Cherishing the Captain (Men at Arms Book 2)

by Elise Marion

  She’d gone all this time untouched and unloved, wanting and being denied due to his cowardice. He wanted to make it all up to her, keep her tied to this bed until he’d made love to her once for every night he had been away from her. He would drive her mad with pleasure, take her and take her until she could withstand no more.

  He surged toward her with a desperation born of the need to wash it all away, closing his lips over slick, silken flesh and teasing the swollen nub with his tongue. His fingers plunged and withdrew, his rhythm quickening as he found what she liked, his body so attuned to her it was as if they’d never parted.

  “Gideon!” she cried, her hips bucking and her legs stiffening. “Oh, God!”

  He murmured against her sweet, secret flesh, drunk on the taste of her and craving the sounds of ecstasy pouring uninhibited from her lips. Her sheath began to pulse around him, her climax coming swift and hard. She became breathless with it, sucking in swift, uneven breaths between moans of delight. Gideon refused to let up, chasing every cresting swell of her rapture with the intent to draw it out and make it last. Heat and a rush of wetness coated his fingers, and he drowned in her, taking her in through his every sense—the taste of her, wild and heady on his tongue, the feel of her slick and warm, the musical sounds erupting from her throat.

  He didn’t pull away until she’d gone still beneath him, legs quivering with the aftershocks of her culmination. She sucked in a sharp breath as he placed one last kiss against her mons, as if she were too sensitive to bear anymore. But, Gideon couldn’t stop. He had tasted of Sylvia and was drunk on her now, yet still craving more and needing all the rest. His lips found other places to kiss, trailing a path upward as he came to lay between her legs.

  Shaking hands tore at the placket of his trousers as he tasted every inch of bare skin along the way, finding the places along her abdomen that made her squirm. His tongue laved the undersides of her breasts, then tracked a path over one abundant mound to a beckoning nipple. Her arms jerked against the belt tying her to the headboard, but his knot held firm. Her body twisted beneath his, but he pressed his hips into the open cradle of hers, groaning around her nipple at the feel of her against him. His swollen cock had fallen free of his trousers, and his mind went completely blank at the feel of Sylvia, warm and welcoming, slick and soft.

  The entire world faded to nothing, the totality of his existence becoming dependent on finding his way home. Too much time had passed since he’d experienced even the stroke of his own hand, and he hovered so close to his end he could practically taste it. He wouldn’t last long. Despite knowing he should slow down and draw out this experience for as long as possible, Gideon could not. Animalistic urges took over, and he became a rutting beast with a single objective—claiming what belonged to him.

  Sylvia seemed as desperate as he was, spreading her legs wider and raising her hips to let him in, her breaths harsh and swift against his neck. He kissed his way along her jaw while reaching between them, then began devouring her lips as he guided himself toward her entrance.

  He growled into her mouth and surged his hips, lodging half his length inside her. She was painfully tight around him, throbbing and clutching him like a fist. Gideon’s vision blackened at the edges, tremors of need working up and down his spine as the need to thrust, to fill and stretch and plunder overtook him. He braced himself over her and met her gaze, his jaw winding tight as he withdrew and snapped his hips, giving her a bit more. She opened to him with every stroke, her sheath stretching to accommodate him, the tension in her hips easing.

  A long, deep groan tore from him as he reached as deep as he could, seating himself completely inside her. He lowered his head to her shoulder and gave himself over to the desperate need driving him to drill deeper, his hips picking up speed with every stroke, his forehead breaking out into a sweat. He couldn’t have stopped himself had he tried, the primitive nature of the most elemental and earthly of acts snaring him in its clutches.

  “Sylvia,” he rasped, pushing her name out with a tongue that had nearly forgotten how to function. “Sylvia … Sylvia …”

  Her name became a prayer on his lips, floating into the atmosphere to tangle with her cries of pleasure. He worshiped her with his body the only way he could, pulling out so he could join them again and again, each thrust a reminder of what had been joined together nearly two years ago. In every utterance of her name was a plea to the heavens for more time, even one more second connected to this moment, this woman.

