Forgetting Herself

by Yvonne Jocks

  places. It felt shockingly good, and not just where his big hand cupped her through her petticoats, but where her bosom crushed so tightly against his chest. It even felt good inside her, where Stuart could not have touched if he wanted to.

  They kissed until she'd squirmed onto his lap, until her lips felt wet and swollen and she could barely breathe. And while they kissed, Stuart slowly laid the both of them, still holding to each other, down onto their sides.

  On the bed.

  Mariah forgot to breathe; for a moment, she even forgot to kiss him. What happened in this bed would change them forever....

  And she liked them so much as they were.

  “Mariah . .. ?” Stuart's eyebrows leveled with concern. “You don't... Do you want to stop?”

  But the only thing scarier than what they meant to do was the idea of not doing it, not sealing their marriage ... not knowing. So Mariah said, "I just don't know what we're supposed to do now.

  Not... exactly."

  She'd thought she felt hot before, but her blush proved her wrong.

  Stuart stared at her for a long, worried moment. “Shall we get ready ... to retire?”

  Only then did it occur to her that she wasn't the only virgin on this bed. She felt glad of it. Stuart was an honorable man, and he was hers alone.

  Mrs. Stuart MacCallum. For Better or for worse.

  But... but his inexperience rather scared her, too. She was so used to his competence....

  “Al right,” she agreed gamely.

  Before she got up, Stuart kissed her once again, quickly. He may have been blushing, too.

  Mariah changed behind the dressing screen as Stuart readied for bed in the room. Her mother had given her a new nightgown, long-sleeved white flannel in deference to the season, with little blue forget-me-nots embroidered all over it—and a sweetheart neckline. When she first saw it, Mariah had thought it was lovely, but now she wondered if Stuart would be shocked by the absence of a proper collar.

  Then again, she wore no unmentionables beneath it, either, and that felt far more shocking, inside and out. Since she could do little about that—according to her basic grasp of the process—Mariah tugged at her neckline a little, hoping it at least covered her collarbone.

  “I'll snuff the lights, if you like,” suggested Stuart.

  “Yes, please.” Mariah heard him moving to the door. With a click of the electric switch, the room fell dark. She heard him going back, getting into the bed.

  “It's safe now, lass,” he offered.

  She peeked out from behind the screen—and saw that it wasn't quite safe. Moonlight, reflecting off snow, spilled in the window from sky and ground both. She could see the little table and chairs very clearly. And in the bed ...

  Stuart wasn't completely ... rather, totally ...

  She could make out the buttons of his union suit. But the way it molded to his chest... and his shoulders ... and his arms ...

  At least he'd pulled the blankets up to his rib cage; he had one knee up, and had turned slightly toward her. She needn't deal with seeing anything under where the soft long Johns clung to the curve of his ribs, yet. But its neckline barely covered his collarbone, either.

  Despite the moonlight, his eyes looked black—and he was most certainly staring at her.

  She tried to smile, to show how she trusted him, and stepped out from behind the screen. When Stuart swallowed, she saw the muscles in his chest move.

  Mariah waited for... what? An invitation into his bed? Wasn't it their bed? Then Stuart swallowed again, and softly said, “You're beautiful.”

  And that was all the invitation she needed. As if the floor were cold instead of carpeted, she scurried across the room and into the bed, pulled the covers quickly up to her shoulders, and turned on her side to look at her husband.

  Stuart, she reminded herself firmly. Her Stuart.

  Wearing just the union suit, he looked even broader from this angle. Men certainly had bigger shoulders than women did. Where the neckline of his long Johns pulled down she saw hair, very like the soft, springy hair that covered his forearms when he rolled up his sleeves.

  She wanted to tel him he was beautiful, too, but that did not seem the right word, and she couldn't draw breath for it anyway.

  Stuart squinted down at her in concentration for a moment, then turned on his side to face her, and burrowed lower in the bed, so that the blankets covered his shoulders, too. “Better?”

