by C. J. Archer
"Good." His finger moved from her chin up to her bottom lip. He tugged on it and she thought he would kiss her but he didn't. Instead, he caressed her lip. She squirmed against the tingles, and against the desire slipping through her. He moved on, up to the corner of her mouth and gently rubbed, as if fixated with something there.
Just when she thought she'd go mad waiting for his kiss, his hand dropped to his side like a sinking pebble. He exhaled. "There's something we need to clarify before we start." His voice rumbled deep in his chest. "If I kiss you now, it's not going to stop there. I'm going to explore every inch of your naked body and then I'm going to show you what happens between a man and a woman who want each other. Understand?"
She nodded until she thought her head would roll off. He did say every inch, didn't he? Oh sweet night, if only he would stop talking and start doing. The waiting was sheer torture. If he didn't do something soon her body might combust from the excessive heat roaring through it.
"There will be no changing your mind once I begin," he went on. "Are you prepared to lose your maidenhead to me, Minerva Peabody?"
"Yes," she whispered.
"Good." But he didn't undress her, kiss her or do whatever it was that usually started these sorts of proceedings. He picked up the cup. "Think I'll take that wine now." He drained it, filled it up then drank again. Only when he'd finished did he offer it to her.
She shook her head. "Do you want to go into the bedchamber?"
"It'll be more comfortable."
She led the way into the adjoining room, Blake close behind her. So close she could hear him breathing.
She stopped at the foot of the large canopied bed centered in the otherwise bare room and waited while he lit candles and tended to the fire. He moved purposefully and didn't once glance her way. When he finished, he came over to her but did nothing, said nothing. He simply stared.
She played with the laces of her housecoat cuffs and wished her wit hadn't deserted her. Ever since he'd climbed through her window, her mind had ceased to function properly. A little humor would do wonders to break through the tension settling between them like a plague.
"Is there something wrong?" she managed to ask.
"No. Everything's...good. I just wanted to look at you."
"Wouldn't you prefer to do that without clothes on?"
He smiled. "Yes." He gently took one of her wrists and undid the laces. She'd meant for him to be the one to remove his clothes but if he wanted to touch her like that it was acceptable too. Very acceptable. Already she decided she liked the slow movement of his agile fingers as they worked.
He unlaced her other cuff and slipped the housecoat off her shoulders. She stood in her linen night shift and woolen netherhose, held up by nothing more than a strip of ribbon above each knee. From the flare of his hot gaze, she knew the swell of her breasts was clearly visible beneath the fabric. Every inch of her became aware of him, from her tight nipples to her moistening inner thighs.
She expected him to remove her hose or shift next. He did neither. He reached behind her and slipped off the ribbon tying up her hair. His fingers nimbly freed the braid then slid through her tresses, caressing the strands as if he were appraising the most expensive bolt of silk.
Min closed her eyes, breathed. The scent of exotic spices—cinnamon, cloves and others she couldn't identify—filled her nostrils. It would be a smell she would forever associate with him, long after he was gone.
And he would go. She knew it. He'd told her. Tonight might be all she ever had.
Min exhaled but her breath was captured by his mouth before it ever left her lips. The kiss was more tentative than the first two. As if he was waiting to see if she changed her mind.
The moon would fall out of the sky before that ever happened. This was what she wanted. This kiss...and more.
The intelligent, sensible part of her knew what she was doing—and was about to do—was wrong and that it could lead to her downfall. But the wanton side of her didn't want to stop. The wanton won. Her desire to experience passion with Blake was utterly overwhelming and totally debilitating.
She reached up and pressed her hands to the back of his head, just in case he changed his mind. But he deepened the kiss, and she knew he couldn't stop any more than she could. Not when her breasts were pushed against his chest, only a few layers of material between her aching nipples and his flesh. She'd never been this close to him the other times they'd kissed, never had so little between her body and his.
