To mask his reaction, he swooped down and kissed her again—hard and possessively, the way she seemed to like. She tasted warm and sweet. Her mouth was so wonderful, soft and tender. Vulnerable.
He lowered his weight onto her so that her breasts were pressed against his chest and he could feel each breath pushing her softness against him. He slid both hands into her hair and cupped her head holding her where he wanted her, directing the kiss, controlling it. She purred in her throat and wrapped her arms and legs around him, rubbing her quim against him like a cat in heat. He dragged his mouth away, across her cheek.
“Oh, yes,” she said breathlessly. “Like that. I like this.” She dug her nails into his back. “I want you.”
“I like it too,” he whispered in her ear. He licked the delicate whorls there, then bit her lobe, and she purred again. “I like not worrying about hurting you or frightening you. I’m not sure where those ideas came from.” He rubbed his nose against her cheek and then kissed her again, giving free rein to his passion. He hadn’t really understood until just now how much he’d been controlling it. “I’ve been holding back so much,” he murmured against her lips.
“Don’t hold back,” she whispered back. She bit his lip and it stung. She licked the sting away. “I can take it.” She leaned up, and right against his ear whispered so quietly he barely heard her, “Fuck me, Robert. Like I know you want to.”
Her words ignited something in him, something he hadn’t even known was there. He had always desired Christy, but this feeling burning him up inside was so much more than mere desire. It was elemental, a need to take her and possess her, to be one with her. To carry her with him into the abyss of this thing that had got hold of him.
He kissed her again and then slid down to worship her body as he had not done properly since he had promised to do so in his wedding vows. He understood it now, those words he had spoken. This. This is what it means to worship her with my body.
He kissed her skin, licked it, tasted the salt of the day’s heat on her and relished her spice. When he traced his tongue down the path between her breasts, she shivered and he travelled next to her hard nipples, kissing and sucking them, gently nipping them, and she gasped, her legs tightening around his waist, her fingers clenching in his hair as she held his mouth on her. He had never dared do this to her, though he had longed to. What a fool he’d been. What a misguided fool to think respecting one’s wife meant you could not treat her like an object of sexual desire. He desired her in so many ways; this was only one of them. To deny her this act of worship was the height of disrespect. Tonight he would atone for his sins.
He let his hand glide down from her hip to her thigh, massaging it as he went. He pulled it from around his waist, and she moaned in protest. “No,” she begged.
“I want to kiss you everywhere,” Robert told her, sucking on the side of her breast, leaving a mark, licking it. He liked his mark on her. He’d heard men talk of kissing women on the quim, and he’d seen pictures of it, naughty illustrations when he was in school. He’d never done it. He had a gorgeous, willing, passionate wife, and he’d never done it. He refused to let one more day go by without doing that for her, too.
“Oh, God, yes,” she said enthusiastically. She quickly pulled her legs down and spread them, feet braced on the bed. “Please.” She pushed his head down toward her sex. “I’ve been dying for you to do it.”
Robert was a little nonplussed. Clearly Christy had done this before. Well, then he’d better make sure to do a damn good job of it.
He pushed himself down with one last kiss on each breast, a playful kiss on her stomach, and then he was there. The scent of her was the world’s most exotic aphrodisiac. He cupped her derriere, leaned down and delicately licked her slit—her moisture was salty and earthy and divine. She pressed his mouth harder against her.
“Kiss it like you did my mouth,” she whispered. “I like it like that down there, too.”
Robert was grateful for the guidance. He followed her advice and kissed her passionately, shoving his tongue inside her, fucking her with it, lapping up her salty sweet passion, and she moaned, arching her back, pushing her quim against his face, wordlessly begging for more. Robert smiled, pulled back and teased her with the tip of his tongue. When he nudged the hard little button of flesh at the top of her slit, she gasped and fisted the covers.
“Right there, then?” he asked with satisfaction. “Good.”
