A Husband Returned: Men of Wicked Sorrow, Book One

by Wynne Roman

  With a last touch of their lips, he released her mouth and stepped back, far enough that he could take her hands in his. Pulling her along, he moved in an odd walk that took them both sideways and backward until he caught sight of the bed with its turned-down covers.

  “Sit.” He gestured with his hands on her shoulders.

  She sank down onto the mattress but looked up at him with wide, nervous eyes. And . . . longing? Something hovered just under the surface, but the flickering shadows made it difficult to know for certain.

  She wanted him, he decided, though he couldn’t pinpoint exactly why he expected it to be true. Was it because of the emotion of his homecoming? The promised intimacy? Or could it be actual desire on her part?

  The idea of Mariah wanting him teased through Nathan with heady excitement. He’d never allowed himself to see past the simple act of taking her before. But now?

  Now, finally, he admitted the truth to himself. He hoped like hell that his wife wanted him, because he wanted her.

  He swiped the suspenders from his shoulders, letting them dangle past his hips. The buttons of his outer shirt came next, and then he tugged the garment from the waistband of his trousers. He tossed it behind him, never looking to see where it landed, before he followed quickly with his flannel undershirt.

  Bare-chested, he stood waiting before her. Did she like the way he looked? He’d never wondered such a thing before. Now, though, he was still too thin after years of short rations. Limited physical activity in prison had taken its toll on the muscular build he’s always relied upon, and he’d only begun to rebuild his strength.

  “What happened?”

  He blinked and shook his head. His puzzlement must have shown, because she pointed, her fingers trembling just a bit. Glancing down, he discovered the lamplight flickered at the perfect angle to show off a thick, still-pink scar.

  He lifted a shoulder, dismissing it. “I’m not exactly sure.”

  “You aren’t sure?”

  He shook his head, suddenly cursing the marks that would never let him entirely forget. “It happened in that last battle. I can’t remember it, but—”

  “What?”

  If her eyes hadn’t grown so damp and wide, he might not have answered. “Doctors said it was a bayonet or sabre.”

  “Nathan,” she breathed, her sorrow unmistakable.

  “Forget about it.”

  “But you were hurt! In pain!” She paused, took a breath deep enough that her breasts heaved. “That hurts me.”

  Nathan reached for her, stroked his fingers over the curve of her cheek. “Never mind. I told you, I don’t remember. Not the pain or any of it.”

  It wasn’t true. He’d always recalled bits and pieces, especially the pain, even before he regained the majority of his memory. Since then, his recollection about the battle itself had remained spotty, and the slight bit of advice he’d received from the Yankee doctors had been clear: the mind was a mystery, and they couldn’t predict whether he’d recover any, all, or simply a small part of his past.

  Thus far, he’d been lucky. He’d gotten a good part of it back.

  “Here. Feel.” He reached for her hand, drew it toward him until her palm rested over the healed scar. “It doesn’t hurt now. It’s just a part of me.”

  She left her hand at his side, cupping his skin lightly. He forced himself to ignore how much he liked it and instead reached for the buttons on his pants. That small movement sent her scooting back.

  With a knowing smile, Nathan toed off one boot and then the other, kicked them both aside, finished unfastening his trousers, and then shed them, as well. He stopped when it came to removing his drawers.

  She may have had him inside her, but he didn’t recall her ever actually seeing it. He, on the other hand, was ready to see her again.

  “Stand up.”

  He pulled her to her feet, and she came willingly enough. She kept her gaze averted, but her raven hair fascinated him. It teased him, flowing long and wavy around her waist.

  Tantalized, aroused, he searched through his memories for a time when he’d seen her with this same siren look, but there was nothing. Not since childhood had she allowed her hair to fall loose like that. Only cleverly styled buns at the back of her head or a long, tidy braid for bed.

  He wanted to have her like this every night from now on.

  “Let me see you,” he commanded with little softness. Her gaze jerked to his, and something indecipherable flared in her eyes.

