by Jane Goodger
Behind her, Mitch groaned. “Are you trying to torture me? Just the thought of having such easy access . . .” He groaned again, pulling her against his erection, putting his hot mouth against the nape of her neck, before starting on her laces, cursing beneath his breath. “My hands are shaking,” he said in disbelief. “If I had my knife, I swear I’d slice right through these strings.”
“You wouldn’t dare. This is my favorite corset. It’s so pretty. Did you see the little florets around the top?”
Mitch grunted something that sounded like a negative response. Genny gradually felt the corset loosen, so apparently Mitch was having some success. “When we’re married,” he said, “your maid is going to do all this and when I come in, you’ll already be naked.”
“I can’t walk around naked,” Genny said, laughing. “I’ll have on my nightdress.”
“One that’s easy to take off,” he muttered, just as he completed the task.
“The rest is simple,” Genny said. She undid her petticoat, letting it drop unceremoniously into the growing pile at her feet. Tillie would be horrified by her treatment of her clothes, but at the moment, Genny didn’t much care. Right now, she was watching as Mitch made quick work of his own clothing. He wore only shoes and socks, a jacket, a collarless shirt, pants, and underclothes. In a flash, he was naked and Genny found herself staring at what had to be male perfection. Heavy slabs of muscle covered his chest and stomach, which were lightly covered with hair, just enough to run her fingers through if she had the inclination—which she did. She flattened one hand against his chest, marveling at the strength of him, the heat emanating from his body. His stomach was taut and ridged, a dark line of intriguing hair trailing downward. She followed the line, fascinated by how different his body was from hers, and he laid a hand on hers, stopping her exploration.
“Darlin’, if you keep that up, I’m afraid all my good intentions of taking it slow are going to go flying right out that porthole.”
She dropped her hand and continued her visual exploration, skipping past the middle part rather quickly, to note that his legs were long and muscular. Slowly, she made her way back up, allowing her curiosity to overrule her shyness, and finally looked at his man parts.
“What shall I call that?” she asked, staring at the hard length of him. It twitched and she let out a small, “Oh.”
“It’s a penis,” Mitch said, clearly suppressing a laugh, “but I figured you knew that already.”
Genny felt the warm rush of a blush stain her cheeks because she hadn’t known what it was called. If she thought about it at all, which was rare, she didn’t have a proper name for it. Why would she? She didn’t have a brother, and her father had certainly never enlightened her.
“I just call it my johnson.”
“Your johnson.”
“That’s when I’m being polite. When I’m not polite, I call it other things.”
Genny knew what making love entailed. Mitch was going to put his johnson, his large, long, thick johnson, inside her. And that’s about all she knew about making love, for whatever she did know she’d learned only from watching nature.
Mitch was naked, standing unabashedly in front of her, hands on his lean hips, and Genny had on only her chemise and bloomers. Not long ago, the thought of another person seeing her naked had seemed so strange. Madame Brunelle and Tillie, with their cavalier attitudes, had done away with any modesty she’d had. But Mitch was a different story altogether. Biting her bottom lip, she shimmied out of her bloomers, then pulled her chemise over her head. Naked. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, feeling the cool air wash over her body.
“My God, Genny. My God.”
The ship rolled a bit, and Genny stumbled toward Mitch, hitting him square in the chest. Immediately, his hands went around her and he held her against him. “The ocean is finally cooperating,” he said against her hair.
Oh, skin on skin was the most exquisite sensation. She might get used to this naked thing for it felt rather wondrous. Mitch let out a low sound, then kissed her, wrapping his arms fully around her, pulling her up and against him so that her feet no longer touched the floor. Within seconds, she was on the bed, Mitch on top, resting on his forearms so as not to crush her beneath his weight.
“Remember I said that wherever I touch you, I can kiss you,” he said, moving one finger from her jaw, down her neck, to the slope of her breast, and then, oh, finally, finally, to her sensitive nipple. She arched her back and let out a sound that had never escaped her lips before. She couldn’t help it. Never could she have believed that anything would feel as good as Mitch touching her.
