by Gayle Eden
It felt like home to her, Whitestone. She was quite damp eyed after the staff greeted their arrival so effusively and affectionately. She could tell that Van Wyc enjoyed it also. This was a home he had chosen, and one he would enjoy for many years to come.
They settled in, bathed and dressed, shared lunch and then went their separate ways, Van Wyc to estate business first, and then to the study to account books and correspondence. Herself—touring the garden and herb patch, meeting with staff, and then settling in the parlor with a ripping good novel.
A day of that, relaxing, catching up, and her mind was drifting to her husband. The second evening Val finished all she had planned early and took a long bath—her mind drifting to the intimacy with Archard.
Scented and clean, she brushed her hair, tied it back, and slid on a silken robe to sit and finish her coffee, before she went in search of him. She found him in the study.
Opening the door, she spotted him, not at the desk, but on the leather sofa, his booted feet on a low table, and surrounded by open books.
Padding inside, Val thought she entered unnoticed until his head turned, his light eyes going up and down her.
“Am I disturbing you?” She paused by a chair, hands resting on the back.
He was still visually tracing her, his eyes going over that purple silk robe until he discerned there was nothing under it.
“Not at all.” Archard pushed the books aside and got to his feet. He wore a half-opened shirt with rolled up sleeves and supple tan trousers. His gaze captured hers. “You wanted something?”
Val swallowed and nodded, hoping he could read her eyes this time too. Now that she was here, looking at him, she could not bring herself to say it... and say what exactly.
He did read her motive, apparently, with some amazement in his own gaze. Archard’s nostrils flared. He said, “I need a bath, a shave. Shall I join you in an hour?”
She felt her body sag in relief. “Yes. Have you eaten?”
“Yes. Wine...?”
“I’ll see it brought up.”
He reached her, his hand lifting to smooth over her hair while he gazed down at her. Archard lowered his head, kissed her softly—and then left her.
Breathing a shaky sigh, doing some mental muttering, Val went to fetch the wine and glasses. He wanted her. She needed to learn how to express her want of him. Very well, so she likely would not verbalize it so well. Rejection, just the thought of it, was crushing.
Do shut up, Val. It worked. He will be coming to you. Whatever happens, happens. And, you will very likely enjoy it. Right. Bloody shut up and get about it, then.
In their chambers, she lit candles and opened the windows to fresh air—eyeing the bed and feeling her body stir. Her mind assured her it would not hurt. It would not be like (that) with him. She wanted this. She desired this closeness— because she needed to get over this hurdle. Very well, it was not only that, it was what her body instinctually craved, though a great part of her feared it. Val did not want to feel that anymore. She wanted to face it. She knew by now that Archard could help her do that.
Val poured herself a glass of wine and sat on the edge of the bed, sipping, feeling the scented breeze waft over her, letting the candlelight sooth her, the memories of how good his kisses tasted—how he’d pleasured her beyond thought, stir her. It had, it did, whenever it drifted through her thoughts. It worked now as well. Her nipples shrank, sensitized. Her skin blanked with sensual chills. She was warm in that newly recognized, aroused, way.
A soft click reached her. Val gazed over as Archard entered the candlelit chamber.
The door was closed, locked, whilst his gaze clung to her. He padded across and stood close, as he had to reach over and pour his wine. He looked rather glorious, she thought. Her blood flushed to the surface her skin. He wore nothing but a scrap of toweling low on his hips.
Starting at his feet, her eyes moved over him whilst he drank from the glass. Long, muscled legs, powerful ones, no scrap of linen really screened what she knew was covered at the hips. His torso was deep honey skinned, honed and defined, male nipples dark and standing out. When her gaze reached his face, Archard was watching her.
Val rose to her feet and leaned to set down her glass. She undid the robe belt, and let the garment fall from her body.
Archard stepped back, his gaze dropping, moving over her nude body in a way that made that flush deepen. He lingered in places. By the time, he met her gaze again, there was no mistaking he was aroused, and pleased—enjoying her uncovered form.
