“All right,” he said, looking down into her face, “but we’ll go easy, Byrony. You are unused to a man.” He dipped his face down and kissed her. “I am relieved that you enjoy me.”
She blinked, the wild urgency building slowly deep within her. “But you knew that I would. Doesn’t everyone?”
He wanted to laugh, but didn’t. “No,” he said, “not everyone. We are quite good together.”
He was pressing down on her even as he moved more deeply. She groaned softly, arching upward. “Brent, please.”
He watched her face saw her eyes darken with pleasure, and increased his pace. When he slipped his hand between their straining bodies to find her, she cried out, and was gone in a maelstrom of nearly painful pleasure. He held himself in firm control until the spasms lessened, then drew her onto her side and took his own release.
“Now you’re very sticky,” he said against her throat.
“Yes,” she said, and he grinned at the pleased sound of her voice.
There was a knock coming from the outer office door. He lightly flicked his finger over her nose and pulled away from her. “Stay warm, I’ll be right back. It’s probably our breakfast.”
She watched him walk naked from the bed and pull on a dressing gown. “Don’t move, Byrony,” he said over his shoulder. Why had he said that? Was he afraid that she would leap from the bed and try to escape him?
He paused a moment in the doorway and almost unwillingly turned to look toward the bed. Her dark blond hair was tangled around her face. She looked so lovely that he wanted nothing more than to fling himself on her again. Rutting bastard.
When he returned to the bedroom, a tray on his arms, she was sitting up in bed, pulling her dressing gown around her.
He frowned in disappointment, but just for a moment. He would have preferred to see her naked, but of course she was unused to a man, even her husband, seeing her unclothed.
“I’ve a kitchen downstairs,” he said easily. “When I don’t feel like eating out, Caesar brings me food up here. W
ould you like some coffee?”
She nodded.
“Don’t tense up on me, all right? Here.”
She took the steaming cup of coffee and sipped it. It tasted better than any coffee she’d had in her life.
The bed dipped as Brent sat down beside her.
“And croissants, from Pierre’s bakery.”
“Thank you.”
“You can’t be embarrassed now,” he said, his voice warm. “After all, you’ve taken my poor body—what is it?—three times in less than—how many hours?” He bit into a flaky croissant. “You know, Byrony, we haven’t discussed where to go on our honeymoon.”
“Not Sacramento,” she said.
“No, certainly not.” He was silent a moment, watching her. “It would be wise, I think, if we did go somewhere, however. There will be talk, and unfortunately, even if Irene and Ira keep their respective mouths tightly closed, I think it likely that some people might not treat you as they should.”
“I know.”
“It occurred to me also, that being a married man now, I should probably build us a house. Living above a saloon and next to a brothel can’t be considered exactly respectable.”
“I like it here,” she said. “Really, Brent, I don’t want you to have to do anything you don’t wish to. And Maggie is a good friend.”
Her eyes were serious upon his face. “I don’t want you hurt anymore,” he said, his voice rough.
“That is kind of you,” she said, but her thoughts were of Celeste, his mistress. Wasn’t that considered hurt from his man’s perspective?
“Thank you.”
“May I ask you a question?”