“I wish I could tell you how beautiful you are.”
She smiled. “You just did.”
He bent and kissed her jaw, moving slowly down, following the path his finger had traced, and Genny felt her insides clench in anticipation of what was next. He’d said he would kiss wherever his hand had been, and it seemed as if he was moving . . . oh, goodness, there, to her nipple. He kissed, then licked, then suckled and she cried out, brought her hands to the back of his head just in case he got the idea that her crying out meant stop when she never, ever wanted him to stop.
Then he kissed the other breast and slid his hand down her body, resting it on her thigh, inches from where all sensation seemed to pool. “Mitch,” she said, stunned by how her voice sounded. Even more stunned by the way she lifted her hips, inviting, begging, for him to touch her, to somehow relieve the exquisite pressure that was building inside her.
“I know,” he said, bringing his lips to hers. “I know.”
What do you know? Genny wanted to ask, would have asked, had he not touched her at that moment, right at the center of her.
“Yes,” she sighed. And then it seemed as if she lost control, lost sense of everything except his finger, moving against her, making her feel things she couldn’t have imagined just a few minutes earlier. She began moving her hips, unaware of why, but just knowing she had to, had to. “I need . . . oh, Mitch, I need . . .” And then it happened; her body grew taut, and a flood of such intensity enveloped her, and she was lost.
Slowly, she came back down, aware that Mitch was looking down at her and grinning. “I hardly got started, darlin’. You are a pure wonder.”
“What was that? It was wonderful.”
“You climaxed.”
“It was quite nice.”
He put his hand between her legs, the heel of his hand pressing lightly, and she lifted her hips experimentally, gasping at the sensation. “I’m going to make love to you now. Are you sure you want to do this? We could wait until we’re married. It just might kill me if you say no, but I’ll stop.”
“Why would I want to stop?” she asked, and pulled him down for a kiss, feeling his smile against her mouth. Mitch moved between her legs, touching her, inserting a finger, his eyes closed. She tensed at the invasion, but relaxed when he kissed her. “I love you,” he said, and she felt something larger there. He pushed inside, just a bit, and it felt as natural as breathing, so she shifted her hips. Mitch, shaking above her, let out a curse and pushed all the way inside her, letting out a long, low moan. It hurt, a burning sensation that she hadn’t expected, for everything else about making love up to this point had been only pleasure, and she let out a small cry.
“I’m sorry, darlin’. I tried to go slow. I tried.” Then he started moving slowly, in and out, in a way that she understood. “Wrap your legs around me. Oh, Jesus.” He kissed her breasts, her mouth, her neck, thrusting, filling her. The burning sensation was replaced by another, far better one, and Genny started moving with him, trying to again reach that peak that had made her cry out. His thrusts became frantic, faster, right before he arched his back and let out a hoarse cry.
He rested his head next to hers, his breathing labored, his heart beating wildly. “I can’t wait to get married,” he said, laughing out loud.
“Is this what married people do all the time?”
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p; “It’s what we’re going to do all the time.” He kissed her before slowly withdrawing from her. It was so odd; she hadn’t realized how much he’d filled her until he pulled away. “Are you all right? Did it hurt too much?”
“Just a bit,” she said. “And then it started to feel good again.”
“It’s only the first time, you know. It won’t hurt again.”
“That’s good. It really was lovely, Mitch.”
“It really was.”
Mitch was drifting off to sleep, lulled by the movement of the ship and the best love-making he’d ever experienced, when a loud knock sounded on the door to Genny’s stateroom.
“Shit. Tillie.”
The two of them scrambled as best they could to dress, though any thought of having Genny climb back into her gown was immediately dismissed. Genny ran for the small wardrobe and pulled out a nightgown, slipping it over her head in a frenzy of movement, as if the cotton gown were attacking her. Mitch would have laughed if he hadn’t been so busying looking for his shirt.
“Miss Hayes,” Tillie called out. “Are you all right? Should I get the steward?”