  Could it be the memory of their first night together? Their wedding night, when he’d been so hurt and angry. He’d demanded that she strip, and she’d done as he asked. Anxious, shamed, she’d revealed herself, while he’d stood stoically and pretended an indifference that he’d never actually felt.

  It was the last time he’d seen her unclothed. After that, he’d merely pushed her nightclothes up and over her hips, taken his fill of her, and then left her in isolation.

  No more. Never again.

  Seconds passed, but he waited with as much patience as he could muster. She deserved that much. When she reached for the tiny buttons at the rounded neckline of her nightgown, he nodded approvingly.

  Her fingers trembled, but he let the telltale sign go. Of course she’s nervous, he reminded himself. Married or not, it had been years since they were together at all, let alone intimately.

  No, he hadn’t been a lover at all. He’d been a taker. A punisher. Selfish and heartless.

  He still wasn’t a tender, caring lover, but he had plenty he could make up for.

  He reached for her, resting his hands on her hips. She stopped moving almost immediately, dropped her arms to her sides, and stared at him with her uncertain eyes wide. He gave her only a second to accommodate herself to his touch, and then he grabbed a fistful of fabric in each hand.

  He gathered the gown upward until the hem rested just below the juncture of her thighs. He liked the way it looked, sultry and teasing. It heightened her nerves; he could see it in her eyes, on her mouth, and by the way she swallowed, and he liked that, too.

  Deciding against prolonging the uncertainty, Nathan tugged and then lifted the gown up and over her head. He tossed it over his shoulder to land with his discarded clothing, and then he stared.

  She stood before him as naked and as beautiful as he remembered. Her breasts were still high and firm, her rosy nipples peaked. Her small waist flared to the softly rounded and fully feminine curve of her hips and her slender legs.

  She was a woman made to please a man; he’d always thought so. The knowledge had angered him so as a young husband. He’d wanted her as badly as he’d ever wanted anything in his life. His body had reacted to the sight, sound, and scent of her, and he’d hated it.

  She wanted to hide herself; he could tell by the way her hands twitched and how she squirmed uneasily. “Don’t move.” His tone brooked no argument.

  She steadied herself, and he held back a smile. She had always responded to that imperious tone, and it seemed like that hadn’t changed.

  “Don’t ever hide yourself from me,” he continued firmly. “I told you earlier. You’re a beautiful woman.”

  She swallowed, brought her tongue out to touch her lips uncertainly. “But standing here undressed? It’s not proper.”

  “I’m your husband. It’s proper if I say it is.”

  She took a breath but then simply nodded and accepted his admonition. He considered pushing her further but decided against it. The day had been too full of chaos to pull her nerves any tighter, and so he distracted her with his mouth.

  Stepping close, he caught her mouth with his and kissed her again. Slowly, languidly, seductively. He moved his lips over hers with both demand and encouragement, and eventually brought his tongue into play. He slipped it between her lips, gratified when she opened easily for him.

  Nathan wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close enough that her breasts pillowed against his chest. He wanted to palm their soft plumpness, knead
them, test their weight on his fingers. Her nipples poked his chest saucily, teasing him to pluck them tight and suck them into his mouth.

  He did none of that. He simply released her mouth, swung her up into his arms, and carried her straight to bed.

  10

  Mariah was splayed out on the mattress before she quite knew what had happened. One minute Nathan had been kissing her, and the next she was . . . there. It didn’t particularly surprise her that he wanted to have his way with her; she was his wife, and he could do what he wanted. Even so, he was going about satisfying his desire in the strangest way.

  He stopped next to the bed and gazed down at her, his eyes heavy and shadowed. He kept standing there, immobile and staring, for long enough that she wanted to squirm in discomfort. She swallowed and fought to hold herself still, remembering his earlier command.

  Don’t move. He told her that often when he came to her bed.