“Robert,” she moaned. “God, please.”
“What?” he asked, then he teased her with the tip of his tongue in that special little spot again. She sobbed a little.
“Put it inside me,” she begged.
His cock was so hard he could feel his heartbeat there. At her words, the beat intensified and he felt it leak a little. Clearly his cock liked the idea very much.
“What?” he asked. “This?” He slid his finger inside her. “God, you’re so wet. You’ve never been this wet.”
“Fuck me,” she begged. She pumped her hips, riding his finger, and moaned in frustration. “More,” she demanded. He obliged by leaning down and tickling that sensitive little knot with his tongue while he moved his finger in and out. She purred and thrust against his mouth and hand. “More, more,” she said again.
Robert couldn’t tease her anymore. “Yes,” he said. “I’ve got to have you.”
He came to his knees and shoved her legs apart, staring at her wet, dark pink, swollen quim. He’d never taken the time to really look at it before. To admire it and memorize it in amazement that it was his to fuck.
“I never thought a man fucked his wife,” he told her. His voice was rough, a little breathless. She watched him with glassy, passion-drunk eyes. “I never thought of what a man and wife did as so earthy or carnal. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t understand that this was what you wanted, that this is what I should have been doing all along.”
“I should have told you,” Christy said. She reached out and wrapped her small, delicate hand around his hard cock. Her grip was surprisingly strong. “So now I’m telling you. Fuck me, Robert. Fuck me like a man should fuck his wife.”
She stroked his cock, and when she let go he kissed her and adjusted his weight before he finally pushed into her. She moaned and slid her hands up his arms to his shoulders and dug her nails into him as she lifted her hips off the bed and met his thrust. “Just like that, husband,” she whispered.
“Like that?” he asked. “Or like this?” He gripped her hip with one hand and fucked into her harder. She gasped, her nails digging deeper.
“Yes,” she hissed. He felt her sex clench around him. He did it again, a little bit harder. She moaned, and bent her legs so that she was gripping him with her thighs. “More,” she whispered.
“I see,” he said, his chest heaving. He wasn’t going to last much longer, but he teased her nonetheless. “What you really want is to be fucked.”
She laughed breathlessly. “Didn’t I say so? Fuck me, Robert. Fuck me now.”
He obliged her. He thrust into her hard, steady, pushing her up the bed so that she had to put a hand against the headboard behind her to keep from sliding into it. Robert loved every minute of it, and from the sounds Christy was making, so did she
He knew the instant she came. Her back arched and her quim strangled his cock, pulsing around him as she threw her head back and moaned loudly and long. He kept going even as she came, and with each thrust she shivered and cried out again. When he came, he buried his face in her neck and his cock in her hot, quivering passage and held on for dear life, shaking and sweating and falling apart in her arms.
Chapter 18
“I’m sorry.”
Christy stroked Robert’s hair as he lay beside her, his head on her shoulder, his arm around her hips. They were both sweaty and sticky, and neither cared a bit. She’d never had this with a lover, this kind of after-the-fact affection and closeness. Harry had cried and confessed he loved Daniel. John Coachman had rolled over and g
one to sleep, ignoring her. And Simon…well, theirs had been a hurried affair, clandestine, with no time for affectionate cuddles like this.
If she wasn’t so thoroughly satisfied, she’d be angry on her own behalf for what she’d been denied. But then, she hadn’t demanded it, had she? She was learning that she had to ask for what she wanted.
“Why are you sorry?” Robert asked in that sleepy voice she loved so very much. No one else got to hear that voice. Just her. It was an intimacy she cherished.
She brushed his hair out of the way and kissed his forehead. “For not telling you sooner what I wanted.”