Before Tillie could do anything as foolish as that, Mitch flung open the door. The look on Tillie’s face was priceless. In a matter of seconds, it was clear she had accurately assessed the situation and it was just as clear she was livid.
“You bounder,” she said, coming into the room, poking his chest with surprising strength. Damn, that hurt. “How could you, you snake. I trusted you. Genny trusted you.”
“Hold on a minute, Tillie, we’re getting married.”
Tillie looked at Genny, who stood like a frightened deer staring down the barrel of a rifle.
“We are,” Genny said.
Tillie crossed her arms. “Oh? Really? And where is the ring?”
“This wasn’t exactly planned,” Mitch said.
“I’ll bet it wasn’t. Are you all right?” Tillie said, rushing over to Genny to embrace her, then turning as if Mitch would pounce on Genny and have his way with her again.
“I’m perfectly splendid, Tillie. We’re engaged.”
Tillie snorted, and Mitch felt his temper start to slide. He took a deep breath. “Listen, Tillie, I know you’re upset, but please know I only have Genny’s best interests at heart.”
Another snort. “So, you’re going to live in a palace with her and her grandparents.”
Mitch was taken aback. He hadn’t really thought that far ahead. “I expect we’ll head back home and live in New York.”
“And make her give up on everything she’s entitled to? That’s having her best interests at heart?”
Mitch felt his cheeks flush. “We really haven’t had time to discuss the future beyond the fact we are getting married.” He pointed a finger at Tillie. “And if you snort again I’m going to plug your nose.”
Obviously, that was the wrong thing to say. Tillie, her dander already up so high it was likely floating above her head, stood up and marched over to him. Then she snorted like a bull in heat.
“Tillie, look,” Genny said, holding up the watch Mitch had left on the small side table near the bed. “He loves me.” Tillie looked at the opened watch, her expression softening slightly when she saw his watch case held the portrait of Genny he’d taken.
Tillie harrumphed, which was better than a snort, Mitch supposed. He was a bit embarrassed that she’d seen the picture and would no doubt recall the many instances when he’d pretended to be checking the time. He held out his hand and Genny gave him his watch with a cheeky little grin. Mitch knew when to leave best alone, so he looked past Tillie to where Genny stood, a smile still tugging at her lovely mouth. He wanted to go over and kiss her silly, but thought better of it when Tillie stepped into his line of vision. “I’ll see you in the morning, darlin’.”
“Bye, Mitch. I love you.”
“I love you too,” he managed to get out just before Tillie pushed him out the door and slammed it shut.
A sharply cold blast of air hit Mitch as he stepped out on the deck into a gray early morning. The seas were almost eerily calm after the storm the previous evening, and Mitch took a deep breath of salt-tinged air. He went to the railing, bracing himself against it, and looked out, letting the peace of the sea wash over him. She wasn’t leaving him. Every morning for the rest of his life, he would look over and see her smiling sleepily at him, and he’d be able to draw her into his arms. If he wasn’t the luckiest man on earth, he didn’t know who was.
Mitch, his steps lighter than they’d been in years, went down to third class, not even bothered by the sight of a rat slinking away in the gloom. He quietly entered his room and sat on his lower bunk, waking one of his bunkmates, a large Irish fellow named Ross McFadden who was visiting his family after being away for six long years.
“And where might you have been all night?” Ross asked, turning on his side to face Mitch. The two had become chums of a sort since the trip began, mostly because the other two men couldn’t speak much English. “These two,” he said, “had a rough night. Sorry for the stink.”
Mitch lay down on his bunk and flung his hands beneath his head, grinning like a fool. “I’m getting married,” he said.
“You don’t say,” Ross said, sounding as if such a thing were a commonplace announcement. “And who is the lucky lady? Don’t tell me it’s that girl you’ve been mooning after, the one in the fancy dress.”
Mitch frowned a bit, but refused to let the Irishman’s doubt lower his mood. “It is. She’s not what she seems.”