It was still too much. She pushed his black leather jerkin off. Better, but still too much. She broke the kiss to unfasten the row of buttons down the front of his doublet and the points joining doublet to hose. He removed it and threw it into a corner of the room, closely followed by his hose, boots and netherhose. Not once did his eyes leave hers.
Not once did she glance down. She dared not, even though she knew what a man's penis looked like. She'd heard the maids talking when there'd been more than just Jane. She'd even read a description of one in a book from her father's library she probably wasn't supposed to have been reading.
But her curiosity to see the real thing got the better of her. She lowered her gaze...and was transfixed by the pole jutting out from between Blake's thighs. It wasn't at all like The Historie of Man described. And from the maid's giggles she'd expected something odd. There was nothing odd about Blake's member.
"Now I want to see you," he said. He slowly unlaced her shift then scrunched it up to pull it over her head. When the hem had risen to her upper thigh she had a desperate urge to ask him to extinguish the candles, but she didn't. She wanted to experience everything and she could only do that if she allowed him to see her.
The shift gone, he dropped to one knee to remove her netherhose. His eye level was right, well, there but she tried not to think about how embarrassed she should feel. She gripped his shoulder for balance as he removed one netherhose then the other.
With the last piece of clothing banished to the floor, she was completely naked. And it didn't feel at all shameful or humiliating. Aunt Maud had been wrong. Having another gaze upon her nakedness was quite liberating. It was as if her skin was feeling for the first time. The coolness of the air across her stomach, her nipples, the subtler warmth from the fire against her right buttock, the internal heat generated from her own body as it slowly became aware of Blake's breath on her most secret place. He was still on his knees in front of her.
What was he doing? It's not like there was anything special to look at. A thatch of wiry hair covered all the important parts. He'd have to—
Oh!
He parted her folds and his thumb nudged against her opening. She gasped and reached for the closest thing for balance—his shoulder. Her nails dug into his flesh as his thumb strummed her bud like a lute string. Her resounding wail was anything but tuneful.
It was so much better than she expected. Every piece of her felt sensitive and aware, like a hunter's trap, ready to spring at any moment. Her skin tensed and tightened with every throb of her inner thighs, her toes curled into the floor rushes and she squeezed her eyes shut against the surge of tingles rising, rising.
She was going to explode. Right there on his thumb. With him watching. It was enough to make her body quiver all over.
Then his finger entered her and the quivers became a quake. She threw her head back and gripped his shoulders as a cry burst from her lips.
He pressed his other hand to the small of her back and held her until her shudders eased. When finally she could speak again, he planted a kiss on her stomach and stood. He watched her through heavy-lidded eyes, a mysterious smile teasing his lips.
"You liked that?" he asked.
"Like isn't quite the right word," she said, breathy. "That was..." But her mind couldn't think of the right words so she abandoned the attempt at an explanation. Time for that later when she put pen to paper.
For now there was Blake and his big, powerful body and equally big member. He picked
her up and lowered her gently on top of the faded red and gold bed cover then took another moment to graze the length of her body with his hot gaze. She blushed from scalp to toenails and pressed her thighs together.
"No, let me look at you." He parted her legs then gently took her wrists and drew her arms over her head. The position thrust out her breasts, arched her back. "So beautiful," he whispered.
She shook her head. He was humoring her. She was no celebrated beauty.
"Yes you are." He stretched out alongside her, his hard erection pressed against her outer thigh, and kissed the hollow at her throat. "You've the body and face of a Goddess. Minerva. I bet the ancient Romans worshipped her for more than just her mind."
She giggled. He was teasing. But then he kissed her fully on the mouth. Nothing teasing about that, just a hard and hungry kiss that swept her up with its fervor.
"I adore you," he murmured against her lips. "Every inch of you." He nipped a trail of tiny kisses across one breast. "The way you gave yourself to me, the way your body trembled and blushed and the look on your face..." He kissed the other breast. "All mine. My Goddess."
