She gasped. Something was happening, deep down inside, and she stiffened.
"Feeling that, are you?"
Cicely closed her eyes, concentrating on the delicious sensation between her legs. A moan escaped. "Oh, Abel."
He moved upward from her breast and moved her hair back from her face, kissing her temple, not missing the little tendrils of reddish hair that curled there, then moved behind her ear, then her neck. She started to reach back, and he smacked her bottom lightly.
"No. Stay where I put you."
A whimper escaped. "But I want to touch you."
"When I give you permission. Not until then." He moved her hands back above her and brought his fingers lightly down the inside of her arm, turning her a little so he could reach her breast. When he kissed his way down the side of it, a groan escaped her. When he took possession of her left breast, she realized her breathing had gotten more rapid. That hungry sensation between her legs was increasing again.
His lips began to trail down her hip and then across the spot where her bottom joined her thighs. The stripes he had left there were not hurting now. Abel was following them with kisses, and she had trouble being still.
He moved her hips so they were higher on the pillows and spoke in that deep voice, "Part your legs."
Her response was to clamp her thighs tighter together. A sharp smack where her bottom cheeks met her thighs made her obey.
"Better. When I tell you to open your legs, I expect you to obey me without question. Ah. Beautiful, my love. You have the sweetest little body. Be still, now."
Cicely began to feel pressure between her folds, and something soft began to enter her channel. When she began to thrust against it, he stopped.
"Oh, no. Not yet."
He pulled back and began to kiss his way down her thighs, leaving her feeling empty.
"Abel," she protested.
"Who is in control here?"
"You, but—"
"Then be still and relax." Another sharp swat landed. He moved downward. "You have the most adorable little feet," he said, pausing to kiss the bottoms of her feet, followed by each of her toes. Slowly, very slowly, he nudged upward, between her calves, and urged her thighs apart again. She gasped as his hands glided between her folds and his nimble fingers danced over her cleft, entering it gently.
Cicely was unable to help herself. She was grinding herself into his hand. She heard his soft chuckle and then felt him move his hand up to her bud, gently circling. She came apart. Her body began to convulse, and she screamed as the world shattered.
Her eyes opened suddenly, and she was looking up into Abel's laughing eyes.
"That was beautiful to watch, sweetheart. You're going to do that again. Do not move one single muscle."
She nodded.
He had barely touched her when it happened again, and it left her panting and whimpering. But he didn't let her rest, before bringing first one finger, then two, up inside her wet recess. She groaned and began to writhe against his hand, as her body began to shatter all over again.
Abel turned her over, moving the pillows upward just enough to keep her bottom off the bed, and suddenly, his head moved down between her legs. She reached down, and he immediately took hold of her wrist.
"Hands above your head."
A keening sound escaped her lips, but she obeyed. He moved her a little higher in the bed and said, more gently, "Grab hold of the headboard, sweetheart, if it will help you."
Abel moved to one breast, gently circling with his tongue. Her moan told both of them that something was building inside. She began to pant, and he reached down to circle her button with his fingers.
That brought yet another scream to her lips. But still, she was writhing anxiously.
"Sweetheart?"
Her eyes opened. His blue eyes were so close.
"I'm going to enter you all the way, and it will hurt. After that, it will feel good again."
"I don't care if it hurts," she whispered. "I want you inside me."
"All right, angel."
Cicely closed her eyes as she felt him ease his way inside and inch a little further with each thrust.
When he lunged forward with a primal thrust and covered her mouth with his, she realized what he meant. She became deathly still, and he spoke softly, "Angel? Are you all right? Open your eyes and look at me."
She gulped and blinked. When she met his concerned eyes, she nodded.
"I promise, it won't hurt like that again."
She looked up, saying in a whisper, "If it does, you are in trouble, young man."
He chuckled softly and began to move again, slowly, gently. At the same time, he leaned down and kissed her forehead. One hand reached down and began circling her bud and gave it a pinch, just as he leaned back and thrust with all his might. Their worlds splintered at the same time.