  With his face so close, and the shadowy room around them, it was almost like when Mariah and Laurel would stay up late, whispering in their bed. Cozy, real y. Mariah nodded.

  Then Stuart took a deep breath, and she felt his big hand slide onto her waist—with nothing but her nightgown between it and her—and it was nothing nothing nothing like being in bed with Laurel. She'd never felt this shivery and feverish with Laurel. It was hardly an unpleasant sensation.

  But neither was it cozy.

  “Is that all right, then?” Stuart asked, dark eyes searching hers. Mariah nodded again.

  Slowly, he slid his hand around her, onto her back and up, and inched himself a little closer. His inner elbow rested on her hip and his hand cupped her shoulder. He closed his eyes, as if thinking about her shoulder for awhile, and asked, “You'll tel me if it's not all right?”

  Would she have to? Mariah nodded anyway. But his eyes were closed, and when he opened them he looked very worried.

  “Yes, Stuart,” she whispered. “But it won't be, will it? Not all right, I mean?”

  While she asked the question, his knee had just started to brush hers, solid under the covers. He quickly drew it back. “I don't know,” he confessed softly.

  That was not what she wanted to hear. “Oh.”

  Stuart drew his hand down her arm, where he could stroke her slowly, up and down, in a way that was quite comforting. “Are ... are you scared of me, lass?”

  “No!” The force of her denial startled them both— Stuart's eyes flared wider. Well , she wasn't used to whispering to him from so close yet, now was she? To prove that she wasn't scared of him, Mariah even scooted across the last few inches between them, to cuddle up against him, as she would were they standing. And fully dressed. And not in bed.

  Her top half cuddled against him. Stuart blocked her bottom half with his leg.

  It felt deliciously wanton, his cotton-clad knee touching her flannel-draped thigh under the very same covers.

  “I could never be scared of you,” she told him, and it was very much the truth, no matter how big he looked in bed. “Not ever. This is just...”

  “Very new,” he suggested, his gaze still caressing her, their noses almost touching. His breath had the same scent to it as his kisses, and she liked it. She also liked how he eased an arm underneath her, so that he could hold her with both arms now.

  “Yes,” she agreed ... but it felt a little like lying, and he squinted at her as if he could tel , so she added. “But... well ...”

  Stuart waited with his usual, rocklike patience.

  “Mother said it may hurt. A little. The first time. And maybe not at all . But it might.”

  His dark eyes widened—and suddenly did not look quite so dark. "You talked of this with your mother?"

  “Not about us!” she assured him quickly. "Just... in general. She said that if Prissy White's mother had told her what to expect, perhaps things wouldn't have been such a shock that she had to run away home."

  Mariah's mother had used terms like “irresponsible” and “child abuse,” which seemed uncalled for since Prissy had been almost fifteen. But Mariah had more important things to think about....

  Like Stuart's big, cotton-clad arms around her, and how close and warm his chest was to her ducked head, and what they were truly talking about.

  “I suppose it would be more of a shock to a lady,” Stuart conceded quietly. “At least menfolk have general y dealt with breeding animals, so ... um ...”

  He glanced toward the window, as if sudde
nly interested in the night.

  Mariah laughed softly, as amused by the fact that now he seemed to know what he was talking about as by his embarrassment at the delicate topic. “Do you watch them?”

  She couldn't quite see if Stuart was blushing, but she thought from the thickness in his voice that he was. “Only—it helps to know what ram has settled what ewe, and...”

  She waited, and he frowned. “It's part of raising stock, Mariah.”

  “I know that!” She pushed playful y at his shoulder. His gaze fixed on her face, and she realized she was in fact touching his shoulder, with nothing between her hand and his bare skin but his union suit.

  That nice, wanton feeling thrummed through her again. She left her hand where it was, admiring the heat of him, the solidity of his muscle, through the cotton.

  “Does it hurt the ewes?” she asked softly.

  “Not... not that I can tel ,” he murmured back, watching her eyes. Talking about sheep, Stuart didn't seem anywhere near as uncertain as he had talking about her mother—or even asking if she was al right “The ones who aren't... amenable ... run away from him anyway.”