Ross let out a sound that reminded Mitch of the snorts Tillie had been emitting with such regularity. “All right. Who is she, then? Or didn’t you notice that you’re here in third class and she’s got a stateroom up top?”
“I noticed because I’m the one who paid for her room,” Mitch said good-naturedly. “It’s a long story and one I’m not inclined to go into right now. Just say congratulations and stop talking.”
Ross sat up. “This sounds like the kind of yarn my daddo used to tell. Let me guess. You’re the knight in shining armor, disguised as a poor slob, and she’s a princess who doesn’t realize she’s a princess until the knight rescues her.”
Mitch chuckled. “It actually is something like that.”
“Won’t end well.”
“It already has ended well. We’re getting married.”
“I’ll tell you what, boyo, I’ll give you that happy ending when I see her walk down the aisle holding a bunch of pretty flowers and you’re there waiting at the other end. Until then, you ain’t got a happy ending.”
Mitch’s mood could not be lowered by one skeptical Irishman. “I’m going to try to get some sleep.”
“You’re askin’ for trouble, my friend. If she likes pretty things and pretty dresses, you’re either going to be a very poor man trying to look rich or a middling poor man with a very unhappy wife.”
“Shut up,” Mitch said lightly, but the truth was, that last did bother him a bit. Genny did like the beautiful dresses he’d purchased for her. Who wouldn’t like the latest fashions and traveling in first class? On their trip home, there would be no stateroom for them unless her grandparents gave him a sizeable reward. And would they reward him at all when he was going to be taking her away from them soon after they’d been reunited?
Hell. He hadn’t thought of that. He was very nearly broke. He hadn’t considered paying the return passage for two of them, only himself and Tillie. He’d thought they would stay at a nice hotel when arriving in London, but he’d have to look for far lower accommodations. Though the ship had rooms for married couples, they were tiny and windowless, a far step down from the luxury of Genny’s current stateroom.
“She’s used to being poor,” Mitch said into the silence. That was true. She’d been starving when he’d found her. Surely she wasn’t a woman who would resent being poor after such a brief stint of living as if she weren’t. He smiled in the darkness. Genny wouldn’t give a fig.
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nbsp; “Mebbe you’re right. But I’ll tell you somethin’. Once you get a taste of how the other half lives, it’s awfully hard to go back. You think I’d like to live in the hovel I grew up in? In New Jersey, I’ve got myself my own farm, my own house. It’s mine. I got fifty dairy cows. Fifty.”
“Then why are you in third class?”
“Because I worked damned hard for every penny I have and I sure as hell ain’t going to waste a dime of it for some fancy bed. This is just fine. But would I live in a shack again, eatin’ rotten potatoes and bowin’ down to some landlord? The hell I would.”
Mitch pictured Genny back in the tiny cabin she’d been living in and smiled. Genny would be happy there. She’d be happy wherever the two of them were together. He was as sure of that as he was sure he loved her.
“You want to live in my old cabin?” Genny asked, slightly dismayed. They were standing on the deck watching as the land they’d been following for so many days began to slip out of sight until it was only a dark smudge on the horizon. When she’d seen Mitch standing at the railing looking so handsome, the wind buffeting his wavy brown hair, she couldn’t help but hug herself in pure joy. This man, this beautiful, wonderful, kind man was going to be her husband. She truly didn’t care where they lived as long as they were together. But her cabin? Why on earth would he want to go back there?
“I thought you loved your cabin.” He seemed surprised by her reaction, as if he’d forgotten how lonely the cabin was, how isolated. She would always think fondly of the time she’d lived there with her father—it was home—but she’d nearly starved to death. And she and her father had had more than one lean winter when they’d been only a few empty traps away from not eating. She would never wish those years away, but she would also never want to go back to them. Perhaps Mitch thought she missed it?
“I do love my cabin, but I also love eating a meal without having to hunt or trap it.” She let out a small laugh. “Did you have your heart set on returning?” Genny tried to keep the dismay out of her voice. “I thought you planned to open a photography studio in New York.”