by Raven, Sandy
She gave him a curious look, thinking perhaps he'd tell her what she might do differently or better to please him.
"Shall I withdraw, or soak a French letter?" he asked. She must have appeared ignorant, when he added, "to protect you from becoming with child. Surely your husband..."
At his words, emotion churned into a whirling maelstrom inside her. She wanted a babe so desperately and he thought to prevent that from happening. Her husband wanted her to have the child of her heart while he was still alive so he could once again protect her from gossip. Because in the eyes of the law, their society, and the church, this child would belong to her husband, no matter who actually sired it.
She sat up on the bed and faced him, knowing she was adding to the growing list of sins she must confess when next she went to church in Baltimore. "In six years of marriage I have been unable to conceive, so I do not think getting with child now is a likelihood." She wiped a tear with a fist, as prayed for forgiveness for her lies while at the same time begging God for a child. "I don't think you need to fear that happening."
He took her hand and drew her down alongside him again where held her tight to his chest. "I am sorry for that, Mary, truly I am."
"Please say you still find me desirable, because... I want you and need you, Lucky." She just hoped he never learned how desperately she needed him. Her hand traced a path from his shoulder down his rippled chest where her fingers paused to draw a circle around his nipple, smaller and flatter than her own, before venturing lower, over his tight muscled abdomen, until his hand stopped hers.
She gave him what she hoped was a seductive pout. "You can touch my private areas, yet I cannot touch yours? That seems unfair."
Lucky took a deep breath. "Fine." He exhaled. "Go ahead."
His manhood leaped when she reached for it. One soft hand played in the curls at the base of his shaft and the other wrapped around it. He placed his hand over hers and slid them both up and down his shaft until she got the rhythm. After just a few strokes he stopped her.
"Why?" She shot him a worried look. "Am I doing something wrong? Am I hurting you?"
"Not at all." His head fell back as his eyes closed, and he groaned, sucking in a deep breath.
"Then why?" She looked at the male member she held in her hand and released it when she saw a pearl of liquid at the tip. "I am hurting you."
"No. That felt wonderful, but the pressure is building within me and I need to be inside you."
He leaned over her and kissed her deeply while he reached between her legs and her body arced into his hand wanting more of his touch. "Straddle me," he murmured before lying on the bed.
She moved over him, grabbing onto the ledge at the head of the bed while his fingers worked magic on her once more. While he did so, she moved instinctively in the motion he needed. Rain continued to fall outside and while it did, he pushed two fingers deep, stretching her first, then moving them deeply and rhythmically until he brought her to another trembling climax.
Mary-Michael collapsed onto him, trying to catch her breath. Lucky kissed the top of her head, his breathing just as ragged as hers. Could it be that he was just as affected by their lovemaking as she? Really?
"You're so tight," he growled. "When was your last time?"
She lifted her head from his chest and met his gaze, knowing she was adding to the list of lies, but remembering the words Becky had told her. "He's likely to recognize that you've never been with a man, but you can say it's been a long time. That would account for your discomfort and the slight blood from breaking the maidenhead."
Mary-Michael tried her best to show no fear. "Two years. But before that, I was a dutiful wife."
She saw the desire in his eyes, and he gave her a slight nod. "Lift up a bit," he said. He then placed the head of his manhood at her entrance, holding it in place. "Now slide down onto me." She did, taking him in slowly, stopping frequently. It unnerved her that he watched the expression on her face each time she stopped, as though he wanted to find a reason to stop. She couldn't let him think she was uncomfortable. "Are you okay?"
"Yes," she said. Her voice sounded strained even to her own ears.
"Perhaps we should..." She wasn't going to give him an opportunity to stop. Just as his hands slid down her waist, she seated herself fully on his full length, biting her lower lip to keep from crying out as she did.
"Oh, yes." She whimpered as she rested a moment, acclimating herself to the size of him.
"Damn," he ground out. "Give a man a warning, next time."