  Mariah laughed then. “Like Prissy White!”

  Stuart tried very hard not to smile. “You're not making this any easier, lass.”

  Emboldened by his cheer, she slid her leg over his. “I'm not?”

  “Well ...” Since he already had both arms around her, it wasn't difficult for him to draw her closer, so that her breasts pushed up against where her forearms folded against his shoulders and her lips were in reach of his. “Not very,” he admitted, and kissed her again.

  It was a long, long kiss ... bolder than usual, and very nice. Instead of just touching his shoulders, Mariah decided to slide her arms around his ribs, so she could hold him to her, too. That meant that her bosom now pressed satisfyingly against his chest, through the flannel and cotton, and even mid-kiss, Stuart seemed to like that very much. He stretched into the feel of it—

  And then the rest of him pressed against her too, and she felt something hard bump against her thigh.

  Not something, she quickly realized, breaking off the kiss to duck her face into his neck again. Him!

  She knew that much.

  He caught his breath against her cheek. “Are you—”

  “Then what do the sheep do?” she asked quickly, before he could ask if she was all right.

  He kissed her cheek, then her cheekbone, then the fine hair in front of her ear. "That's nae a proper topic for conversation," he reminded her huskily.

  She butted her nose into the soft spot at the base of his neck. “Stuart!”

  “You're sure you want to know?” But as he asked, his lips reached her ear—and he tasted it. When she made a happy sound at how that felt, he nibbled on it.

  Mariah was starting to feel far more feverish, inside and out. “Yes, please.”

  He sighed. But as he kissed down the side of her neck, pulling her even more firmly against all of him—even the hard parts—he murmured, "When he finds a ewe he fancies, the ram lifts a front leg against her side and he talks to her."

  As he finished saying this, Stuart managed to lever himself over Mariah slightly, so that she was underneath him while he kissed around the edge of her sweetheart neckline. That meant his cheek rasped enticingly against the curve of her now aching bosom. She found herself wishing the neckline were lower, after all .

  “What does he say?” she gasped.

  Stuart gave up on her neckline and simply skimmed his cheek across her breasts in a way Mariah thought might very well melt her. “I don't speak sheep, lass,” he murmured thickly. When he slid his knee across to the other side of her hip, to better hold himself over her, she felt the hard male part of him slide across her tummy and caught her breath in renewed surprise.

  Stuart rested his cheek on her aching breasts for a moment. “Are—?”

  “What's it sound like?” she gasped.

  He levered himself back up over her, on his hands and knees this time, the blanket skimming off him on either side like great wings. “What?”

  “The ram, courting the ewe.”

  He fell onto his side, one leg and one arm stil draped possessively across her, and frowned.

  “Mariah Gar—”

  “MacCallum,” she reminded him.

  Stuart stopped frowning. Then he smiled his quiet, close-mouthed smile.

  “MacCallum,” he corrected himself. 'This is our wedding night. Why are you suddenly so interested in sheep?"

  Oh. It seemed a fair question ... but she was not sure he would like the answer. She would rather he hold her tightly against him and kiss her some more. “Well ...”

  He waited, breathing hard—but gently traced bits of hair from her face as he did. She liked that.

  “You don't seem so worried when you talk about sheep,” she confessed.

  Stuart blinked. “I'm not worried,” he told her, and oh, she did want to believe that. She licked her lips, and liked how he watched her lick her lips. It made her tingle. But...

  “But you keep asking if I'm all right,” she admitted.

  Stuart searched her face. “Ah. Well then ...”

  She waited some more—and while she waited, she decided to see what that tuft of hair, at the collar of his union suit, felt like on her fingertips. It felt like the hair on his arms had, too.

  She wondered what other parts of him had hair.

  “If anything worries me,” he admitted, final y and slowly, “it's that I might hurt you. Or scare you ...”

  “You could never scare me,” she reminded him. "Never, Stuart. I've always felt safe with you, even .

  . . even when we're doing something ..."

  Now he waited.

