The Blacksmith's Son

by Rebecca Thomas

  He’d slept with women before, but this would be different. Because Ally was different. This wouldn’t be bedding a willing whore for coin at some distant port of call he’d leave the next day.

  In this case, she would be leaving, not him.

  “All right. We’ll share a room then.” He hoped he sounded matter-of-fact in his response to her. He didn’t want to make assumptions, and he wouldn’t. They could share a room without anything untoward going on. It’s possible she was just being practical, and didn’t want him to spend more money than was necessary.

  …

  Once Ally made her decision to be with the captain…with Quentin…her heart sang in a way she couldn’t describe. Her insides fluttered with longing for his touch, his maleness, his protectiveness. She wanted to be one with him. She wanted to share everything a man and a woman could share.

  When they were riding, and she said they could share a room, the slate gray of his eyes took on a darker shade, but he said nothing. Now, they stood before the innkeeper securing a room. A room they would share. And her nerves were getting the better of her.

  She walked behind Quentin to their room upstairs, keeping her pace and demeanor as a young boy might, not one of a woman knowing she was about to make love to a man.

  The image of John, her deceased fiancé, rose up unexpectedly before her. She tried to remember the happy times between them, but at this moment, all she could see was his lifeless form and the cold emptiness of death. Would he forgive her? Would he think her wrong for sharing a bed with a man who wasn’t her husband, or who hadn’t professed his love for her like John had done?

  Quentin and Ally entered their spacious room. A fire burned in the stone hearth. He closed the door, removed his tall hat, coat, and waistcoat and reached out to grasp her hand. Willingly, she gave it to him. The muscles of his forearm bulged with life through his cotton shirt. He lifted her hand to his lips. The warmth of his breath tickled and delighted her.

  “I respect your wishes. Whatever you decide, I will honor.” He kissed the back of her fingers with a promise of what was to come. “If you want your own room, you’ve only to ask, and it will be yours.”

  She’d made up her mind about what she wanted, and she wanted Quentin Drake. He offered her a chance to leave England and her troubles with Linford behind. And so much more.

  A knot formed in her chest, and she could barely speak. “I…I want to stay.”

  “Then stay.” The longing and invitation in his eyes was clear. “Let me order you a bath. Let me take care of you tonight.”

  For one night, she could let down her guard and let herself be a woman with this man. This man, who pulsed with life and made her feel alive.

  John would forgive her. After two years, she needed to allow herself to feel something again. She wanted to feel passion. A hunger welled up in her as she gazed into Quentin’s dark eyes. She wouldn’t leave England without knowing what it felt like to be with him.

  “I’d love nothing more.” She spoke in a soft undertone. “Thank you.”

  “I’ll fetch a maid right away.” He stared at her, a small amount of disbelief lining his eyes.

  Undressing quickly, she wrapped a cotton blanket around her body and sat behind the dressing screen.

  A knock sounded and Quentin moved to answer the door. His deep voice penetrated the thin material of the screen and caressed her skin. He instructed the maids to set the tub near the corner.

  She listened, hearing the splash of the water being poured into the tub. Rumblings of anxiety skittered up her spine. Several trips were made back and forth out of the room, but at long last, the door shut and all was quiet.

  From behind the screen, she gathered her courage and stepped into the open. She clutched the blanket tighter around her torso. Pulse racing, she willed herself toward the steam rising up from the copper tub. Soap and towels sat on the ledge of the hearth.

  The captain stood near the door. His presence dwarfed the tub, the bed, the entire room.

  “Ally, I’ll leave if you wish. I can give you privacy and be back in an hour. Or I can leave for the entire night.” His voice clung to her like a soothing silk robe. “I’ll do whatever you wish.”

  Had he misunderstood her? Was her invitation not clear? Ally wanted to be immersed in this man. She wanted to be taken care of and held. His kiss on her hand had pledged so much more than a bath. She paused, not quite sure how to ask for what she wanted, then said, “I-I’d like you to stay.”