She shuddered as his manhood throbbed within her. Once the burning subsided, and all she felt was the fullness of him inside her, she began to move in the rhythm of passion that her friend said would take over their actions. Without knowing how she did it, her inside walls squeezed him, and he groaned. She hoped he liked that, and that she was pleasing him.
He began to move beneath her, slowly at first, then increasing the passion and intent, their act ancient and primal. A keening cry escaped her lips, and Mary-Michael heard herself begging him not to stop. With an upward buck, he rolled her beneath him and began to move within her at a faster, driving pace.
She wrapped her legs around him and he groaned into her ear, his hot breath sending a shiver over her entire body.
"Yes, my sweet," he whispered. He must have felt the change in her, her coiling emotion, her desire for release growing more intense, because he increased the depth of his thrusting, and within minutes she shattered beneath him.
He grasped her head and kissed her, taking her screams into his mouth, just as her entire body tightened around him uncontrollably. With one last deep thrust, he shuddered over her, giving her his explosive climax deep within her.
Tell me about your childhood," Lucky asked several hours later, and sated from a second round of lovemaking. "Do you remember your parents? I don't remember mine."
She sat on the opposite end of the bed facing him with her feet tucked under her. Her tousled hair tumbled over her bare shoulders, and if her lips seemed fuller than usual, it was because he'd kissed and nibbled them while he worshiped her body over the past several hours. Seeking a repast to nourish them because they'd let their dinner go cold, he'd gone to the galley to get the tray of sliced fruit Talley had prepared for them before seeking his hammock. Upon returning with their food, he'd found the covers thrown over the bed, and Mary waiting, wrapped in the sheet, and nothing else. He found the image very enticing, and his cock stirred. It had been mere minutes since she rolled off of him and already he wanted to make love to her again. He had to rein in his baser instincts for the lady's comfort, for it had obviously been a long time for her.
"Vaguely. I remember them vaguely. I could not understand how they could be fine and healthy one day and dead two days later." She fiddled with the sheet, rolling a corner before lifting her amber-eyed gaze to meet his. She sighed deeply, as though she'd given this a great deal of thought and was still confused. "And why did the fever take both Mama and Papa, and not me and Mama, or George and Papa? But I was a child—only eight when they died—I didn't understand much about anything. They worked hard, Mama for Mr. Cordray, a dry goods merchant a few blocks from here, and Papa for Mr. Watkins. Mr. Cordray rented the apartment above the store to Papa in exchange for Mama working there. They dreamed of buying a home here in Indian Point and..." Her voice drifted off. A moment later after tempering her emotion, she continued. "Well, they passed away and George and I were forced to move on so Cordray could rent the apartment again."
"Why did you go to the children's home? Were there no relatives?" Lucky was always thankful that he'd had Lia. After he'd learned the full story of what had occurred to them after their parents' death, it made him appreciate his sister much, much more.
"None. At first, we lived on the streets, in hiding, for several months. We slept wherever we found shelter, until we were discovered and run out. Then we'd move on to another building, until eventually ending up at the church."
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br /> She turned wistful and reminiscent, gazing over his shoulder at the lantern hanging on the beam, avoiding his eyes as though she was ashamed of her circumstance. "We spent the first winter without our parents living in a barrel we found. We carried, rolled and pushed it under the church, then covered it with a canvas. I stole blankets and pillows from people's laundry lines in order to make our little home nice and cozy that winter." She shook her head, as though wanting to shake off the memory of the time. "Obviously, I'm not proud of it now. We were cold, and went hungry a great deal. While George tried to find odd jobs a ten year old could get for pay, I stole food. My brother couldn't bring himself to do it. I'd snatch an unattended pie cooling in a window, or loaf of bread that was just inside the door of the baker's shop, and I'd run back to share it with him." Her voice dropped to a whisper as she continued. "Some of the people here, they're superstitious. And when they caught a glimpse of us moving around under the cover of night, they'd think we were spirits or ghosts."