  “New,” she decided. “I trust you. And now you're my husband...”

  “Oh, Mariah .. .” He began to stroke her arm again.

  “I've wanted you for so long, I'm not sure I trust me. Not to hurt you, that is. You said yourself...”

  “Couldn't we just not do that bit yet?” she suggested. “The bit that hurts?”

  His eyes smiled at her, though still . “I'm fairly certain the bit that hurts is the main bit.”

  “But... we like kissing, too,” she pointed out, though she felt cowardly for it. Prissy White's mother had told her to lie on her back and think of something pleasant, and it would all be over soon.

  Despite the derogatory things Mariah's mother had said about that, it did sound like the obedient thing to do.

  And yet, the night and Stuart both promised so much more than obedience.

  So Mariah added, “And touching. I like it when ... when we touch each other ...”

  Stuart drew his stroking hand off her fingertips and onto the curve of her hip. And oh, she did like that. She liked how his eyes darkened again as he seemed to realize, caressing her hip, that she wore nothing under her nightdress.

  When he spoke, it was with great difficulty. “I'm glad you like the kissing,” he managed to murmur, and kissed her to prove it. This kiss lasted a long time, while Stuart's tongue tasted Mariah's lips.

  Something about that made her feel more like melting than ever. When she tasted Stuart's lips with her tongue, he moaned slightly—the sound rumbled under his ribs, which were under her hand—so perhaps he felt the same way. When they finished that kiss, he seemed to have a hard time remembering what he was saying.

  “And the touching,” she prompted—as an extra reminder, she unbuttoned the top button of his union suit and discovered more chest, and more hair, to explore.

  Stuart nodded, with a grunt that sounded vaguely affirmative. “But Mariah, I'd be lying if I said I thought I could stay here and ...”

  “And kiss me,” she whispered, kissing his chest. He tasted salty. He tasted like Stuart.

  “And touch you.” Stuart seemed to pant around the words, especial y when he slid his hand up and tentatively touched the curve of Mariah's breast, with his hand. Despite the panting, hi
s gaze held hers, and when she smiled, he began to explore a little more. His hand on her breast did surprising but delicious things to her whole body, especial y under her nightgown.

  “And ... not... do the bit...” Stuart gave up trying to talk and kissed her, right there on her breast.

  Open mouthed. Mariah sighed, very very happy with how that felt.

  Her whole middle seemed to be melting, even more than the rest of her, which already felt gooey as sugar candy left out in the sun. Stuart was the sun, and she was the sugar candy....

  “Not do the main bit?” she finished for him.

  Stuart was fumbling at the buttons of her nightgown. Although she'd thought he would just, well , pull the hem up to do what needed doing, this seemed like both a wanton and wonderful idea.

  Mariah pushed his clumsy hands away long enough to do it herself, then lay back and let Stuart push open the flannel and kiss her and touch her in ways she'd never dreamed he would, pressing against her with more and more of his weight.

  She squirmed under him, his weight felt so good. She wasn't just melting, but aching for something. She explored the hardness of his legs with her feet, and that didn't stop the ache. She ran her hands down his back, memorizing his ribs and spine through his union suit. When Stuart straightened a bit to kiss her mouth some more—his chest hair rasped her breasts and his tongue grew more daring, and she squirmed harder—she cupped his bottom. He pushed against her with the hardness that she knew was supposed to hurt, and that soothed the ache a little.

  Maybe she should risk the hurting bit, after all ?

  Stuart sat up, straddling her, and pushed futilely at the shoulders of her nightgown, too gentle to actual y tear it. “Could we... ?”

  “Take yours off, too,” she dared, shocking herself with her boldness. So he unbuttoned his union suit and pushed it off his broad shoulders and his solid arms, while Mariah shrugged her own arms and shoulders out of her nightgown. Stuart swung his weight onto one leg, stripping the rest of the way from his underwear, and Mariah wondered if she should shimmy the rest of the way from her nightgown.. ..

  But then she saw Stuart naked, and forgot about everything else.