Cicely was thoroughly sated. The pillows had become displaced, the sheets were chafing her bottom, and Abel removed the pillows completely.
"Now, how do you feel, Mrs. Carter?"
"Wonderful." Her eyes were shining. "Oh, Abel, is that lovemaking?"
"It is indeed, sweetheart."
She looked up shyly. "Can we do it again?"
His soft laugh matched the gentleness in his eyes. "Oh, yes. But I have to rest a bit, first." He flipped her over on her belly. "Be still."
She looked at him as he rose from the bed. "What are you doing?"
"You'll see."
When he returned, he had something in his hand. "Ointment," he said, holding it so she could see it. "For your bottom. Lie down."
She sighed as he began to gently rub it across the ribbons of color that remained on her backside. It was soothing.
"This should help the discomfort," he said. "And help you heal."
"Thank you." She winced as he rubbed. "But I have a better idea."
"What's that?"
"Well, you could just not spank me. Then you wouldn't have to do this."
"And that would accomplish nothing, as far as your behavior. Would it?"
She sighed. "I suppose not. Abel?"
"Yes?"
"You didn't tell me that was going to hurt."
He leaned forward. "I certainly did."
She frowned, as she looked at him over her shoulder. "Was I listening?"
His hands paused their motion, and he cocked his head, raising one eyebrow. "That, I can't tell you. But some sweet little voice answered me and said, 'I don't care if it hurts. I want you inside me.' Stop squirming and be still, I'm going to put a little of this inside you."
She turned her face away, while he put some on his fingers and gently worked them inside her folds. After a moment, he brought them out, and up toward her bottom hole. She gasped and brought her head up off the bed.
"Relax. I'm just rubbing a little on the outside. But, sweetheart, I want you to be aware that you need to become accustomed to being touched here. And when I do it the next time—and there will be a next time—I don't expect to hear, 'Was I listening?' coming from your beautiful little mouth. Understood?"
"Yes, sir."
"Now, are you hungry? If you are, I'll take you into the kitchen and we'll find something to eat."
"No." She grinned up at him sleepily. "I just want to sleep."
He patted her bottom gently and pulled her close, wrapping himself around her. "Then close your eyes, my love. And sleep."
Late for Sunday Mass
It was ten o'clock when Cicely awakened to Abel's kisses. She squinted at the bright sunlight streaming in through the windows and looked around the room.
"Abel, this is a beautiful room!"
His face moved, nose to nose with hers, a brow raised. "I'm giving you my finest kisses and all you can say is, 'It's a beautiful room?' I'm obviously in need of some instruction in kissing."
She threw her arms around his neck, kissing him back. "I love you. What time is it? I don't want to be late for Mass."
He chuckled. "Swe
etheart, Mass was over a half-hour ago. It's ten."
Alarm crossed her face and she tried to get up. "Oh no! Everyone will know that we…" She stopped. "What are you laughing at?"
"You. And yes, everyone is quite aware that we have spent the night love-making and that's why we aren't there this morning." He leaned down and kissed her nose. "I'm also sure no one expected us to be there this morning, including Father Michael. And in addition, you'd have had a great deal of trouble sitting through it today. Now. Up you go. Into the bath with you. This house does have plumbing and a hot water boiler, thanks to our dear friend, Geoff."
The bath was heavenly. The water was hot, the tub was comfortable, and she was in it only a few moments before she leaned back against the tub and closed her eyes.
But after twenty minutes, she looked up to see that Abel was above her. He kissed her forehead and reached for the sponge. He scrubbed her all over and stood with the towel, urging her out. She closed her eyes again.
"Out, sleepy girl. Was I too rough on you last night?"
She opened one eye and glared at him. "You kept me up all night."
He grinned. "Not all night. Only most of it. After lunch, you may have a nap. I want to show you the kitchen, but I don't think you want to see it wet and naked. Come."
