Penelope’s Pleasure (A Gentleman’s Guide To Understanding Women Book 1)

by Deborah Villegas

  “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

  A hand touched her cheek and lifted her chin.

  She looked up. The gulls screeched. Her husband’s silhouette stood dark against a riotous sky. Her legs gave out.

  Edward’s smile turned grim and he caught her.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and groaned. What had she done?

  “It looks as if your bride has swooned.” Laughter surrounded her in a swirl of baritone. She prayed for this to be a drunken dream and the blackness to take her.

  “Don’t even think about it, wife.” Edward’s growl was not a dream.

  He carried her to the cabin and plunked her into a chair. “When was the last time you ate?”

  Penelope blinked away the encroaching haze. “I don’t know. What day is it?”

  He shoved the tray toward her and sat opposite. “Don’t be smart. Eat.”

  The room shifted and as much as she wanted to fling the food right in his face, she couldn’t deny the rumble in her stomach or that she was lightheaded. Food first. Fight later. If she was going to go eight rounds with her new husband, she needed her strength—and her wits.

  Her husband? What was she thinking? How had it happened? One moment Edward was thrusting her up the ladder to the deck and then next he was placing his ring on her finger. Had she said the vows? Were they even legal? Of course, they were. Edward would make sure of that. Now the question was, how did one undo the inconceivable?

  She shoved a hunk of bread into her mouth. She needed to think.

  Half a loaf of rye and an entire bowl of stew later, she still didn’t have an answer. She stared at the bottom of the bowl willing the remains to form some comprehensive pattern like the old gypsy woman that read her tealeaves at a country fair she and Ferris attended when they were children. Gnarled and bent with age, the old woman rocked on her stool and tsked every time she peered into the chipped porcelain cup. When she threw out the dregs, she told Penelope one day a man would take away everything she held dear and the only way to get it back was to give freely. That still didn’t make any sense.

  “Would you like more?”

  She jerked so hard the spoon banged against the crockery and she nearly upset her glass of whiskey.

  “I? No. Thank you. I’ve had enough.” She flicked her gaze around the room, reluctant to meet his. A clock on the wall ticked. The ship creaked. Waves lapped at the hull. The awkward silence made her face flame and heat moved to her ears and down her neck. Now what? Talk about the weather?

  Aunt Augustina taught her the principles of breeding—sheep, cows, sows, how to read ledgers, and how to manage her estates. Nowhere in her tutelage did they ever discuss how to manage a husband. It never occurred to her. Not only was a husband something she thought she would never have, falling in love with said husband was out of the question.

  She fingered the heavy ring and twisted it as if to unscrew a cork. That was the problem. She now had a husband and she did love him. She loved him in that undignified, fall to your knees and beg him to never leave you, kind of dreadful and very UN-Saint James way. But she was no longer a St. James. She was now a Westfield and Edward married her because she was the most pedigreed thoroughbred of the ton. A perfect match. Love wasn’t a criterion for a perfect match—just breeding.

  That realization pressed into her chest like a painful burden she would carry for the rest of her life. She had fallen into the same trap as Aunt Augustina. Only her aunt was able to break off her engagement. Better not to live with the mistake of your heart than walk through life an object discarded after supplying the heir and the spare to live under the shadow of tolerable indifference.

  She pulled the ring off, dragging the sleeve of her robe across the remnants of her meal and held it toward him. “Here.”

  Edward made no move to take it back. “Keep it until we get back to London.”

  “I don’t want it.”

  His gaze met hers and her insides shook. Now was not the time to turn coward.

  “You will wear it.” His words were clipped.

  She dismissed the flare of his nostrils and pressed her stomach to stop the quake that threatened to advance up her spine. “It doesn’t fit.”

  His mouth narrowed to a thin line. “Regardless. You will wear my ring until we can have a proper one fitted to your finger.”

  She sprang to her feet, leaned over the table knocking over the bottle of whiskey and slammed the ring down in front of him. “That won’t be necessary.”

  Edward grabbed her wrist and dragged her across the table scattering the dishes.

  He was so close she could count his lashes. She lay half sprawled across the table, half pressed against his chest and fully at his mercy.

  “It is very necessary. You are my wife and you will have a proper ring befitting your position.” He didn’t blink. He didn’t shout. He didn’t have to. His words were like a gauntleted fist squeezing her throat.