His hand on the loose knot of the toweling, he whispered, “Don’t ever be afraid of me, Val. I won’t hurt you.”
“I know.” Her breath was stolen by his nudity, by the sheer perfection of his tall brawn.
He drained his glass. Archard set it down. She caught a glimpse of his tight buttocks, indented at the side, muscled—and only slightly lighter in color than the rest of him. He stepped close again and reached for the tie of her hair, undoing it leisurely, before he brought her close, skin to skin, for an embrace.
Her head reached below his collarbone. Her curves once feeling so much larger than most women seemed to fit perfect against his size and strength. Val put her arms around his neck, her nipples teased by the contact. She felt his hand skim down her hair, under it, soothing her back. He nudged for her to lift her chin.
She wanted the kiss, wanted and needed to feel and taste him. Archard kissed her with more passion and more sweetness than ever before. A man’s kiss, lovers, and yet there was an assuring in it. More kisses came, with touches, caresses. When his mouth skimmed her ear, her hands began to touch him too. The pace was unhurried at first, sultry and sluggish. Val pressed her lips to his strong throat, his chest, making her way to his nipples, feeling his tension coiling, though he murmured encouraging, husky phrases.
Archard massaged her backside, her breasts. She was trembling, rubbing her face against his skin, hands skimming up his back. Val felt him grasp her by the waist, lift her, and then carry her two steps to the bed.
He lowered her onto it. His body and skin felt so good that his size did not frighten her as she feared. He lay propped, with one leg between her own, kissing her soft and nibbling at her neck. She felt his firmness, the heated dew on his velvet skin, his sex against her hip, hot and hard.
Archard massaged and kissed her breasts, making her arch, sigh, and moan too, before he was done. His tongue made a dragging line down her ribs to her navel. Archard skimmed his mouth sensually over her belly and sides, then across her hips.
Her scented skin dewed, her hand reached, grasping his hair while she arched and moved. He kissed her thighs, down her legs, back up and to the curls between them. She was teased by small kisses and nuzzling there. A little feverish. Val part her legs.
Archard raised his head, eyes showing his pleasure at her offering. Shifting to the side of her hip, he let his fingers tease her, stroke her, while watching her face. “Do you want?”
“Y...yes.”
“Now?” He found that spot and rubbed.
“Now. Yes—now.” She let her lashes close, and felt him shift between her legs. Val did not think about how he spread them; spread her sex next with his fingers. She could not think at all once he began to lick her and suckle there. At times, she felt those fingers skim her, one entering her and drawing more dampness. His tongue was skilled, lips soft, breath warm, and this time he suckled where it felt the most intense, causing her climax to surge through her like shards of hot sunlight.
“Archard...oh...God.” She was shuddering all over, the climax squeezing and then releasing every muscle, sparking every nerve. On the downslide of the flight, Val lifted her heavy lashes, her quivering thighs against his firm hips. He covered her. Her hands grasped his powerful arms. Still, he did not thrust into her as she expected.
Weight on his forearms, his damp, fresh washed, mane framing his face, Archard kissed her loose and erotic. He brushed his sensual, dark peach lips across and
over her face, with smooth kisses. When her vision cleared somewhat from the fog of climax, he was waiting, watching her expression. He arched his hips enough to bathe the plump silken head of his sex in her slick heat. Despite the fact that tension showed all over him, Archard whispered, “Take me in, as you will.”
At first, Val was confused, expecting him to plow into her. However, he had risen, and she could look down their bodies too. His strong arms held him up, the ridges in his abdomen tight. Her smooth ivory legs were spread, knees slightly bent, his darker honey colored thighs all carved muscles, so masculine, between them.
Tentatively she arched her hips, the silken glide from her arousal making it easy to take inches inside. Peeking up again, she saw his gaze move from that joining to her own.
“Pain?”