She sighed, thinking a nap would be a very nice thing. "I'm coming." He took her hand, helping her out of the tub, and wrapped her in the towel, sending her into the bedroom with a pat to her backside.
Cicely wasn't sure exactly where her clothes were, but she found them in the wardrobe. Mrs. Morgan had put them away. Pulling out a day gown in green, the color of her eyes, she laid it out on the bed. Her hair, she wrapped in a matching ribbon and tied it, leaving it long, down her back.
"Now. Show me the kitchen?" she asked, when he came back into the room.
"Ready to fix us some breakfast? Come, now you can see it in the daylight.
. The window lets in some nice light in the daytime."
Her shoulders tensed as they went downstairs. She'd never cooked a meal before. Miss Betsy had preferred she and Polly stay out of the kitchen during their growing up years. She'd taken cooking lessons in school for one year only and had done poorly in it.
Abel showed her where the pots and pans hung, above her head, and where all the dishes and silverware were. He opened the icebox door and showed her an array of earthenware containers Mrs. Morgan had left for them. "But there likely aren't any breakfast dishes in it," he explained. "I'll be right back, sweetheart. Make yourself at home."
Cicely stood in front of the cast-iron stove and stared at it, her eyes wide. She was glad Abel had gone upstairs. The stove was hot; he had seen to that. She tried to remember how Miss Betsy had done things at home.
There must be eggs somewhere. She looked around and then opened the wooden icebox door. There were a dozen eggs in a wire basket inside. Cicely reached to retrieve it and set it on the counter. There were some earthenware dishes in there, too. One was full of sweetmeats on top of pressed rice; one looked like chicken. She'd been hoping against hope, for something with eggs to pass off as breakfast. She chewed her lower lip thoughtfully and set the table, thankful it looked so nice.
Looking up, she stared at the flat-bottomed iron skillet hanging above her head and took it down. She had seen Miss Betsy use those.
Now, how to crack the eggs open? She picked one up and smacked it against the top of the counter and cried out with dismay. Raw egg went everywhere. Tears began to fill her eyes.
"What is it, sweetheart?" Abel's voice, from the doorway, caused her to turn.
"I," she swallowed, her voice dry. "I don't…" She halted.
Abel was by her side. "You don't know how to cook, do you?"
She heard the grin in his voice and looked up, dismayed. "Please don't laugh at me."
"I'm not," he said. "You grew up with a cook in the house. I was the last child left at home, and before I went away to college, my mother insisted I learn to cook. Now, I pay Mrs. Morgan to do it. She'll be here tomorrow. But I doubt she's left any breakfast dishes here." He looked down as she shook her head and reached for her, pulling her close. "Here. I'll teach you how to make breakfast."
Cicely watched as he reached into the drawer and brought out a cloth, handing it to her. "Can you clean up the egg while I slice the pork belly?"
She took it quickly, but by the time it was cleaned up, he had several thick strips of bacon sliced for them and sizzling on the stove.
"The bowls?"
"The cabinet right above your head."
She brought one out and set it down, picking up an egg, and he reached for her hand, wrapping his gently around hers.
"Wait, let me show you. Tap it very lightly, on the corner of the bowl. Like this."
"I think I hit the other one a little hard."
Abel glanced down, grinning, but didn't criticize. "Cracking eggs takes a bit to get just right. But just be patient. You'll learn."
"What is it, Cicely? I know that worried look by now." They had finished breakfast and she had washed the dishes while he dried.
"Well, I was just thinking. I won't be a new bride forever. I need to know how to do things."
"What things?"
"Wife things." She rolled her eyes at his eager expression. "No, not those things. You're teaching me those. You know, cook and clean house and darn socks, and…things."
"If you want to learn to cook, Mrs. Morgan would be glad to teach you. Or Miss Betsy, at your house. But, sweetheart, I want you to be happy. Spend time with your family, especially while Polly is still here. When Miss Watson gets on your nerves, you can always come home. If you want, you can bring Polly with you. I know you love to read. I have bookshelves full of books, and if you can get past the law books, there are a ton of others in there. Are you ready for a tour of your new house?"
