Her face heated.
“I’ve never seen a man naked before.” Technically, that was true. When Clarence had had intercourse with her, she hadn’t really seen his member, as her skirts and petticoats had been heaped between them. The closest she’d come to seeing a man in the altogether was the museum paintings she’d viewed when she was younger. Although they had never shown a man in such a state.
“You didn’t see any natives in loincloths on your travels?”
She shook her head. Even if she had, the loincloths would have covered that part of them. “I have only seen old paintings and statues or plates of them in books.”
He watched her steadily. Did she have to kiss him again to get things going? Truly, she hadn’t had to prompt Clarence.
“I think they would have been glad to paint you,” she said.
John cocked his head a little and narrowed his eyes.
Did she have to spell it out for him?
“You could have been a model for Michelangelo.” She wanted to snatch the words back. Did he even know who Michelangelo was? How comprehensive an education would a boy from an orphanage have?
Goodness, she was lying naked next to an equally naked man. She shouldn’t be worried about whether she was offending him because his education might not have been up to snuff.
The corner of his mouth quirked up. “And you look like a scared rabbit.” He touched her cheek with the pads of his fingers and she tried very hard not to flinch. “A beautiful, enchanting, scared rabbit. A woman any art master would love to paint or photograph...”
She flinched, dismay grinding like broken glass in her stomach.
His brows beetled together and he lifted his hand from where it rested against her jaw. “What?”
“You don’t have to compliment me.” No, all he had to do was get on with it. Kiss her, knee apart her legs and mount her. A strange energy slid through her and mingled with the churning apprehension in her stomach.
She didn’t understand. His body seemed ready, but he was taking forever to do anything. And his gaze on her made her want to die. How could he look at her and not see she was trying to hide a huge secret from him?
If they were engaged in the act, his stomach would be against hers, and he wouldn’t be able to see her belly.
“What are you waiting for?” The question burst from her before she could hold it back.
“For you to relax,” he answered. His gaze dipped to where she held the sheet with a death grip.
She turned her face toward the flickering candle. “I don’t think I can.” Not as long as she feared he’d discover her secret. But she loosened her grip and cast up a silent prayer that he wouldn’t want to lower the sheet. If only she knew he couldn’t see the scars on her belly.
“The candle is not so bright,” he said softly. “And we can keep the covers pulled up. All I need to see is your eyes, sweetheart.”
So he could ferret out the lies in them? “Why?”
He ran his fingers down her neck, and her stomach felt as though she were sailing on a swing. “To know when I am giving you pleasure.”
Her mind went blank while her body jolted. Her muscles went slack and tight at the same time, if such a thing were possible. “But...”
His lips curled, exposing strong white teeth. “You look confused, wife.”
A wife’s duty was to submit to her husband. If she could just get him to that point. Her mind tumbled over the time with Clarence, looking for a tool to use. Reaching out over the sheet, she caught John’s wrist and brought his hand down over her breast.
The jolt that ran through her as his fingers closed around her flesh caught her unaware. Perhaps she was still sensitive there. She’d ached for days after she’d passed the baby to the older couple. She mentally braced for the pain when he would squeeze her breast as if he was trying to extract juice from an orange, as Clarence had. John didn’t squeeze. Instead he cupped her and slid his thumb across her nipple.
A new jolt shimmered down her spine and landed between her legs. He leaned closer and whispered across her lips, “You like that?”
Did she like it? She didn’t know whether to rear back and look at him or just tuck her head into his neck. “I thought it would give you pleasure to touch me there.”
He had been about to kiss her; she’d been sure of it. Instead he grinned. “My pleasure is not in doubt.”
Then why wouldn’t he...finish? “Isn’t it? You don’t seem very eager.”
“I am more eager than you could know.” His fingers circled lazily around her breast.
Her cheeks heated. Looking at him as he moved his fingers on her breast was more than she could stand. And it was doing strange things to her. She turned her head and tucked her face against his shoulder.
“Anything and everything about you pleases me,” he whispered against her ear as he ran his thumb over her nipple again.
The jolt that ran through her was unmistakable this time.
“See there, you do like it,” he said, between kisses on her neck.
Did she?
His fingers plucked at her tightened nipple through the sheet and her woman’s place tightened. She sighed into his shoulder.
He bent over her and shifted her hair to kiss along her shoulder. His fingers slid upward, and she moaned a protest. His touch, his lips against her neck and shoulder, the smell of his skin left her spineless, as if her bones where melting and she would just flow around him and into him.
The sheet shifted downward, brushing across her sensitized skin.
He was baring her.
The realization sliced through the melting sensations with a cold truth. She could not let him see her belly.
She grabbed the edge of the sheet and jerked it back up to her neck.
“Hey,” he muttered. He caught her chin. “Look at me.”
She let him turn her face so they were eye to eye again. His brow had a tiny pucker in it, but his eyes were intense and compelling.
“I just want to kiss you here.” The rough, low timbre of his voice ran through her as his fingers skimmed over her breast.
Her lips parted as she stared at him.
She gave a tiny shake of her head. Her breasts tingled in protest, as if her body welcomed the idea of his mouth on her skin. But she couldn’t allow it. Not so long as it required lowering the sheet.
“Selina—”
She twisted toward him, bringing their bodies in contact. Her breath whooshed out in a whimper she couldn’t hold back. “I’m ready. Please.”
“You’re not,” he growled, but his hand splayed against her spine, drawing her closer. Bringing her knee up over his hip, she tried to encourage him. The sensitive inner flesh of her thigh rubbed against the coarse hairs of his leg. She resisted the urge to slide her leg back and forth and ended with her folded limb against his side.
He groaned and rocked his hips forward. That male part of him pressed against her belly.
Squirming higher, she tried to get positioned correctly.
“I can’t fight both of us,” he said.
If he was fighting himself, she had no indication of it.
He rolled her to her back. His mouth crashed against hers as his weight bore her down into the mattress.
His kiss was insistent, impatient. He positioned her head as he wanted it, and he seemed to want to fuse them together. Air rushed across her cheek as he breathed hard, but didn’t unlock his lips from hers. He sucked on her tongue, drawing it into his mouth as if he was done allowing an unequal pairing.