  And so, here she was, completely naked and sprawled out like a wanton. Her nipples were tight, though she couldn’t say if the cool night air or her husband’s gaze were responsible. Her mind shouted at her in embarrassment, demanding that she cover herself, but her body had gone almost heavy. Indolent. Nathan always had that effect on her.

  Perhaps he recognized her struggle. He blinked, releasing her, but still she didn’t move. Couldn’t somehow. Not even when he brought his fingers to the few buttons on his drawers.

  “I’ve been inside you,” he said seductively, “but you’ve never seen me.”

  “Seen you?” she asked breathlessly, but she knew what he meant. The position of his hands told her.

  “All of me.”

  All of him? Dear Lord.

  Be brave! shouted a voice from deep inside. You’re a married woman. You’ve had carnal knowledge of this man. What good are the shy, innocent games going to do you now?

  What good, indeed. “You mean your manhood,” she said shyly.

  He smiled but it carried a certain naughtiness that made her uneasy. “Do you like that word?” he asked, his voice huskier than she had expected. His fingers continued to hover over the last button.

  “I don’t know any other,” she claimed, but they both knew it wasn’t true. He’d called it something else, and neither of them had forgotten it.

  “Yes, you do.”

  She started to shake her head, but she couldn’t lie to him. Gradually, the negative became a nod.

  “Rye?” he prompted. “Do you remember?”

  “Yes.”

  He unfastened the last button and started to push the drawers down, just a bit. She didn’t want to watch, but she couldn’t look away, either. Even this much was more than she’d ever seen of him.

  “What is it?”

  “Nathan,” she squeaked, her whole body flushing with embarrassment.

  With another swipe of his hands, the drawers were down and gone, and she found herself staring at him. She had never seen any man like that, never touched a man. Never thought she should—or could.

  That very masculine part of him jutted forward, far bigger than she ever could have guessed. How had it ever fit inside her? It was long and wide and almost frighteningly stiff. Veins ran along the shaft, and she traced them with her gaze until she discovered two fleshy sacs hanging just below.

  He took it in one hand, wrapping his fingers around himself firmly. “It’s my cock, honey.” He stroked himself. “Remember?”

  She nodded, heat coursing through her flushed body as she stared. She was embarrassed, certainly, but there was more to it than that, and she knew it. Rather than recoiling, anticipating a short-lived and somewhat painful encounter, Nathan’s behavior promised her something entirely different.

  He came to the bed then, as naked as she was, and stretched himself out next to her. His body was hot and as hard as he’d looked. Both enticed her to draw near and at the same time warned her to stay still. She opted for the safer choice.

  Don’t move.

  “Here.” He took her hand in his and drew it toward his body. He pressed her flesh against his maleness, held her there. “Do you feel that? Feel how hard I am for you?”

  She lay there unmoving, staring anxiously at the ceiling. Still, the heat of him, the length of him, the girth—everything about this part of him—teased her to know more. Do more. She flexed her fingers just a bit, and he, it, moved.

  Mariah would have pulled away, but his palm remained heavily over hers. He pressed her hand more firmly against his cock—could she ever say it aloud?—and she let him.

  “How does it feel?” he asked in a guttural voice that surprised her. It didn’t mean she could look at him, though.

  She swallowed. “Hot. Hard. Almost—” She cut the word off, knowing it would sound foolish.

  “Almost what?”

  With a shallow breath, she tried again. “Almost silky.”

  He grunted and stroked her palm up and down over the length. Gasping, she allowed him to use her without thought, even looking at his face. He looked back, his eyes dark with a new intensity.

  “Did that hurt?” she whispered, when it twitched.

  “No.”

  “Why did it . . . move?”

  He smiled, but it was fierce. “Because I liked it.”

  “Oh.” She took a ragged breath. “Is it always like that?”

  “Like what?”

  “So big? And hard?”

  His grin turned wolfish and somehow satisfied. “No, not always. Only when I’m aroused.” He tightened his fingers over hers, curling them until she grasped him. “I’m aroused now.”