“No.”
He swallowed and flexed, giving her an inch.
Her breath sucked in. “More.”
He gave her more.
Val closed her eyes, her fingers digging into his arms. He felt like slick silk, hot, wonderful. “It doesn’t hurt. It feels...incredible,” she sounded excited.
“Val,” he muttered tightly though eased deeper, breathing as dark and tight as her own now.
Amazed by the warm fullness, the sensations as each inch caressed her in there, the silken walls wanting to grasp and pull him deeper—Val arched her hips, taking him. Groaning again, she switched her hold to his lower hips. “This is...”
“Yes.” He lowered himself a little and began to make circular motions with his hips.
“Oh—mmmm—Oh—God,” Val uttered that in the back of her throat louder than she intended. Pleasure was rushing up her spine and through every inch of her sex. When he pulled back and thrust, giving her all of him, as measured as it was, it drew a gasp and whisper from her.
Panting somewhat heavy, Archard managed, “Raise your legs, higher, tighter against me.”
She did that, her nails sinking into flesh as it drove him deeper still.
He began to thrust, measured, rocking into her. Even though she was caught up in exquisite pleasure, Val could feel his body rigid and burning—feel the control he was exercising in a massively brawny frame. Muscle and sinew rippled, bunched, and shifted with his movements.
Realizing no pain would come; she relaxed any guard, swept up by the feel, and the knowledge, that it was Archard’s sex inside of her, making her experience such incredible pleasure. Val began to move subtly with him.
“Christ,” he muttered above her. His hands came down, fitting under her buttocks while he went in again, ground and circled, pulled out and did it repeatedly.
Panting, near sobbing, Val took everything he gave with abandon. She was so caught up in it that, when he swelled tightly inside and climaxed, she did not notice, so overwhelming was the whole thing, until shudders worked over his large frame.
He eventually eased out of her.
Cool air wafted over their bodies. Val arose when he did, albeit on weak legs, and with a foggy head, to clean herself up.
Archard picked her up afterwards, taking her back to the bed, kissing her, stroking her, not giving her time to calm before he was thick and hard—and inside of her again. This time she arched her neck to watch his face. He looked down at her with each thrust. She touched him, arched into him. Both could see the pleasure was mutual and intense. Near the end, he gathered her and rolled, keeping her atop him and setting her up.
Val saw his tawny hands fill with her big breasts. She moved to his arching hips, instinctual, natural, and though her hair was a mess around her face and shoulders, she never let her gaze leave him—wondering—in some part of her, how beautifully primal he was, how exquisite his body could make her feel.
At his climax, Archard sat up and suckled her nipple. Her hands tangled in his mussed mane too. His moan and her groan mingled—faded—while the climax decelerated.
He embraced her tightly then, as if to hold them together forever.
Later, hours into the night, Val sat on the furs at the end of the bed, watching him sleep. She was crying, weeping for her old self, and releasing emotions she had never put into words or shared with anyone. This giant of a man, strong and yet giving, reached a part of her she had not known existed.
She wept for the past pain and ignorance, the degradation Leland heaped on her, but mostly for the relief in finding out for herself she was a normal woman, capable of pleasure. Leland had not stolen that ability from her forever. Weight seemed to lift from her spirit and soul. She was feeling… fulfilled…a woman’s pleasure, and not a little amazement.
Not so long ago she had no esteem, only the pride she could suck up and summon to keep the world from seeing how broken she felt. Not so long ago, she had feared intimacy. It seemed only recently she’d feared not only seeing disappointment in Van Wyc’s eyes too, but that it would be a repeat of Leland, never pleased, never satisfied, always tearing her down…And the things she could not even tell her sisters back then, she knew that Van Wyc knew, had witnessed much of it….the worst. She dreaded that too.
However, from the moment they had taken steps to intimacy he seemed to view, feel, and treat her differently. He treated her like a wife, partner, lover, and oh—God… but as horrid as it made the past look by contrast, it also made her feel mended, whole, at least human again.