She nodded eagerly.
The house in the daylight was wonderful. It had looked much different the night before when she knew she was in trouble. The drawing room and parlor were special places. The bath downstairs adjoined the bedroom, but could be gotten to from the hallway. The chain, however, when pulled to flush the indoor toilet, was loud and intimidating. She would have to get used to that.
But her favorite room in the house was the dormer room on the third floor, with a roll-top desk in it. The light from the window was beautiful, and she bounced excitedly as she looked it over and ran her hand lovingly over it.
"This is so lovely. Did Geoffrey make it?"
"What? You cut me to the quick, sweetheart. I did."
Her expression changed. "You? Made this?"
"I did. When I was away at college. I worked with a carpenter to pay my way through law school." He grinned. "I learned to make a few things. This was one of them."
"I may spend all my free time up here! I can see down on the whole town from here. And I can see the courthouse."
"And you are welcome to. This is your house now, my darling girl. Explore and spend time in it wherever you wish. And do whatever you want to do, as long," he said, in that deep warning voice. "As long as you stay out of trouble."
"May I come and watch you work when you hold court in Strasburg?"
He looked down at her and led her to the chair near the desk. When he sat down, he pulled her over in front of him and stood her between his thighs. For a moment, she felt as if she was in trouble.
"As much as I would love to see you in the courtroom, sweetheart, there will be days I'd prefer not to have you there. We have some rough cases. If it's just Mrs. Martin trying to bring charges against Mrs. Harper, or a former tenant attempting to get her money back from Mrs. Baxter, it would be all right for you to be there. But if there is murder involved, I would prefer you not be there. Someone, a family member, or the gang itself, might get an idea to take you hostage. Understand?"
"Would you tell me when you think it's safe?"
"If you have your heart set on coming, I'll let you know." He leane
d down and tipped her chin upward, kissing her forehead and then her ear. "But for now," he said, raising a brow. "I'm taking you back to bed. And I plan to teach you a few new things." He waggled his eyebrows at her, and she began to laugh. "And," he said. "I expect you to be a good student, because I may test you on it later."
An Invitation
"What are you doing with yourself today, sweetheart?" Abel had leaned down and kissed her mouth as he readied to leave.
"Well, you have to work, and since Thomas had to go back to Leesburg, I thought I might spend the day with Polly. And I was thinking," she said, looking up into his face. "Perhaps we could ask Polly and Geoffrey to come by and have dinner with us on Thursday? She has to leave for school this weekend." She sighed, and he pulled her into his embrace, kissing the top of her head.
"If you wish, you can ask Mrs. Morgan to fix the meal and all you'll have to do is serve it."
She nodded. "Are you sure she wouldn't mind?"
He lifted her chin and kissed her mouth. "I'm sure. I'll see you this evening. Have a good day with your family. And stay out of trouble."
She watched him go, sadly, wishing she could go with him and watch him at work. At the same time, she looked forward to seeing Polly and her parents again.
She wandered into the kitchen, where Mrs. Morgan was washing the dishes. "May I help you do these?" she asked.
Mrs. Morgan turned to her and put her hands on her hips. "No, darlin'. Let's get one thing straight. Your husband pays me to do this. I won't have you doing my job."
Cicely's eyes widened. "I didn't mean to take your job, I just—" She blinked and turned and left the room abruptly. But she stopped just outside the door and stood there, her hands clinched into her skirts.
She scowled. This was her house, after all. Abel had said so. While Mrs. Morgan's words hadn't exactly been harsh, she'd felt the sting of them, anyway. And the woman had called her darlin'. But it had almost sounded sarcastic.
This wasn't right. Cicely's mouth flattened out into a straight line and she turned, suddenly, and went back in. Her voice trembled when she spoke. "Mrs. Morgan, I don't understand what you meant. Would you please explain it to me?"
Judging Cicely (Strasburg: The New Generation Book 1) Page 10