  “Then I’ll stay.” The barely audible tone of his voice splayed across her skin like a warm breeze.

  He swallowed, and she watched the sinewy muscles of his throat flex. She asked, “Do you want to stay?” Holding her breath, she waited for his answer, needing to hear his response.

  His eyes never left hers. “I’ve never wanted anything more.”

  She stood before him wrapped up in nothing but a frayed blanket. She glided past him toward the bath as if she were a queen.

  Confident and feeling wonderfully brazen, she stopped in front of the tub with her back to him. She released the blanket and let it drop to the floor. Anticipation hummed through her veins. She blew out a breath and stepped inside the tub. Water splashed against the copper sides and echoed against the walls of the room. “This feels heavenly. Thank you for ordering this bath for me.”

  He didn’t emit a single sound.

  Keeping her body underwater, she moved to the other end of the tub and faced him.

  His booted feet appeared rooted to the wooden floor.

  “I tend to talk a lot when I’m nervous.” She reached for the soap on the ledge of the hearth, slid deeper into the warm water, and rubbed the bar between her hands. “If I talk too much, just tell me to stop.”

  Her pulse pounded in her ears as she chatted about her childhood and her horses.

  He merely nodded.

  She ran the soap up and down her arms. Placing her foot on the edge of the tub, she smoothed the suds over her leg. With each swish of water caressing her skin, she grew bolder. Soothing the lather over her breasts, she trembled against the deep longing rippling through her core. Her nipples hardened. She wanted—no needed—to feel his touch.

  “Quentin?” It was time to be daring. Her nerves, while still on edge, were manageable now. “Could you help me, please?”

  He cleared his throat and stood, unmoving. “How would you like me to help you?”

  The timbre of his voice made her tremble. She wanted his help in ways no proper woman would name. Neither inexperienced nor all-knowing in the ways between a man and a woman, she struggled with what to say and how to say it.

  “I was wondering…well, if you’d wash my hair.” Her jaws clenched in anticipation of his answer.

  “The problem is…” He shuffled a few steps to stand beside the edge of the tub. “I think you understand, I won’t stop with only washing your hair.”

  She understood all too well. Her insides quivered with eagerness for his touch, for his presence, for his masculinity.

  “Can we start with my hair first?” What she wanted stood right there, waiting for her to grasp. “Then we’ll see where it leads.”

  “I know where it will lead.” His response came quick. “Are you willing to go there with me?”

  Swallowing hard, she looked down at her nipples jutting out from beneath the water. A flush of heat rose across her face.

  “I…yes, I am.”

  “Then washing your hair is a great place to start.”

  He moved toward her. The bulge in his breeches couldn’t be mistaken for anything but what it was. He desired her. She licked her lips and wanted to say something, but words failed her. She felt giddy, like a girl much younger than her five and twenty years.

  He brought a wooden chair over and situated it behind her at the edge of the tub. “Wet your hair.”

  Even though he commanded her, she heard the raspy tone mixed with his instructions.

  She took a deep breath, h
eld it, and slid under the water. Slowly, she rose and pressed her back against the edge where Quentin sat. Her hair floated across the surface of the water.

  “Lean your head back,” he ordered.

  She complied and waited for contact between them.

  The ends of his fingers lingered along the nape of her neck. Her muscles quaked from the trace of someone else’s hands on her person. Butterflies erupted in her stomach. He massaged her scalp and the layers of her hair. Lilac and vanilla scents wafted from the soap. Stroking her temples, he gathered up the wayward tresses clinging to her shoulders.

  “You have beautiful hair.” His voice sounded gruff.

  Yearning rose up in her, along with the satisfaction of knowing he wanted her as much as she wanted him.

  The tender pulling and stroking of his fingers on her head put her in a trance. Nothing else but the feel of his hands existed. The water swirled around her, and her inhibitions slipped away. “Your hands are like magic.”