He took her nipple into his mouth and she relinquished all hold on rational thought. There was nothing at all rational about the pleasure swamping her. With every lave of his tongue, her body bucked and writhed like a thing possessed.
Just as she thought she would explode again, he stopped. Horrible man! His weight shifted and his thigh trapped her leg. He let go of her wrists and leveraged himself up onto his elbow, stroking her hip with his free hand. His eyes smoldered as he watched her, reflecting the slow burn of her body beneath his attentions. She touched his cheek. So handsome. And all hers. For tonight.
She felt a tiny shudder ripple across her skin. He breathed deeply as if trying to inhale her. "This may hurt a little." He sounded as if someone had him by the throat and was squeezing.
"I know." It didn't matter. Nothing mattered except having him. All of him.
"Do you have a cloth?" he asked.
She got up and padded across to a cedar chest, the only other piece of furniture in the room, and pulled out a cloth. She returned to the bed and handed it to him.
He laid it on one side of the bed alongside his body. "For my seed," he said.
She nodded. Jane had once told her there were ways a couple could enjoy the act without begetting a child, the easiest being for the man to spill his seed outside the woman's body.
"Have you changed your mind?" he said, watching her.
"No!"
He nodded and his top lip quivered as if he were fighting a smile. "Good. Because I've not changed mine. I want you, Min." He shifted so that he was on top of her. "Tell me if this hurts and I'll ease back if I can."
If I can?
Blake didn't know where that promise had stemmed from. It wouldn't be easy to stop once they got started. He was already harder than a brigantine's bowsprit and he hadn't even dipped into her well yet. Stopping would be torture.
But if it's what she wanted he would do it, even if it made his balls fall off from the effort.
He pressed his tip into her wetness and her tight sheath surrounded him, a snug fit. Ah, but she was moist and ready for him. He pushed against the barrier, felt her tense beneath him, and reached down to rub her swollen nub. She responded by moaning and opening up.
For one brief moment he hesitated. He was doing something he swore he'd never do—take the virginity of a woman. But he was too far gone to let that worry him. He'd been too far gone ever since they'd separated outside her house hours earlier. A troubled conscience was hardly going to stop him now.
Her hands reached around and pressed into his arse. A small moan escaped her lips as he eased himself into her. Her every move told him she wanted to do this and he could almost fool himself into thinking he was simply obliging her. But only a bigger fool would believe him.
He slid all the way in and knew it was exactly where he wanted to be. He caught her gasp with his mouth, and set a slow rhythm to ease the shock of his entry. He pulled back a little to watch her face, contorted in either pain or pleasure, he wasn't quite sure. But then she dug her nails into his back and moaned and he was in no doubt that pleasure controlled her.
He couldn't remain slow after that. Not when her breath came in short, sharp pants and she pulsed around his thickness. It was more than he could bear. When she opened her eyes and he saw a tumult of emotions swelling within them, he lost the battle against self-discipline.
He drove into her with one, two deep thrusts and ground his teeth to stop himself roaring her name. At the last possible second, he pulled out and spurted his seed into the cloth.
He collapsed next to her, their heavy breathing filling his ears, the heat fusing their bodies together.
They must have fallen asleep because when he opened his eyes, the candle had burned to a stub and the fire had turned to glowing embers in the grate. Min's perfectly round behind pressed against his erection, her warmth folding around him like a blanket. He kissed her shoulder and climbed out of bed, gently so as not to wake her. He dressed in a hurry then picked up the candle and moved the single flame closer to her face. He watched her as she slept, committing every detail to memory so he could recall them on the long, lonely nights ahead—the rise and fall of her breasts with her breathing, the flutter of her eyelids as she dreamed. He stroked a lock of hair off her cheek to reveal the freckle nestled in the corner of her mouth like a secret smile.
