The Virgin Widow

by Jen YatesNZ

  ‘Relax,’ he murmured, leaning over to place a lingering kiss on her mouth.

  She was still savoring that when he turned away to pick up the solitary candle from the nightstand. Moving slowly about the room, he touched it to others she’d not noticed until flames winked at her from every direction and there was nowhere to hide.

  How could she relax?

  Turning on her side, she curled her knees up to her chin—and watched as he came back to the side of the bed to gaze down at her.

  Then slowly—dammit, so devilishly slowly—he began undoing the knot of his neck-cloth. His jacket was ripped off more swiftly and aimed at the chaise, then the long fingers began on the buttons of his shirt. Inch by inch the broad chest was exposed and an audible sigh of appreciation escaped her as he finally tossed the shirt after his jacket.

  So much beautiful man—and all for her.

  She’d forgotten about hiding now; was mesmerized by the width of those muscular shoulders with their covering of fine dark hair and the taut, sculpted flesh of his back tapering down into the waistband of his trousers. He’d turned to sit on the edge of the bed to remove his boots. Her fingers ached to feel the hard ridges of muscle decorating the magnificent torso, but she couldn’t move.

  This was really going to happen and—she had to keep breathing. With the boots gone he stood, facing her again, his mouth tilted up at one corner.

  That.

  Alone it would have melted her resistance—if she’d still been able to find any. His hands were at the buttons of his trouser flap and she gave up trying to breathe. For certain, Hades’ body would bear no resemblance to that of her sickly, elderly husband’s.

  Lord, if he didn’t hurry she’d die.

  Peeling trousers and smalls down his legs in one swift movement, he turned to place them on the chaise. Jane swallowed—could a man’s backside be more beautiful than that? And his legs! It stood to reason he’d have well-muscled legs and thighs to support his excessive height. She wanted to touch!

  Then he turned and her tongue clove to the roof of her mouth. Still lying sideways, her face pressed against the pillow, she desperately hoped he’d not see the extent of her awe. She’d seen the statue of David in pictures, the perfect portrayal of the frame, musculature, and beauty of the male body. That hadn’t piqued more than her curiosity, for David had nothing like the breadth and height of the Earl of Baxendene, nothing of the searing, pulsing presence of a man aroused in all his primal glory.

  She hoped he wasn’t expecting her to say anything!

  ‘Come here!’ he demanded.

  Her body instinctively curled tighter, head pressing deeper to the pillow.

  ‘Jane. Come.’

  ‘Uh—uh–nuh.’

  He reached towards her. It was a long way to the edge of the bed, let alone two steps from the bed to where he stood, proud and unashamed. While she—!

  ‘Jane—don’t make me come and get you!’

  That voice, smoky, sending shivers through her, compelled. Never taking her eyes from his, she slid to the edge of the bed. Stopped. He waited, hand out-held. Closing her eyes, she took a breath, eased one foot to the floor and then the other, then tried to cover her body with her hands.

  His eyes danced in the light of the candles. She’d die.

  ‘Give it up, Jane. You don’t have enough hands! Come.’

  As she moved, drawn irresistibly by the deep seductive purr of his voice, he stepped towards her, took her hands and held them wide. Then he turned her so the light from the candles arrayed on the dressing table was full on her.

  Heat flooded her cheeks and she dropped her head. No man had ever looked on her in this way.

  ‘Beautiful,’ he murmured. ‘Absolutely beautiful.’

  ***

  A veritable goddess in fact. Long elegant neck, perfectly rounded feminine shoulders, golden freckles fading to the milky white flesh of perfect firm, up-tilted breasts. Gazing at her forced his heart alarmingly up into his throat. A narrow waist flaring to the most perfectly curved hips he’d ever beheld. And her legs—long enough to clasp around him and lock at the ankles. He’d be falling on her like a slavering beast if he didn’t find some sort of control!

  Goddammit! He was trembling! Gently he turned them to face the mirror.

  ‘You were made for me,’ he murmured.

  ‘You—I don’t know—you’re so—big,’ she breathed.

  Was that fear he heard in her voice? She was a virgin. Probably already afraid without being confronted with the reality of his size. Had he been foolish—not to mention vain and arrogant—exposing himself to her like that?