  He chuckled. “Dunk down and rinse all this soap off your hair.”

  “Do I have to?”

  His hands stopped their manipulations, and she longed to be in contact with him again.

  “All right. I’ll do as you say.”

  “That’s my girl.” The smooth timbre of his voice swathed her like a babe in a fluffy cotton blanket.

  She quivered. Her heart beat faster when she twisted around to face him. The chair was pushed back as he pulled off his Wellingtons and socks. Standing now, he assessed her with his gaze before crossing his arms and lifting the white shirt off his broad shoulders. The man only wore his doeskin breeches. A swatch of dark brown hair centered the contours of his chest muscles. Trim lean hips and muscular thighs framed each side of his erection.

  She swallowed and licked her lips.

  “Are you ready for me to join you?”

  A pulsing fervor rose from inside her chest and threatened to stifle her. “Yes—I think I am.”

  He unbuttoned his breeches and shoved them to the floor.

  Heat flushed her skin. She trembled. Water splashed as she slid back to the far end of the tub.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  She struggled to sound nonchalant and experienced in the ways of sex. “Of course.” She lifted her chin. “I’m not a virgin, you know.”

  He stepped into the tub. His long legs slid on either side of her. His calves glided against her hips. They faced one another. The skin-to-skin contact startled her despite her readiness. She’d coupled with John half a dozen times, but never in a bathtub. And even though she’d loved him, the lovemaking between them didn’t feel as intimate as with this man right now.

  Not knowing what to do with her legs, she folded them up in front of her.

  “Give me your legs.” The intensity of his tone enveloped her. “Put them here.” He tapped the top of the water. “On my lap.”

  She gazed across the ripples of water, up his chest and into his dark eyes. Her eyelids felt heavy, her limbs weak, but she complied. She spread her legs so each one rested on his upper thigh beneath the water. The hair on his legs rubbed against the back of her knees.

  “That’s better. Are you comfortable?”

  She nodded.

  He reached beneath the water to lift one of her legs. Gently, he massaged her calf, then her ankle.

  A moan escaped her. She placed the tops of her fingers over her lips in an effort to quiet herself.

  “No, I want to hear you.” He slid his hand from her ankle, to calf, to her knee, and back again.

  A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “You’re tickling me.”

  He tilted his head. “Am I?”

  His fingers massaged the arch of her foot in a gentle, steady rhythm.

  Her chest lifted and fell with each stroke of his fingers. How could a man caressing her feet and legs feel so erotic? She’d never felt such desire coursing through her limbs. His hands snaked along her leg closer to the inside of her thigh.

  Bracing herself, she gripped the edges of the copper tub with both hands. The urge to drive her hips closer to his hand was overwhelming.

  “Tell me what you want, Ally.” He coiled his long fingers around her ankle and set her foot back down in the water. His thumb made a circular motion on her inner thigh. Gentle, yet firm.

  Unable to stand the torture another second, she reached down into the water and grabbed his wrist. “I want you to touch me.”

  He smiled. “Where?”

  She moved his hand to press against her sex. “Here.” She blew out a breath and a moan simultaneously. The need to plead with him sat heavy on her lips. The impulse to rock her hips against his hand overpowered all sense of reasoning.

  One of his hands stroked the folds of her sex, while the other reached out to cup her face and pull her toward him. “Kiss me.”

  The words were simple. Her eyes widened, but beyond anything, she trusted him. As if a kiss was more intimate than what they were already doing, where he was already touching her. She placed her hands on the firm muscles of his shoulders and scooted closer to him.

  The heat of this breath warmed her skin. Beneath her hands, the rush of his pulse skittered across the pads of her fingers. His lips brushed hers, tender at first, and then with more insistence.

  His hand touched her intimately, and his kiss deepened. Breathing became difficult as desire unfolded with an anxious craving for more of what he offered.

  He let go of her and reached over the edge of the tub for a towel. “Stand up.”