She paused, obviously reflecting. This was difficult for her, he could tell, as she appeared to choose her words carefully. She'd held so much back from him during the week, trying to keep him at a distance, that now that she was willing to share, he didn't dare stop her. He wanted to know everything about her, from how she'd married Watkins, to how she'd come into this unconventional profession.
"That was a particularly cold and wet winter and I caught a terrible cold. One evening, Father Douglas heard me coughing through the floorboards when he was in prayer. He dragged us out—kicking and screaming I might add—then fed us, then sent us to the children's home, where we were immediately separated. We were not allowed to live together, being different genders."
Lucky remembered when his aunt told him that Lia had run away from them to join some band of gypsies or something. He couldn't believe she'd do such a thing and leave him behind, and as it turned out she hadn't. Both he and Mary had suffered a difficult childhood, but both of them had persevered and overcome the circumstance. Hers being the more difficult of the two.
"That was perhaps the most painful thing I've ever gone through." Her eyes filled with tears and she wiped them before they spilled over. "Losing my parents hurt, but they were together and that was a small consolation to my child's mind. In the whole world, all I had left was George and suddenly we could no longer live as brother and sister. I was only eight. We saw each other every Sunday at church.
"We were up for adoption for several years with no one interested in us." His heart broke for the little girl she'd been, having to survive such an ordeal. Her eyes were shut tight, as though she refused to let a single tear slip past them, and she inhaled a shaky breath before continuing. Her voice cracked when she spoke. "George had an opportunity to have adopted parents, but he told Father Douglas that he wouldn't go unless they took me, too. Later, one of the girls in the village told me I would never get adopted because I had freckles and red hair."
He could tell this entire conversation was difficult for her. "I think your freckles and hair are beautiful," he said.
She kept her eyes downcast and was reluctant to meet his gaze. He reached out to touch her, but in an attempt to avoid him she scooted off the bed, taking the sheet with her. With the sheet tucked under her arms, she went to the table and poured water into a glass, then motioned to him asking if he'd like one. He declined, thinking they needed something stronger than water. He then went to the cupboard where he stored his wine, poured a glass and took a sip.
He slid the tray of fruit to his end of the table before taking a seat on the bench. He popped a raspberry into his mouth. "Exactly how old is Spenser?" He asked this, rather than what he really wanted to know—why she'd married him. Lucky didn't think there was a polite way to ask that question. Besides, in the dealings he'd had with Spenser during the week, Lucky had decided the man was quite sharp and amiable as well.
She sat in the chair opposite him and fingered the rim of her glass—still not looking at him. "He's sixty-eight years old."
Lucky said nothing, thinking to let her say what she wanted or needed in that moment. She chose to tell him about her husband.
"And he has had an interesting life. He, too, was orphaned as a child. It was something we had in common, aside from designing ships. His mind, Lucky, is constantly working. It's amazing, really. He is a veritable wealth of knowledge for someone like me just starting out in this industry. He can see a drawing and tell me where I might have to rework something because of a potential flaw in my design. He will explain it so I know why there's a problem and how I can engineer a fix." Lucky thought he heard a hitch in her breathing just before she closed her eyes. "Though he's tried to teach me everything he knows, I'm afraid that it's virtually impossible. I know the day is soon to come when I will not have him to consult with on my designs, but he has confidence in me to carry on with the shipyard. Probably more than I have in myself."
She was silent a moment and when she spoke next, her voice quavered with emotion. "His heart is truly the most generous of any you will ever meet."
He nodded in silent agreement, especially after what he witnessed in the church earlier in the week when Spenser gave her brother a bundle of what he presumed was cash for the children's home. After taking another sip from his glass, he offered her the rest. She shook her head.
"I insist," he said. "A few sips might help you relax."