“Ah,” Robert said. He was quiet for quite a long time. Then he asked, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
She let her fingers dance across his broad shoulders. “I have always been the girl no one wanted, you know,” she told him, trying not to sound pitiful. “When my parents died and I was stuck with my aunt and uncle, I tried not to ask for too much or make myself a nuisance because I wanted them to like me. When I was engaged to Harry and he came back from Portugal to marry me, I didn’t say anything and just did what I was told because I just wanted everyone to like me and to finally have a place. And then for ten years I lived alone in a little house in a little village where no one liked me and no one bothered to get to know me because I was an outsider with no husband present. I practically had to beg John Coachman to be my lover, and once again I never asked for anything, I just took what he was willing to give because I was so desperate to be close to anyone. How sad I was.”
Robert had opened his eyes and was looking up at her now, his hand stroking her hip. She bit her lip and then decided that Robert deserved the truth.
“And Simon…I did ask Simon. I asked him to be my lover, but I didn’t have to beg, not like before. He wanted me. And, well, he showed me what it was like to be wanted. And I liked it. I liked how it felt. And I wanted it again. I wanted it with you.” She cupped his cheek. “You believe me, don’t you?”
“Yes,” he said. “I believe you.” There was something in his eyes, something lurking there that she couldn’t decipher. “You shall always be wanted by me, Christy, and this will always be your place if you want it.” He took her hand and kissed her palm. “Tell me what happened this morning. I almost lost you.”
“Nonsense,” she said with a chuckle. “There was just a strange little man who hailed me, and then a tall, thin man grabbed him and pulled him away into the crowd.”
“I believe those strange men were assassins,” Robert told her. “The first one most likely meant to kill you, my love.”
She felt lightheaded for a moment. “What?” she whispered.
“From now on there will be more men stationed out side, and you will only leave in a carriage with a full armed guard, and only when necessary. Understood?” he asked.
“Yes, I understand,” she agreed. “I promised Simon as much earlier. But who was the other man? The one who stopped him?”
“I’m not sure. I dare not hope one of them is actually on our side,” he said. “For now, we will treat them all as hostile. My main concern is keeping you safe. You and Christian.”
“Oh, Robert,” she whispered.
She was about to kiss him when there was a shout from Simon’s room. Both she and Robert sat up immediately, their intimacy torn apart by the broken cry.
“Simon,” she said, though it was clear Robert knew it as well as she.
In seconds he was off the bed. He grabbed his robe and was out the door so quickly she was sure he hadn’t had time to put it on. She was clumsier than he, unable to spring into action from the lethargy of sexual satisfaction with such alacrity. Her wrapper was securely tied before she dashed from the room and down the hall to Simon’s.
When she entered Simon’s room, shock stopped her in her tracks. Robert was sitting on the bed and Simon was in his arms, and Simon clung to him, both arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders. It took a moment to register that Robert was murmuring soothing sounds to Simon, rocking him gently, almost like he did with Christian when he woke in the night.
She caught Robert’s look above Simon’s head and she could see he was distressed. When she cautiously came closer, she could see that Simon was shaking, and his hair was plastered to his head with sweat.
“What’s wrong?” she asked quietly.
“N-nothing,” Simon stuttered, pushing away from Robert. “A stupid dream is all.” As he twisted away, he gasped and his hand went to his back.
“Your back,” Christy said, concerned. “Let me see it.”
“No.” Simon awkwardly gathered the sheet around him, looking pale and sweaty and miserable.
“Don’t be an idiot,” Robert said sharply. “Come here.” He held out his hand and stared Simon down. To Christy’s surprise, Simon relented, but on his terms.
“Fine,” he said. He pointed behind him. “Take a look.”
Christy looked at Robert, who nodded. She lit the lamp on the nearby table and walked around the bed. She’d seen it earlier, in the bath, so she was prepared for the sight of the angry red, puckered slash. But the cruelty of it still hit her like a fist in her stomach. She swallowed with difficulty before speaking.
“It looks…dry, I guess you would say. Tight. Is that how it feels?” she asked. She tentatively reached out and touched it lightly with her fingertips.