  ‘Woman was made to accommodate man,’ he told her huskily.

  Even in the shimmering candlelight he could see the color in her cheeks and down her throat. Her pale skin blushed easily. Nuzzling the crease of her neck and shoulder, a deep sigh of satisfaction flowed from him.

  ‘Orange blossom. I knew it was you the moment I entered the room. You always smell of orange blossom.—I’ve had a lot of experience, Jane. I’ll make this good for you. But, goddamn, you try my control! I’m desperate to bury myself in you, feel your heat, the fiery moisture of your desire. For you do desire me, don’t you, Jane?’

  ‘Oh God—’

  Her body was trembling, her hands clutching at his where he held them above her head, and her mouth trembled.

  Hell! He swept her into his arms, relishing the small squeak of dismay she couldn’t withhold, and carried her back to the bed, following her down onto the soft linen.

  He’d start with her mouth. Goddamn, he loved her mouth. She’d teased him with it from when they were youngsters at Baxendene. Now he’d show her how to please him with it.

  ‘Open for me, Jane,’ he whispered, lowering his head.

  Her eyes widened, her mouth opened, as if in shock, and he dived in. She tasted as he remembered. Sweet, delicious, and innocently sexy. There it was. Regardless the evidence of her innocence had been there all along he’d not even suspected the possibility. He, who knew women as well as he knew his own face in the mirror.

  There was no excuse for a man of his experience losing himself entirely in the power of what she made him feel.

  For weeks he’d wanted her, to the exclusion of all others. He had to curb the need demanding he bury himself to the hilt in her hot, willing body. She was untried and uninitiated—at the age of thirty.

  He’d no idea if that was going to make it easier for her—or not. Knight had mentioned condoms and lube. Must be in the drawer of the nightstand. Then he lost the power to think as Jane’s fingers crept into his hair and she kissed him back.

  ***

  Hades’ mouth fused with hers was something she’d been desperate for, ever since he’d danced her behind the arras at the Wolverton wedding. His mouth with its wickedly curved upper lip had long been a visual torment and was likely to become a terrible addiction. He tasted of brandy, sin, and pure Hades Delacourte.

  She was drowning in stormy seas named the Great Bax.

  Her hands found their way into the thick silk of his midnight curls and she clung as he left her mouth and roved kisses, hot and hungry, up her cheeks, across her eyes, beneath her ear and down her neck to—Oh God—over the swell of her breast to—her nipple.

  A deep moan rasped up from her throat and with the shock of it she jerked her breast from his mouth, and began pushing desperately at his head.

  ‘Oh God!’ she whispered, eyes shut tight. She’d die of embarrassment.

  ***

  Reluctantly, Bax allowed himself to be distracted from the succulence of Jane’s breast. He didn’t want to, but was still managing to keep Jane’s innocence in his mind, just.

  ‘Did I hurt you?’

  ‘No!’

  Her eyes were closed tight, her lips clamped together as if she didn’t want to speak, her body flushed a beautiful, rosy red.

  ‘Then what’s wrong?’ he asked, lowering his head towards her other nipple.
/>   Her hands were back in his hair, holding him away from his goal.

  ‘No! Oh—I can’t!’

  ‘Can’t? Why?—Jane?’

  Her eyes flew wide, clearly showing her distress.

  ‘You make me—I sound like—’

  ‘A woman who’s enjoying my mouth at her breast?’ he suggested.

  ‘I—no—I sound like—’

  Bax abandoned the deliciously pouting nipple that knew exactly what it wanted if its owner didn’t. Pulling Jane into his arms, he rolled to his back, bringing her to lie the length of his body. Distress was not what he wanted to see in those glorious topaz eyes.

  ‘You’re embarrassed because you moaned?’

  She remained inert, mute, eyes tightly closed. Rolling her back to the pillows he leant over her, pressing kisses to her closed eyelids, from which he tasted tears. Not surprising, he supposed, for this whole scenario had likely been stressful for her. Notwithstanding her age, she was a vicar’s daughter and had lived most of her adult life as the very proper Countess of Rotherby, the wife of an indulgent, fatherly, older man who’d rarely left his country estate.