At some point, Val calmed and went to her pillow.
Archard’s arm circled her. He pulled her back against him. In sleepy tones he murmured, “I won’t tell you not to weep. It is your right. But I cannot bear to see you do it.”
She covered his hand on her breast, and sighed. “There was some joy in those tears…”
“I know, woman.” He sighed too and pulled her tighter to him. “I know.”
Yes, she believed that he did, know.
* * * *
The following morning, when she awoke, Val had her bath and then dressed in a light summer gown. Archard entered the chambers, carrying a breakfast tray, looking as if he had been up for some time.
“Would you like to join me in the study?”
“Yes. Since I distracted you from your task. What were you working on?”
He sat down and poured them coffee, then set their plates on the small table. “Account books and such. Some for the business here, some for the others I oversee...”
“I’d like to help.” She sipped her coffee.
“You’re more than welcome to. I’ll give you the work I detest doing.” When she grinned, he smiled back wryly before he began eating.
Breakfast consumed and two coffees, she then went below with him and perched on the edge of the desk while he went through the stacks: papers and letters, list of entries that he had to make into the account books, and so on.
Val took her work to the sofa, where he joined her later, doing his own on the opposite end. When she completed something, she handed it over for his approval. He scanned it, winked at her and set it on the table with the completed ones. This went on most of the day, the servants bringing refreshment, and the both of them taking breaks, sometimes reading one of the papers he had, or a magazine.
At some point, Val had her slippers off, her back against the sofa arm. She peeked over the edge of the account book and studied Archard. Her gaze went over his high, broad, cheekbones, the strong nose and sensual lips. He had one side of his hair tucked behind his ear and was frowning slightly whilst scanning an article on sheep. Her lips curved into a smile as his brow rose, and then the frown came again.
Letting the book drop to her lap, she simply contented herself with watching him. After a while, he looked up, caught her, and the magazine went flying over the back of the sofa. Stretching, he reached for her ankle, tugging her.
“Archard...” She laughed, and then yelped.
“Hum.” He was smiling wickedly.
“The door isn’t locked...”
He had her where he wanted and crouched over her. “I told them not to disturb us.” He began skimming her
skirt up her leg.
Val eyed that grin, felt that hand cup her buttock. “You’ve work to do.”
“Um. A husband’s work.” He leaned down and nibbled her lips, then whispered in her ear, “I find watching you add accounts extremely arousing.”
She laughed though it was part nervous, partly aroused too. It was still broad daylight out and the French doors were opened...
“Are you feeling the thing?’ he asked after kissing her breathless.
“What?”
He arched a brow. “Not tender or sore?”
“No.” She flushed. ….
Archard had her flat on the couch, his thigh between hers. Between that muss of a mane hanging downward, his eyes sparked a lighter blue. “Shall we go up and undress, or can I take you here?”
Shivering Val whispered, “I don’t… know—”
He moved off her, but only to help her to her feet and lead her to the far end—where the long tables and shelves were. In an alcove, by a stained glass window, he kissed her dizzyingly and lifted her onto the ledge.
“Here!” Val gasped, spreading her legs for his seeking hand, her skirts up. “You want to….”
“—Here.” He found her sex with his hand and pet and stroked it while kissing her, biting soft on her neck too. Juices flowing, overwhelmed, excited, Val kissed and nibbled back, her hands moving over his sides and broad shoulders. He kept stroking her, making her so very wet and building that tension
When she was near climax and panting hotly, Archard pulled the ties of his trousers, freed his sex— and lifted her to him. “Hold on to me.”
She did. He lifted, lowered her, until he was deep inside, and then lifted her again. He had her moaning and half out of her head in moments.
Archard leaned her against the ledge, and hands full of her lush backside he went in and out faster, his husks and whispers as uncontrolled as her own, his hips grinding up and in deep, his breath in the alcove tight and dark.