Simon flinched. “Yes,” he said. “Tight. That’s a good word for it. It feels like it’s going to tear apart every time I move.”
“I have some wound salve,” Christy said. “Not much. Or some kind of hand cream?” She really wasn’t sure what to put on it, but she knew it needed something with moisture.
“I have something. In my bag,” Simon told her. “The doctor gave it to me. It’s in a little glass jar.”
“I’ll get it,” Christy said. She set the lamp down and went to get it from his bag.
“How long since you’ve put it on?” Robert asked. “I doubt you can do it yourself.”
“No, I’m no contortionist. I guess since I got back.” Simon sounded tired. Not just sleepy tired, but bone-weary tired. Christy didn’t like the sound of him.
“I wish you had told me after your bath,” she said. “I would have applied it for you.” She blushed at the memory of what had occurred after his bath, hoping that Robert couldn’t see.
“Yes, well, I didn’t think of it at the time,” was all Simon said, bless him.
Christy started to put some salve on Simon’s back, but every time she touched him he jerked away.
“Here, lay down,” Robert said impatiently. “She can’t put it on with you flinching away like that.”
“Robert,” she chided.
“No, he’s right,” Simon said.
He slowly went down, first onto his hands and knees and then he was about to go to his stomach when both men realized that Robert was in the way. Simon was lying almost crosswise on the bed. Robert started to get up.
“No,” Simon said. “Stay there.”
Robert slowly sat back down where he’d been, his back up against the headboard.
“Put your feet up, too,” Simon said, gesturing.
Robert did as he was instructed. Christy didn’t say a word. Simon finally lay down, gingerly settling himself with his head resting on Robert’s thigh, his arms wrapped loosely around his waist. Robert had the look of a hunted deer, wild about the eyes as he looked between Christy and Simon.
“Not a word,” Simon said. “If I have to endure this torture, so do you. Hold onto my arms so I don’t flinch so much.”
Christy was trying very hard not to think about the fact that Robert was nude under this robe. She was quite sure Robert was trying very hard not to think about it either. The thought almost made her laugh.
“Um, I’m going to have to climb up on the bed to apply this,” she said apologetically. “I’m far too short to reach your back now.”
“I forgot what a little thing you are,” Simon muttered, sounding utterly
relaxed now that he was in Robert’s lap. “Go ahead.”
She peeked and could see that his eyes were closed. That made climbing up on the bed in her wrapper much easier, since she, too, was nude underneath. After she climbed up, she readjusted the robe to cover her exposed breasts and thighs. She looked up and met Robert’s amused gaze, and shrugged with a smile.
When she began to rub the salve into Simon’s back, he tensed beneath her hand. For several minutes his muscles were so tight he began to shake again. Christy was as gentle as she could be. Eventually she felt the tension leaving him as she massaged the thick unguent in. It smelled like lavender and honey, with the underlying unpleasantness of calendula, which wasn’t awful.
She looked up and saw that Robert wasn’t just holding Simon’s arms, he was rubbing them soothingly. A quick glance at his face convinced her he wasn’t even aware he was doing it. But he was watching Simon resting in his lap with the oddest look on his face.
“That feels good now,” Simon mumbled.
“What?” she asked, confused at first. “Oh, good.”
“Tell us about the dream,” Robert told him quietly.
Simon tensed under her hands again. “Just a stupid dream.”
“I don’t think so,” Robert said. “Try again.”
“My back feels better.”
Simon moved as if to get up. Christy quickly straddled his thighs, preventing it.
“Simon, tell us what upset you so,” she urged him. “We want to help.”
“No one can help,” he said harshly. “Get off of me.”
“Tell us about the dream,” Robert said again. “It will feel better if you tell us. It will lose its hold on you.”
“What do you know of dreams like that?” Simon asked angrily. “Damn it, Christy, get off me. I don’t want to hurt you.” He moved his legs and then froze. “Christ. Are you naked under that?”
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