"No, thank you. I should be going soon. I cannot chance being seen." She paused and smiled. "Though they'd likely think I was some spirit or ghost again. Some people in these parts—in my opinion, the ones who imbibe a wee bit too much—are superstitious."
He smiled. She was no spirit or ghost, this he knew. Mary Watkins was every bit flesh-and-blood, woman. "I'll have you home before sunrise, my lady. I promise."
"I need to be home well before sunrise," she said. "I have to attend church later."
"As should I," he added, knowing he had to beg forgiveness for encouraging her to break her vows with him.
"We cannot go together. We can meet in the church, exchange a greeting and you may sit nearby, though not in the same pew as me." She took his wine glass and sipped from it. "I still have a husband and even though you and I have been..."
She appeared uncomfortable with the word, so he filled in for her. "Lovers?" he whispered. Her eyes grew wide as she stared at him, as though just realizing the gravity of their affair.
"I was going to say intimate, but there's not much difference is there?" She sipped the wine again, and gave him an awkward smile. "I will not shame my husband."
"You mean any more than we already have?" Lucky realized that, as the one to initiate the affair, he couldn't make demands on the parameters she set. He should abide by her rules, even though something inside him insisted this was more than an affair—that more would come of this relationship, and that Mrs. Watkins was more than just an available woman in the latest port.
He nodded, then stood and extended a hand to Mary. "Come, let's sleep for a few hours. I shall wake well before time for us to leave."
Lucky stretched out on the bed, and patted the mattress next to him.
She stretched out beside him, lying in the crook of his right arm as he caressed her linen-covered back and bottom with gentle strokes until she slept.
Usually it didn't matter what time Mary-Michael went to sleep, she was wide awake at the very first streaking of light in the sky. This morning was no different. Except when she attempted to stretch, her arms bumped into the fully-muscled hardness of this man who was her lover until Monday morning.
That's when reality sank into her sleep-deprived brain. She was still in Lucky's cabin, aboard Avenger with the man and the memories of what they'd done. Oh, dear God in heaven. And, on top of that, she overslept! Glancing out the open porthole, she saw the glowing gray fog on the bay as the sun rose. She slowly raised her leg off of his and attempted to untangle herself from his embrace. Of course this caused Lucky to stir as well and his arm
tightened around her. Damn. She had to get out of here. How was she going to get by him and into her home before the entire village woke?
The rain must have stopped while she slept, and the gulls were starting their morning calls, which would mean there would soon be people heading to the early morning church services. She had to leave. Now. She tried to roll off the side of the bed, hoping it wouldn't stir her bedmate. No such luck. His arm reached for her, cupping a bare breast.
"I must hurry," she said, pushing his hand away. Mary-Michael slipped off the bed quickly before he could catch her, and she began to search for her clothing in what little light there was coming through the portholes.
"Mmm... How are you feeling?" He rolled onto his back and stretched his arms behind his head, looking for all the world like an Adonis. One she hoped was discreet now that the affair had begun.
"Fine," she replied, unwilling to tell him about the soreness between her legs. "I must leave now, Lucky. People will be moving about soon, and I have to get inside my house before anyone sees me." She found her chemise and Lucky's smalls, tossed them on the bed. Her dress was next, but her drawers and stockings eluded her. "Lucky, please help me find the rest of my clothing," she whispered. "And my shoes..." she scanned the floor of the cabin, "I don't know where they are."
Mary-Michael searched behind the privacy screen in the corner of his cabin and found her drawers, then made quick work of putting both that and her chemise on. Why wasn't he helping her? As her chemise slid over her head she tried to remember where they were when Lucky removed her stockings. And her shoes. She needed to find her shoes! She couldn't walk through the shipyard without her shoes.
Lucky came to her, holding her stockings. "You could spend the day here, with me." The look on his face told her he was sincere in his offer. If her life was different, if she didn't have responsibilities to her husband and his shipyard, she could see herself spending an entire day in this man's bed, in his arms, making love again as they had during the past night.