  The end came far too quickly, seizing him with a strength he couldn’t fight off. His back arched when he plunged one last time, failing to trap the deep moans behind clenched teeth. His head fell back as he surrendered to it, her name falling from his lips one final time, in a breathless, raspy benediction.

  The tension in his body melted away with the spilling of his seed, and he went limp, face buried in the curve of her neck. Sylvia lay still and silent beneath him, save the rasping of her breath. Gideon closed his eyes and let himself steal one more moment, then another and another. He needed this just as badly as he’d needed to make love to her—the oneness and intimacy of lying with her in the aftermath, the remnants of what they’d just done filling the air around them.

  Reality began to encroach upon his state of sated bliss, reminding Gideon that his wife was not free to take him into her arms. Nor could allow it, for he might forget what it would cost him if he did. Just now, it was difficult to remember why he’d been so afraid of this, why he hadn’t come running back to his wife the moment he returned to England.

  But, as clarity returned to him, Gideon remembered very well why. This feeling swelling in his chest, filling him up and shedding light on the darkest corners of his soul was dangerous. It was nearly enough to convince him that they could have more than this, that she could be his again in all the ways that mattered.

  It was almost enough to make him forget why he’d had to let her go in the first place.

  Before he became lost to such thoughts, Gideon forced himself off her with great effort. His body sang with aches and pains, his thighs and lower back reminding him that despite being in good physical condition due to daily exercise, there were some muscles he hadn’t used in certain ways in far too long. Sylvia gave a little whine of protest when he slipped free of her body, her pleading eyes connecting with his as he reached up to begin untying her hands.

  She flexed her fingers, sitting upright as he moved to the opposite end of the bed with his back against one post. He raised his hips to pull his trousers back up. Despite knowing he would have to gently prod her from his bed and out of his chamber, Gideon was selfish and greedy for any piece of her he could have. That included the simple sight of her sitting up and drawing her knees toward her chest, gazing at him with shy, heavy-lidded eyes. The firelight played over her bare skin, giving it a warm and tempting glow. He wanted to lay with her, pull her into his embrace and kiss every patch of naked skin his lips could reach. However, exhaustion plagued him, and curling up next to a soft, warm body would only lull him to sleep.

  He could never endanger her that way, even as he yearned for her soothing presence through the night.

  Biting the inside of his cheek, he fought the urges working against his rational mind.

  “I … wasn’t too rough, was I?” he asked with a wince.

  She smiled, twin pink spots blossoming on her cheeks. “Ye were perfect.”

  Shaking his head, he grunted, displeased with himself now that his mind had cleared. The evidence that she had been with no man since him was clear enough. He ought to have taken better care with her, gentled his touch, slowed his pace.

  “Gideon.”

  He glanced up to find Sylvia watching him, the fingers of one hand flexing as if she was about to reach for him. Gideon clearly saw the control she exercised when she obviously wanted to touch him, and loved her for it. Yet, somehow he hated himself for the same reason. It irked him that she needed to take such pains with him at all.
/>   “Yes?”

  “I had wondered, ye know,” she said, her voice low, tentative. “If ye’d found someone else, and maybe that was why ye didnae come back for me. Even tonight, before ye took me to bed, I was aching somewhere deep inside thinking o’ ye wi’ some faceless woman. Ye’re a man after all. Ye have yer needs.”

  Another surge of guilt washed over him at this revelation.

  If only it were that simple, my love.

  “I dinnae think I would have believed it if ye’d told me before what we just did,” she went on when he didn’t reply. “But, it’s true, aye? Ye havenae slaked yer lust with anyone all this time, have ye?”

  He released a sarcastic huff of laughter. “Was it my near instantaneous release that gave me away?”

  “I was quicker than ye were, if we’re talking o’ speed, husband. But no, it wasnae only that. It was … everything. The way ye looked at me, the way ye reacted like it was new. As if this were the first time in a long time.”