  “Why?”

  “Why what?” He moved her hand up and down some more.

  “Why are you,” she swallowed, “aroused now?”

  His brow arrowed down, as though he didn’t understand. “I told you. You’re a beautiful woman.”

  Yes, he had said that. Others had told her that, as well. Her mother, before she’d died, had called Mariah a beautiful child. Her father had arranged the match with Nathan, certain his daughter’s beauty would heal the younger man’s heart. Gabriel had claimed she was too beautiful to spend the rest of her life alone and lonely. She hadn’t believed any of them, because the one man for whom she’d wanted to be beautiful had never seen her in that way.

  Until tonight.

  “Nathan?” She said his name softly, not moving.

  “What?”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “Doing what?”

  “Taking your time. Talking to me. You kissed me and want me to touch you.” She swallowed, touched her tongue to her lips. “You never wanted those things before.”

  He moved then, turned on his side, and her hand fell away from his hardness. Pushing up on his elbow, he stared down at her, his expression completely indecipherable. He may have trimmed his beard, but his hair remained long, hanging down over his face and providing him with a shadowy disguise.

  “I’m not the angry hothead I once was.”

  He said nothing more. Mariah blinked, considered his declaration, opened her mouth to question him further, but she lost the thread of the conversation when he leaned down and took her mouth with his. He commanded her with his kiss, his lips moving with authority, and his tongue pushing forward. He teased her, taunted her, and encouraged her until she couldn’t resist. She brought her tongue to life, and he immediately tangled them together.

  He kissed her and kissed her, sometimes deeper and sometimes lighter, and she followed wherever he led. Something like butterflies had taken flight in her chest, settling in her stomach, and putting all of her nerve endings on edge. His mouth kept them there. Her breasts felt weighted with a sudden heaviness, her nipples were tight, and other, more feminine parts of her body were awakening too.

  Almost unaware of moving, she brought her hand up to his chest. She spread her fingers wide and grasped his skin as though she needed to anchor herself to him. Perhaps she did, she thought vaguely, because her head had gone light and dreamy.


  After a few more kisses, he released her mouth for a new and equally delicious torture. He trailed his mouth over her jaw, her throat, nipping lightly, and he suckled gently where her neck met her shoulder. His kisses were knowing and seductive, relaxing her until he started to move lower.

  “You have the most beautiful breasts,” he growled as he pressed his lips against the upper curve of one. His breath bathed her, hot and moist, and then she forgot all about it when his tongue traced around the crown of her breast and brushed deliberately over her nipple.

  “Oh!” He did it again, and she made a strangled noise that sounded part moan and part gasp.

  “Do you like that?” He did it once more.

  She clutched his chest and breathed his name. “Nathan.” She could manage nothing more.

  He stroked her again. Again. With a little more pressure. More. And then . . . different.

  Sensation preceded understanding by nothing more than a heartbeat. His mouth. It was his mouth, and he had taken her nipple between his lips. His tongue swirled around the tight nub.

  She called out his name again and reached for him, gripping his head between her hands. When had she moved? Had she cried any other words? She couldn’t say and didn’t care. She could only cradle him against her, hoping he would do it again.

  He did, sucking enough that her back arched up from the bed. He closed his teeth around her lightly, and her fingers tightened in his hair.

  “Do you like that?”

  She sighed as he did it again, enamored and satisfied until he switched breasts, teasing and laving and biting the other in the same seductive way. She could do nothing except moan his name and allow him the freedom to do as he chose.

  As the moments dragged on and on, sensitivity tightened her nipples even more, if it were possible. An odd heaviness followed, emanating from her stomach and farther down. It made her legs shift open and closed in pure physical response, and she became distantly aware of a wetness that had begun collecting at the apex of her thighs.

  Embarrassment spread through her, and she stiffened. Nathan must have recognized the sudden tension in her, because he lifted his head and shifted to drop a heavy, demanding kiss on her lips.