“Shh.” He brushed a kiss over her forehead. “It’ll soon be over.” He reached for the tin on the table beside her bed and opened it. Inside was some type of unguent. He dipped a finger in, and his hand disappeared between them again.
She frowned. It being over soon wasn’t exactly what she’d hoped for. “I—”
But he’d hiked up her chemise, baring her to the waist, and she was distracted by the feel of his hands on her hips. Perhaps if she stopped thinking so much and simply felt . . .
“Let me,” he murmured.
He widened her legs and settled between them, and she realized that he’d opened the placket of his breeches. She could feel him, hot and hard, pressing against her thigh. All sound left her throat as she felt a spurt of excitement.
“This may seem rather odd, and it may hurt, but I won’t be long,” he muttered rapidly. “And it’ll only hurt the first time. You can close your eyes if you wish.”
What?
And he entered her.
Instead of closing her eyes, she widened them, staring up at him, wanting to experience every small part of this. His eyes were closed, his brow furrowed as if he were in pain. She wrapped her arms around him, feeling the width of his shoulders and how tensely he held them.
“Ahhh. That’s . . .” He jerked against her. “Just hold still a moment.”
He raised himself up on straight arms, and to her disappointment, knocked aside her arms. And then he thrust. Once, twice, a third time, heavy and hard. He grit his teeth and made a sort of choked coughing sound and slumped over her.
Soon indeed.
She shifted to wrap her arms about him again so that she might at least lie with him afterward, but he rolled to the side and off her. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to crush you.”
He turned his back and presumably put himself to rights. Melisande pulled her chemise slowly down over her thighs, fighting a feeling of chagrin. The bed bounced as he rolled off it. He yawned and bent to pick up his banyan and shoes, then leaned over her to buss her cheek.
“Not too bad, I hope?” His blue eyes were worried-looking. “Get some sleep and I’ll make sure the footmen bring up a hot bath in the morning. That’ll help.”
“I’m—”
“Be sure to drink some more wine if you have any pain.” He ran a hand through his hair and nearly dislodged his tie. “Good night, then.”
And he left the room.
Melisande stared for a moment at the closed door, completely dumbfounded. The scratching came from her dressing room door again. She closed her eyes and tried to ignore the sound. She slid her hand up under her chemise. She was wet down there, slippery with his semen and her own fluids. She ran her fingers between her folds, concentrating, thinking how he’d felt inside of her, how very blue his eyes were. She brushed that bit of flesh at the top of her cleft. It was swollen, throbbing with frustrated need. She stroked, trying to relax, trying to remember . . .
The scratching came again.
She huffed and opened her eyes, staring at the silk canopy of her bed. It was blue and had a slight hole in the corner. “Damn.”
The scratching was accompanied by a whine this time.
“Oh, have a little patience!”
She climbed from the big bed, annoyed, and felt semen slide down her inner thigh. A pitcher of water was on the dresser, and she poured a little out into the washbowl. Dipping a cloth into the cool water, she washed herself. Then she walked to the dressing room door and opened it.
Mouse sneezed indignantly and came bustling out. He jumped to the bed and turned around three times before settling on a pillow, his back pointedly toward her. He hated being locked away in the dressing room.
Melisande climbed back in the bed, feeling just as grumpy as theShegrumpy terrier. She lay for a moment staring at the silk canopy, wondering where, exactly, she’d gone wrong in that hasty exercise. She sighed and decided she could figure it all out in the morning. She snuffed the bedside candle and closed her eyes. As she drifted to sleep, she had one last coherent thought.
Thank goodness she hadn’t been a virgin.
TONIGHT’S WORK HADN’T been his most sterling moment as a lover, Jasper reflected just a few minutes later. He sat in his own rooms, in a large chair before his fire. He hadn’t shown Melisande true pleasure. The whole thing had been much too quick and hurried for that, he knew. He’d been fearful that if he’d drawn it out too much, he might forget himself and use her harder than he meant. So the experience hadn’t been exciting for her. But on the other hand, he fancied he hadn’t hurt her overmuch either. And that, after all, had been his main intention: not to frighten his virgin bride on her first night in his bed.
Or rather hers. He glanced at his own bed, huge, dark, and rather overwhelming. Just as well that he’d gone to her rooms instead of trying to bring her into his. His bed would frighten the most intrepid woman on her initiation into the pleasures of the flesh. Not to mention that afterward, he would’ve had to find a way to eject her from his rooms. He downed the last swallow of brandy in his glass. That would’ve been an awkward moment.
All in all, the act had gone as well as could be expected. Time enough later to show her how pleasurable the joining of a man’s and a woman’s bodies could be. Assuming, of course, that she wanted to linger in the connubial bed in the first place. Plenty of aristocratic ladies weren’t very interested in making love with their husbands.