Then he woke her with a kiss. She stirred and opened her mouth sleepily to him. "I must go," he said, pulling away. If he didn't leave now, he might not get out before daybreak. He was already hard for her again.
"Why must you?" she said with a pout of her thoroughly kissed lips. "It's early yet."
"No, it's late. I don't want to be caught here." It would be a disaster for her.
"Of course." She rose and covered a yawn. "I have work to do anyway."
That wasn't the sort of response he'd been expecting. "Work? Your play?"
"And father's paper." She sighed and swung her legs off the bed. "Go now before I change my mind and tie you to the bedposts to keep you here."
"Now there's a tempting offer. Maybe I'll just stay—."
"No!" But she laughed as she picked her night shift up off the floor.
She followed him into the study. He helped her into her house coat and passed her the candle. Their hands touched briefly before he let go but the warmth of her skin remained with him.
She looked away and cleared her throat. "Thank you," she said, clutching the candlestick with both hands as if it was too heavy to hold with one.
If she hadn't said it so seriously, he would have laughed. "You don't need to thank me, Min. I enjoyed every bit of it too."
He could see her battling against a smile. The smile won. "So did I." She stood on her toes and kissed him lightly on the lips. "Goodnight."
He opened the window and stepped out onto the small balcony. "Goodnight, Min." He swung down to the balcony on the first floor then it was an easy jump to the ground. He looked up and saw her in the window, the flame from the candle highlighting her mouth and the smile there.
His heart wrenched to see that it was a sad one.
CHAPTER 11
Min didn't eat much of the bread Jane delivered to her room for breakfast only two hours after Blake left. She was too busy writing. Emotions and thoughts spilled onto the pages of her play, words jostled for attention and ink smudged in her haste. When her hand cramped and her fingers had turned black from the ink, she put the pen down and sat back to survey her work.
There. A good start. A very good start. The main character, Barnaby Fortune, had met his true love, Mistress Truly but his second love interest, the duplicitous Widow Fowler, had also been introduced to the audience. There was passion on every page and Min even managed a rather rude jest from one of the minor characters that should have the groundlings laughing.
She set the play aside and p
ulled out her father's paper. She wrote out an entire paragraph before a yawn escaped her. Jane, bless her good timing, entered with a ewer of fresh water.
"Ah, good, you ate," she said, eyeing Min's empty trencher. "I was worried you'd be too busy when I brought it up. You was writin' like yer life depended on it."
Perhaps not her life but certainly her sanity. She needed to write. It fed her soul.
"Thank you, Jane, I was famished. Has father eaten?" she asked, setting aside his paper to remove her house coat and nightshift.
"Aye, he's in his study. Two peas in a pod you both are this mornin'." She knelt before the fireplace and stoked the ashes with the poker. "Can't get to yer work quick enough. The words a-comin' fast today?"
"Very," Min said. She dipped the sponge into the warm water and washed her face, her throat, wiping away all hint of Blake's kisses.
No, not all hint. They were in her memory, where they would remain forever. As would the way he looked as he thrust into her—his jaw clenched tight, his features skewed as if he were trying very hard not to hurt her or make a sound.
She smiled and circled her breasts with the sponge. Moisture dripped between the valley, down to her navel and thatch of hair. It was wet and warm and felt a little like Blake's tongue when he'd licked her everywhere. A responding pulse between her thighs sealed the similarity.
"You must have had a good night's sleep," Jane said. She suddenly stood, swung around, poker in hand, a frown taxing her brow.
Min dipped the sponge into the water and tried to banish Blake from her mind. Quite an easy task with Jane looking like an avenging angel. "A reasonable night's sleep, I suppose."
"Hmph" Jane nodded and turned back to the fireplace. "I'm glad you weren't kept awake by the same noises as kept me from my slumber."
Min froze. "Noises?"
Jane placed kindling into the grate and blew on the glowing embers. "Aye. Talkin' and moanin' and the like. You didn't hear it?"