  Not just naïve. She was likely totally ignorant.

  ‘Sweetheart? Look at me,’ he gentled, smoothing loose, fiery locks back from her forehead. ‘Look at me,’ he commanded again when she kept her eyes squeezed shut.

  When they popped open he thumbed tears from the corners and smiled warmly at her.

  ‘Moans, groans, crying out, even screaming, is the language of lovers, Jane. Those sounds tell me I’m pleasing you. Few words of any coherence are shared, unless they be ‘more’, ‘yes’, ‘now’, or—fuck me!’

  Her eyes closed again and with a soft chuckle he leant in and touched his lips to hers, teasing them open with his tongue. When he felt her relax a little, he drew back to savor her hair spread across the pillow, a vision he’d despaired of seeing.

  ‘Your moans and cries signal to me you’re enjoying what I’m doing to you. They’re sexy, arousing and will probably cause me to emit similar unintelligible indications I’m enjoying what we’re doing. Those moans and cries tell me I’m making this good for you. Relax, my darling. Moan for me—please?’

  When she lay staring up at him and swallowing convulsively, he hunkered his head down onto the pillow next to hers.

  ‘This is the first time I’ve made love to a virgin,’ he whispered, ‘so I’m having to wing it too. Shall we talk for a bit?’

  ‘T-talk?’

  He propped himself up on his hand to smile down into her surprised—and disappointed—eyes.

  ‘Like I said, sweetheart, bedding a virgin is a new experience for me. The women in my past knew as much about making love as I do. You don’t. And since I’ve accepted the honor of initiating you, I must make sure you know—what you need to know! If we resorted to our familiar name-calling you might relax and enjoy this?’

  Mischief suddenly danced in those eyes shiny with distress but a moment before.

  ‘Colossus of Rhodes.’

  Laughter and relief washed through him. They could do this.

  ‘I’d forgotten that one, Jeering Jane!’

  Their gazes met and held then he closed the small distance between them and took her laughing mouth. It was as hot and giving as any kiss he’d stolen from her yet, but this one danced and simmered through his blood like sparks from a bonfire—like none he’d shared with any other woman. Slowly he pulled back to stare down at her. What was she doing to him?

  Focus! There were things he needed to ascertain, knowledge he needed to impart, pledges he needed to make. And now she’d relaxed a little he needed to keep his mind on that, not on the helpless, innocent invitation in those beautiful eyes, or the pouting temptation of those rarely-kissed lips—or never-kissed nipples.

  Focus!

  He propped his head on one hand and caressed her softly flushed cheek with the other.

  ‘Do you understand what must be done to take your virginity, Jane?’

  ‘Of course!’ she snapped. ‘It means you’ll put that—that penis—inside me—down there.’

  Breathless, with cheeks deep red, she lowered her lashes to hide her embarrassment.

  He wanted to kiss her again, badly, but he didn’t dare touch her until this conversation was finished. He needed to know what she knew, what she expected.

  ‘There’s more than that,’ he murmured. ‘Do you understand about arousal?’

  ‘M—maybe? Probably—not really.’

  He leant in and kissed the end of her nose. He simply couldn’t resist, but didn’t dare allow himself more.

  ‘For a woman to enjoy love-making, she needs to be aroused otherwise it’s a distasteful and painful process for her.’

  She focused on his every word, her eyes fastened on his lips—and it was damned difficult to stay centered.

  ‘I’ll touch you with my hands, my mouth, my body—everywhere. Especially your breasts and cunny.’

  ‘Cunny?’

  ‘Hmm,’ he smiled. ‘Man talk for—between your legs. It’ll feel good, better than good. That’s arousal. It’s easy to tell when a man’s aroused. We can’t hide it. I’m quite painfully aroused now. Can you tell?’

  Sliding his hand down her arm when she continued to stare mutely at him, he took her hand and placed it over that part of him craving her touch—craving Jane—for weeks now.