  Sighing, he ran his fingers through his disheveled hair. “Sylvia, I haven’t touched a woman since the night we wed. All this time, I’ve been all but numb to my surroundings. My body reacting to touch the way it does, I thought it was impossible for me to feel desire again. I didn’t feel it again, not with any real sense of urgency. Anything I felt was more a physical itch to be scratched, than something to be enjoyed. My own hand seemed adequate enough when I could barely stand for someone to touch my shoulder. But, even that I did sparingly, and always with the memory of you in my mind.”

  She sighed, and Gideon heard relief in the sound. Of course she had thought him a philandering rogue all this time. If he had not come to his wife to relieve his needs, the automatic assumption would be that he’d chosen to satisfy them elsewhere.

  Sylvia shifted on the bed, one hand pressed to her mouth to stifle a yawn. Gideon stood, going to the hearth and adding coal to the dwindling fire before pulling an armchair up to the bed.

  “Why don’t you lie down and try to rest?” he offered, pulling his shirt back on before sinking into the seat at the bedside. “I’ll stay right here, and …”

  And what? Watch her sleep like some sort of deranged lunatic?

  Yes, that was exactly what he wanted—to enjoy the sight he’d deprived himself of every night since his return from the Crimea. The sight of his wife, beautiful in peaceful sleep, safe and under his care. Even if it could only be for tonight—even if he would be forced to break her heart again in the morning—the selfish, possessive part of him wasn’t willing to let her leave this room just yet.

  “Won’t ye lie wi’ me, even for a little while?” she asked while pulling back the coverlet.

  Gideon gave her an apologetic smile, tucking the bedclothes around her as she made herself comfortable. He pulled the blankets up to her chin, then stroked a lock of hair back from her face.

  “I can’t trust myself not to fall asleep. If I’m in this chair, at least there’s enough distance between us that you can feel safe.”

  With another yawn, she closed her eyes. Burying her nose in the pillow, she took a deep breath and released it with a soft sound that sent a bolt of hot, sharp desire straight through him. Fighting the urges that sound inspired, he slouched in his chair and watched her burrow into the haven of the bedclothes.

  “Hmm,” she murmured, her plump lips turning up at one corner. “I always feel safe wi’ ye, Gideon.”

  Chapter 9

  Sylvia offered a warm smile to the man accepting a spoonful of broth from her steady hand. His emaciated form was no more than a mere bump beneath clean bed linens, and his bandage-wrapped hands rested limp at his sides. Like all their first patients, this man’s injuries hadn’t been properly tended, leaving him reliant upon her and the other nurses for constant care until he had healed.

  She had nearly wept at the sight of his hands, twisted and mangled with bones that hadn’t been set correctly. His wife had seen to his every need as best she could, but the poor woman had been worn down to almost nothing by the strain of it. The state of the corporal’s hands left him unable to feed himself, or see to even the most basic of his hygienic needs.

  The soldier’s wife had wept for joy when Dr. Wickham informed her that her husband’s hands could be fixed—though it would require a few grueling procedures during which the bones would be re-broken and then set as they should have been. The first of those surgeries had been achieved that morning, and the poor man complained of constant pain. The effects of ether had made it difficult for him to stomach anything other than the broth and tea she spooned into his mouth. However, his coloring was healthy, and Dr. Wickham was sure he would make a good recovery. The hands would be stiff and unwieldy once they healed, but weeks of exercises to restore dexterity would make it possible for the corporal to regain his dignity.

  “Had enough, or would ye like more?” she asked, glancing into the half-empty bowl.

  “I think I’ve had enough, thank you, ma’am,” he murmured, his cheeks flushing red as she used a linen napkin to mop his chin.

  He’d been apologizing and blushing every time she assisted him in any way, which Sylvia found to be most endearing. Apparently, he’d grown used to the ministrations of his wife, but still felt a bit shy about letting anyone else tend him.

