“Actually, you can. I can’t take too much more of this, Jessie.” He lifted her in
his arms and carried her to the bed. He set her on her feet, stripped off her nightgown, and pressed her down until she fell onto her back. She stared up at him, embarrassed—he knew that because her cheeks were becoming nearly as red as the hair on her head. He slipped out of his dressing gown, planning to let her look her fill at him, but he couldn’t manage it. He came over her, lying with his full length on top of her, her legs spread beneath him.
“No more maidenhead, Jessie—just pleasure for you.” He came up on his knees, lifted her hips in his large hands, and brought her to his mouth.
He felt her freeze in shock. He paused a moment to look at her face. She looked utterly bewildered.
He watched her wet her lips with her tongue. “I don’t know about this, James.”
“Well, I do. Just be quiet and enjoy yourself.”
“I can’t. It’s too embarrassing.”
He wondered if he would fail with her and nearly laughed at himself for his impatience. This was the first time for her and he hadn’t done much to soften the shock of it, just came between her legs and lifted her in his hands. He’d just wanted to take her with his mouth and he had. He would have to slow down. He eased away from her and came down beside her. He kissed her once, again, and yet another time.
He stroked her, learning her, hoping to ease her after his frontal attack. It did ease her. When her hands were on his back, stroking his shoulders, kneading his chest, he wondered how he could be such a reasonable, rational man one moment and a ravening beast the very next.
He knew she was ready for him, and he couldn’t wait to stroke her more. He just couldn’t. He came into her quickly, pushing hard, and felt her flesh accommodating him, but it was still tight, so incredibly tight that he lost his head.
The release was even more powerful than the one on the dining-room table. He’d thought a release like that had to be only once in a marriage, when the man took his bride’s virginity—a heady act, that. But it wasn’t true. His heart was pounding so loudly he doubted he could hear anything. He felt her hands, those palms as callused as his own, stroking up and down his back.
He’d given her no pleasure. Again.
He didn’t want to apologize again, at least while his brain was still at low ebb. He had to regain his wits and talk to her, explain that he wasn’t usually such a selfish sod, that sometimes a man just lost control and veered off the proper path and that’s what had happened with her, though he couldn’t begin to explain it since he’d known her since she was fourteen and had never once even considered what she’d look like without her clothes. Yes, he’d promise her that he’d take care of her the next time. Not, he realized vaguely, as fatigue tugged at him, that she could begin to understand what he would even talk about. What did she know about pleasure?
Not a blessed thing. He cursed softly even as he fell off her onto his back, jerking the covers over him as he fell.
Jessie lay there for a very long time, staring up at the ceiling that was painted the same soft white as the walls. The molding around the ceiling was nicely done, she thought, with carvings of fruit and vines and such. She’d been married now for two days. James was lying like a felled log beside her, snoring, occasionally twitching, sprawled out on most of the bed. He had nice feet, both of those appendages showing below the covers. She rose slowly, feeling the tightness of her thigh muscles, and walked to the basin to wash herself.
She wandered to the windows, pulled back the lovely pale gold draperies, and looked out. There wasn’t much of a moon to lighten things up. The grounds looked shadowy and vaguely menacing. She walked back to the bed and stood there a moment, staring down at her husband. She wondered where she was supposed to sleep. In the few minutes she’d been gone, he’d sprawled over all the bed, his arms and legs flung out. She found herself smiling. He’d enjoyed what he’d done to her. She was quite certain of that. She was happy that he had. She lightly touched her fingers to his chin, to his nose, to his earlobe. He was the only man she’d ever really seen, the only man who’d come to be part of her. She would give him whatever he wanted.
“Jessie, what are you doing out of bed?”
He startled her so badly, she jumped a good foot. “Oh dear, you’re awake, James? Yes, I can see you are. I’m not beside you because there isn’t any beside you to be beside.”
“You’re right. I’ve got all the bloody bed. Come here, Jessie. I want to kiss you.”
Then he’d want to do those other things to her as well. So be it. She loved him.
It was as dark as the bottom of a witch’s cauldron. James realized soon enough that Jessie was easier with him in the dark, less embarrassed. Good, he thought. This time he would make a thorough job of it. This time she would have pleasure. When he kissed her belly, she was trembling, her heels dug into the mattress, her fingers tangled in his hair. He raised his head a moment. “Jessie, I’m going to kiss you and caress you now and I want you to just relax.”
“All right,” she said, and jumped when she felt his tongue slide in and out of her navel. When he parted her with his fingers, she raised her hips, felt his hot breath on her, and arched wildly. He was talking to her while he kissed her, whispering sex words. She didn’t understand everything he was saying, but his words excited her, particularly the way he said them. When he eased his finger into her, she went wild. The feeling was awesome, unexpected, and she never wanted it to end. She heard herself crying out. She couldn’t seem to stop. On and on it went. She didn’t know she was panting, clutching his hair, digging her short nails into his shoulders, but James did.
James gave her all the pleasure he could. When he felt the passion begin to lessen, he eased his rhythm, soothing her, easing her. It was wonderful. She was his now, all of her.
He grinned up at her in the dark. “What do you think, Jessie, about this sex business?”
She groaned. “I’m dying. I don’t have any bones. I’ll never walk again. I’ll never even move again.”
“Good, that’s what a man likes to hear from his wife.” Then he came over her and slid into her, and she was slick and wet and her arms were around him, holding him tightly, and her hips were moving to draw him deeper, and it was over for him in moments.
“I’m a good husband,” he said before he was asleep, his head beside hers on the pillow.
“Well,” Jessie said into the darkness. “That is something I never expected.” She kissed his ear, his chin. She squirmed out from beneath him, settling against him. This was good, she thought, very good indeed. Together, they drifted off to sleep.
James had believed that a cannon bombardment couldn’t have awakened him, but he was wrong. Jessie’s scream penetrated his brain. In an instant, his heart was pounding, he was alert. Jessie cried out again. This time wide awake, it wasn’t quite a scream, but a cry of pain and fear. He shook his head and leaned over her. She was dreaming. He started to shake her, then stopped when she opened her eyes and yelled, “No! Get away from me! No, Mr. Tom, don’t touch me like that. No, no, stop!” She screamed again, a thin cry actually, and jerked upright.
“Jessie, wake up, you’re having a nightmare.” He shook her, but she didn’t awaken. She moaned again, whimpered, trying still to struggle away from him. “Wake up, come on, it’s just a bad dream.”