  She obeyed without forethought and stood naked and exposed before him. Water rushed in miniature currents down her skin. Nothing was hidden from him, but she relished the feeling of being a woman, standing before a man she knew desired her.

  Expecting him to hand her a towel, instead he stood and licked the streams of water off her ear lobes, one at a time. A soft sigh slipped from her lips.

  He wrapped the towel around her waist and guided her over the ledge of the tub to the bed. “Sit here.”

  Water dribbled across the wooden floor, but she didn’t care. She perched on the bed’s edge and watched him dry himself. His long, lean legs and firm buttocks glistened in the firelight. When he turned around, his erection drew her attention, but so did the scarring on his thigh.

  She glanced at his face, then down at the floor. “What happened to your leg?”

  His finger traced the outline of her jaw, then reached for her hand. “I was injured in battle. I wasn’t lying when I said I’d been shot.”

  She put her hand in his. “Does it hurt still? The scarring looks like a lot of damage was done.”

  “I’d rather you pay attention to another part of my anatomy right now.” His skin flushed. The pads of his fingers lingered on her cheek, then her neck. “I need you, Ally. I don’t want anything between us.” Was it possible his eyes turned darker? “Will you have me?”

  She gulped down an invisible force somewhere between want and embarrassment. “Yes.”

  “But do you trust me?” He tugged on her hand.

  “Yes,” she said without hesitation.

  This is what she wanted. She’d been without a man’s affection for so long. She’d lost so much. She could reach out and grab this one thing he offered.

  “Lie down. Let me admire you and taste your sweetness.”

  Nothing else mattered except to have this man beside her.

  He lifted each side of the towel still bound around her waist, carefully unwrapping her like a cherished gift at Christmastime. “You are so beautiful.”

  Moving slowly, he eyed every inch of her, every curve. She allowed him to part her legs. The urge to shut them together welled within her, but she wouldn’t allow modesty to ruin this moment.

  Positioned between her legs, he crouched down. Trailing a path from her neck to her breasts to her belly, he moved lower with his mouth. His breath heated every inch of her body. She quivered with desire.

  His fingers search
ed and explored every bend and curve of her.

  The feeling thrilled and excited her. Her world slipped away. A world where reason and doubt disappeared and she could be the woman she was born to be.

  Gasping for air, she relished the feel of his hands and kisses moving meticulously over every inch of her body. His fingers curled around her breast, rolling and squeezing her nipple until it throbbed. She arched her back and raised her hips. She wanted the joyous sensation of being one with him.

  Finally, the warmth of his body swathed her. She felt his erection pressing against her sex. Her body was alive and on fire. Moisture lined her thighs, but still, he did not move. She writhed beneath him, and desperate cries escaped her lips.

  “Please,” she begged, entwining her hands in his hair.

  He stared down at her, his eyes gray and dark.

  She clenched her legs around his hips.

  His breathing hitched as he moved inside her.

  Tension coiled in her belly. She wanted him. All of him.

  Slow at first, then quick and fierce, he drove into her.

  A spiraling sensation circled up her core. The primitiveness of their joining crazed and delighted her. She seized his shoulders and held on tight.

  Plunging every inch of himself into her with eager abandonment, he said, “You are so sweet.”

  Meeting him thrust for thrust, she cried out.

  He groaned in answer. “Tell me this is what you want, Ally…tell me.”

  “I want this,” she murmured between breaths. “I want you.”

  “I can’t hang on much longer,” he grunted in short breaths.

  “Hold me.” She cried out. Her breaths grew faster, rushing from her lips as he plunged deeper and harder.

  He kissed her mouth, and her hands tangled in the curls of his hair, tugging at them. His lips skimmed along her skin to her breast, leaving a wake of heat behind. He licked at her nipple, and she gasped at the sensation. He grunted before the precipice of their joining reached its peak. Their two worlds crashed into one. She cried out his name. Her thighs clamped around him as carnal pleasure roared through her veins.