  “It is my pleasure,” she assured him with a gentle pat on his shoulder. “I’ll just take these dishes away, and Nurse Pritchard will arrive to help wi’ yer bath in a bit. Remember to ring if ye’ve a need.”

  She inclined her head toward the bell cord that hung above him. It had been cleverly maneuvered over the headboard for the man to tug on with his teeth if he had urgent need for a nurse.

  Sylvia took up his tray and made her exit to profuse apologies and thanks from the corporal, who she reassured for the umpteenth time that she was happy to do her job and he shouldn’t feel embarrassed. But, she realized that her words might never be enough. He reminded her so much of her brother—though Conall had only injured one of his hands. However, he’d been just as embarrassed by the weakness brought on by his injury, and had insisted on doing things for himself the moment he was able.

  The injured corporal also reminded her of her husband. He made Sylvia wonder how difficult it must have been for Gideon to admit any sort of weakness or defect. She’d sent a strong, fearless, capable man off to war, and he had returned altered. To her, he was still everything she wanted in a man—just as capable, strong, and intrepid. Yet, she couldn’t ignore that he obviously no longer saw himself that way.

  There was only one flaw in Gideon’s way of thinking, and Sylvia was determined to make him see it. In the deepest, truest parts of himself, he was still the man she loved. He was still the soldier who had charmed her heart right out of her chest and into his hands. If nothing else, seeing the sheer strength of him despite the odds, knowing what he had lived through, made her love him more.

  All she had to do now was convince him that all was not lost. She truly believed that if he could touch her with affection, he might come to accept her touch in return. He could learn to navigate the intimacies of married life just as he’d learned to endure social niceties. In her years as a nurse she had encountered soldiers with similar problems, whether it be the inability to endure touch, loud noises, or certain smells. She once nursed a patient who had collapsed into a sobbing heap on the ground at the smell of something burning, and he would vow that it all smelled like charred flesh to him. The stimuli carried him back to the battlefield and the horrors of men being incinerated to blackened ruin before his eyes. That same man had learned to cope with his affliction thanks to the help of an alienist.

  It just so happened that Davies House employed such a doctor, and it was to him she had gone this morning after waking in Gideon’s chamber alone. She hadn’t known when her husband had vacated his place at the bedside, but Sylvia awakened just before dawn to find herself alone. It had been difficult to conjure any sort of anger or annoyance when she understood why he’d fel
t it necessary to leave her. He’d given her as much as he was able to last night, and Sylvia was grateful. The physical joining of their bodies would have seemed like a paltry thing before, and she might have seen it as a moment of weakness on both their parts … if not for the hope it had inspired in her. Had he confessed to being unable to love her, she might have walked away from that bedchamber this morning ready to continue on with her solitary existence. In time, she would have found the strength to put him behind her.

  However, it seemed the opposite had happened. She didn’t want to let him go or forget him. She wanted the life he promised her the night they married. She wanted a future, no matter how difficult it might be to come by. Sylvia was now determined to do whatever she could to bring that future to fruition. Giving up had never been in her nature, and the stubbornness and determination characteristic of the Blaines was as strong in her as ever.

  Dr. Scudder had listened to her description of Gideon’s outburst over breakfast this morning, brow furrowed and eyes darting as he seemed to think over each detail. When she was finished, he’d promised to do what he could for Gideon. He had also made certain she understood that he couldn’t promise a full recovery, or any sort of result at all.

  “In many cases, the success of my practices is dependent on the willingness of the patient to make an effort of it, as well as the support of the people around them,” he told her, solemn empathy radiating from his kindly eyes. “Once Captain Whitlock is made to realize that he will have the aid of yourself as well as me, he must make the decision to trust not only the two of us, but himself. Once he has done that, I can help him. It will not be easy, nor will it happen quickly. You must be patient with him. You have to decide here and now that this is truly a road you wish to travel. I have seen even the strongest of women buckle under the strain of caring for men ravaged by war. It is a lot to ask of anyone.”