Once a Mistress
Page 28
I arise from dreams of thee
Find the spirit in my feet,
Hath led me—who knows how?
To thy chamber window, Sweet!
Percy Bysshe Shelley, 1792—1822
Drew stood in the kitchen of her cottage gazing down at her. She had no idea how long he’d been there or how long he had watched her while she attempted to soak away the bad memories.
“What are you doing here?” She crossed her arms over her breasts, but there was no way to cover up the rest of her.
He cleared his throat. “I was worried about you. When you didn’t come to the house for dinner, I decided to see if you were all right.” He tried to keep his eyes on her face, but her shapely legs and the triangle of downy curls between her thighs beckoned to him. He swallowed hard.
“I’m fine,” she said.
“I can see that.” His words carried a double meaning.
Wren blushed. “Hand me the towel, please.” She nodded toward the wooden stool. “And turn around.” The look in his eyes warmed her almost as much as it frightened her. “How did you get in?”
“The front door was unlocked.” Drew handed over the towel and turned his back to the tub. His heart pounded in his chest and the front of his trousers became unbearably tight. He heard the splash as she rose from the bathwater and his imagination took flight. He imagined her stepping out of the water and bending at the waist to dry her feet, before running the towel up her shapely legs, over the soft skin of her stomach, and between her thighs. He imagined droplets of bathwater clinging to her downy blond triangle and secreted in her navel and he envied the length of toweling she held in her hand. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, seeking a more comfortable position to accommodate the swelling in his trousers.
“You can turn around now.”
Her invitation surprised him. Drew half-expected her to order him out of the kitchen and out of the house. When she failed to order him out of the house, Drew turned around. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of her.
She had wrapped the length of towel around her body and tucked the ends into the valley between her breasts. Although the towel managed to cover the essentials, it gaped open from her left hip to her waist and only reached to upper thigh length. Damp in places, the towel clung to her womanly curves, revealing as much as it concealed.
“Thank you,” he breathed in a reverent tone of voice.
“For what?” she asked.
“For allowing me this.” He wet his lips as his gaze took in every nuance of her appearance. “I’ve dreamed of seeing you like this for six years,” he admitted. “And I’m dying to touch you.”
Wren looked down at the towel. Her pulse beat in the hollow of her throat. She trembled with emotion and a touch of fear. She had dreamed of their wedding night. Six years ago, she had dreamed of having him see her, touch her, and love her—dreamed of seeing him, touching him, loving him. And even though she knew those dreams would never come true, she had continued to dream them.
Wren took a deep breath, gathered all of her courage, and whispered, “Don’t die. Just touch me.”
She loosened the knot at the valley of her breasts and let the cloth fall to the floor.
The husky timbre of her voice sent shivers down Drew’s spine. He didn’t wait for a second invitation.
He closed the distance between them and dropped to his knees. He didn’t touch her, he simply positioned his mouth within a hair’s-breadth of the pink nub crowning her right breast. Glancing up at her, he asked, “May I?”
“Please,” she whispered.
Drew brought his hand up and caressed her breast, then kissed it, gently, reverently, as if it were the most precious thing in all the world.
Wren couldn’t describe the feelings of tenderness that overwhelmed her as Drew suckled at her breast. She pressed his head closer, urging him to take whatever nourishment he needed. He sucked her eagerly, lapping at her nipple with his tongue like a greedy kitten at a bowl of cream, then nipped it with his teeth before pulling it into his mouth once again. The moment Wren thought she’d die from the pleasure of it, he let go of that breast and lavished affection on the other.
The touch of his lips was electric. She gasped in response, as the warmth seemed to flow from his mouth through her breasts and down to her most secret woman’s place. She burrowed her fingers into his thick hair and held him tightly. His tender care and his sweet caresses melted her fear and unleashed the torrent of emotions she’d kept hidden. Drew made her feel. Drew made her ache and burn with wanting. Wren knew in her heart that Drew was the only man she had ever wanted and that only Drew could heal her.
Drew took her response as encouragement. He increased the suction, teasing her sensitive nipple with his teeth before pulling back to lave it with his tongue. Drew groaned. He trailed his other hand from her waist to the underside of her other breast, feeling its shape, measuring its weight and warmth.
She wasn’t afraid any longer. She was ready to love him and be loved in return. “Please,” she said again.
“Tell me,” he ordered, his breath teasing her nipple. “Tell me what you want.”
“More,” she answered. “Touch me. Kiss me. Love me. Drew.”
Those were the words he wanted most to hear. “With pleasure,” he murmured, before he lived up to his promise by touching and teasing, fondling and sucking at her breasts, offering her the pleasure she craved. He kissed his way over her breasts and down her stomach until he reached the dark blond curls at the juncture of her thighs.
Wren’s knees nearly buckled when he combed his fingers through her downy curls, dipping two of them inside her warmth, smoothing the hot honeyed liquid over her womanly folds and the tight little button hidden there.
She gripped his hair reflexively as he bent lower.
“What are you doing?” Her voice was an achy, breathless sigh.
“Kissing you,” he answered, his voice a whisper of warm breath that tickled her curls and triggered a rush of more hot liquid.
“Drew…” Wren reached for him.
“Let me.” He looked up at her, his eyes a deep, dark brown shining with the desire to give her something very special. “Pretend it’s our wedding night and that you’re a new bride eagerly anticipating the joys of the marriage bed.”
“We can’t turn back the clock,” she said, blinking away the sudden sting of tears.
“Yes, we can,” he answered firmly. “We can and we will. For you. For me. For us.”
She believed him. “What do you want me to do?”
“Close your eyes and enjoy. Believe in me. Believe I’ll never hurt you.” Then he licked her there on the soft folds of flesh hidden by the hair. She pressed her legs together in reaction, before opening them again to allow him access.
Drew took advantage, deepening his kiss, tasting the most secret part of her.
Wren squirmed as the myriad of incredible sensations surged through her body—all of them emanating from the place Drew lavished with attention. She moaned her pleasure and gasped out his name as the pressure within her body began to build. “Stop, please…” She thrust her hips upward, seeking a release from the sensations flooding her body and her mind.
Drew tried to pull away to gauge her reaction, to see if she wanted him to stop but Kathryn held him close, her fingers still tangled in the strands of his hair. He kissed her again, gently, softly, then harder.
She screamed. “God, Drew, don’t stop, please.”
He had no intentions of stopping, not until she found completion.
“Drew?”
He heard the question in her voice, knew she was desperately close to finding satisfaction, knew she didn’t understand what was happening to her. He paused in his ministrations to reassure her. “It’s all right, my love, let go, let it happen. I’m with you.” He plunged his tongue inside her, and lavished his attention on the sensitive button, lavishing it with her nectar.
Her muscles relaxed, then tightened,
quivered, and finally relaxed completely as she cried out his name. Drew caught her around the hips as her knees gave way, pressing his face against the softness of her belly, supporting her, cradling her in his arms while she shivered in the aftermath of her magnificent climax.
Chapter Twenty-five