  ‘I don’t normally go around in this state, sweetheart,’ he said, keeping her hand in place despite the shock in her eyes. ‘It’d be damned uncomfortable. You’ve caused that, and I admit you’ve caused me to be in this state more than I’ve cared for these last weeks. Especially since you made it plain there’d be no relief in the foreseeable future! Your hand feels so good there, you’ve no idea,’ he whispered, leaning close. ‘But please take it back now or I shan’t be able to finish my little lesson.’

  She snatched it away and he sucked air deep into his lungs in an effort to cool his need.

  ‘A woman’s arousal isn’t so obvious. How did you feel after that kiss behind the dais at Wolverton?’

  ‘Hot,’ she whispered.

  ‘Achy between your legs? In your breasts?’

  ‘Mmm.’

  ‘Wet down there as well?’

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered.

  ‘That’s female arousal. A man can’t know a woman’s aroused unless he reads it in her eyes, and she can hide that if she wishes. She might not be able to hide the stiffening of her nipples, depending on what she’s wearing. But the only way a man can be sure is to feel how wet she is.—May I show you, love? I’m hoping you’re quite moist for me by now.’

  Sliding a hand between her knees, he smiled at her involuntary resistance, then he bent his mouth to hers, ran his tongue along the seam of her lips and teased them apart. At the same time he eased his hand up between her slackened thighs and achieved his objective.

  ‘Open for me,’ he murmured, and the moment she complied he dragged his fingers up through her opening.

  Releasing her mouth, he brought his hand up so she could see the moisture glistening on his fingers in the candlelight.

  Her eyes closed again, fiery color flooding her cheeks.

  ‘Jane.’

  When she opened them again he slid his fingers into his mouth and she gasped in fascinated horror.

  He’d had no idea initiating a virgin could be so delightful, or rewarding. She made him feel like a god.

  ‘You taste divine. I’ll taste you there later. And I hope you’ll taste me there, but not tonight. Do you know what an orgasm is?’

  ‘N—no.’

  ‘It’s what making love is about, my sweet. For a man it’s usually easy. Any willing woman will do, so long as we can bury our cocks in her and pump until we explode. But for a woman it’s rarely that simple. Sometimes it just takes a man pumping hard and deep into her. Sometimes she needs more. Especially when her body hasn’t been taught what to expect. Many men don’t realize this or are too selfish, or
lazy, to care and so the woman may not achieve the same sense of satisfaction as the man. I’m going to give you an orgasm first so when I do enter you and finally dispense with your bloody virginity, I’ll truly shatter your mind with the beauty of what can be between us.’

  She lay staring up at him for a long moment and he had no idea what was going through her mind. Suddenly the wide, rosy mouth stretched in a grin he’d not seen since those distant days at the Dene. Impish, mischievous, yet with a hint of the siren to steal his breath.

  ‘Boudoir Bax,’ she teased at length. ‘It seems I’ve been gifted with the perfect Master of Virgins. You do know an awful lot. Are we going to lie here and talk all night? I’ve paid good money for this you know!’

  Chapter 14

  Orgasm. The word with its implications hummed in her mind. She’d had no idea. He’d explained it so sweetly, and now she wanted him to get to the real part—where he showed her.

  Somehow she needed to let him know she was ready for that and not still wallowing in ignorant fears and embarrassment. She was thirty. Not seventeen and just out of the schoolroom! She wanted this; wanted Hades. He was used to women who knew exactly what they wanted and how to show him.

  But mention of paying for his services didn’t have the effect she’d expected. He stared at her for a moment in absolute horror then flopped back onto the pillows with his arm over his eyes.

  ‘Dammit, Jane! Not only have I never had a virgin before, I’ve certainly never been paid for the service! That makes me a—rent boy!’

  His great, gorgeous chest began heaving, then he dropped his arm and she realized he was shaking with silent mirth.

  ‘Knight did mention that small point,’ he managed at last, ‘but I’d forgotten it in all that followed. My Jezebel Jane, if you’ve had to resort to paying for a man in your bed, I’d best deliver what you’ve paid for!’

  Pushing her onto her back, he lowered his mouth to her right breast and began suckling with such hunger her shoulders came off the bed and her body arched of its own accord, begging for more. Maybe that was the clue. She should stop worrying and angsting and start trusting Hades. He came highly recommended. Perhaps she’d tell him that one day!