  “I’ve changed my mind.”

  * * *

  Edward stared at his wife and waited for his ears to stop ringing. All he had to do was tilt her head and her lips would be pressed to his, but her words kept him from moving. She changed her mind. Had he heard her correctly?

  The volcano of his temper rumbled deep in his gut, crowded its way up his chest, and erupted with molten fury. “It’s a little late for that don’t you think?” His shout rolled through the cabin like thunder.

  Penelope flushed and pushed on his chest, but he kept his arms locked to prevent retreat. She was so close he could feel the pant of her fear. Fear that was quickly countered with the supreme arrogance she wore like a second skin so well-tailored that when donned it became an impenetrable force.

  She stared down her patrician nose with grim lipped disdain. Her eyes flashing with brilliant fury. “Not if we don’t consummate the union.”

  Bloody hell she was impressive. If he could get her to look at his mother that way, he would hand over the keys to all his estates. He took a deep breath and studied his new bride. Wide, wild green eyes, half parted lips, the vein at her throat pulsing a rapid beat. He pulled her the rest of the way onto his lap, ignoring the clattering mess. “What are you afraid of, Boots?”

  Her chin shot up. “I’m not afraid of anything.”

  “Yes, you are.” He played with her thigh, snaking his hand under her robe.

  She stopped his progress. “No, I’m not.”

  He nuzzled her nape. “Do you know what really happens between a man and a woman?”

  He felt her stiffen and smiled into her hair. It was one thing to want to find out what happened under the sheets. Experiment on her terms. Tease the hell out of him within screaming distance of her family. But it was a different matter entirely now that she was his wife.

  “Of course, I do.” Her retort was swift, but he heard the underlying uncertainty. She might have watched horses and cats and dogs mate, read God only knew what in her aunt’s scandalous journals, or listened in on her brothers tales of conquest, but he’d bet his title, Penelope wasn’t nearly the hedonist she let her brothers think she was.

  He picked her up, carried her to the bed, and dropped her. “Then prove it.” A quick tug relieved her of the robe, and he tossed it on the floor. His shirt and pants followed with swift efficiency.

  Penelope scooted to the wall. “Are you going to rape me?”

  He grinned like a lecher. “No. I’m going to let you have your wicked way with me.”

  * * *

  Penelope gripped the sheets. Was he calling her bluff? She stared at him. Mainly his anatomy. Anatomy worthy of a Michael Angelo. Heat flooded her face as she watched his rise to infamy.

  No matter how hard she tried to look away, her gaze remained riveted. How did he do that? What made it work? How could he grow so quickly? What did it feel like to have an appendage that was capable of such great expansion? She couldn’t recall her siblings ever doing that. “Does it hurt?”

 
; Edward’s great belly laugh startled her. “That will mostly depend on you.”

  “Me?”

  “You get to decide how we go about this. I’m allowing you freedom to explore. When we are in bed together it will always be an equal partnership. You may have a say in what we do. In fact, I insist on hearing your point of view.”

  Her forehead prickled. He was mocking her. He was throwing everything she had said before they had made their vows back in her face. “Then I choose not to go about it at all.” She flopped herself onto her stomach and turned to the wall.

  The bed dipped and a great sting landed on her backside. Before she could yelp, she was flipped onto her back. Edward glared at her like an angry wolf denied his fair share of a kill.

  “I choose to go about all of it.”

  “You would rape your wife?”

  “Rape is an ugly word. I prefer the term coercion.”

  His mouth came down swift and hard across her lips stifling her retort and he pressed his lower body against her. Heat radiated from him. Wherever their bodies touched, her skin felt alive.

  There was no way to counter his commanding kiss. He was like opium and she was the devotee, craving his euphoric bliss. She relaxed into the mattress on an exhale and gave herself over to intoxication.

  His mouth trailed down her neck to her collarbone to the dip between her breasts. His lips never losing contact with her skin while his hands snaked under her shirt. He caressed her hips, her side, her waist, skimming ever closer to her breasts.

  She breathed deep, raising her chest, willing him to cup her, wanting to feel his hand spread across her bosom.

  “Tell me what you want Penelope.” The warmth of Edward’s voice rumbled through her chest and her insides spasmed.

  She moved her hand over his to direct him, but he stopped just shy of her breast.

  “I want to hear you say it.”

  Her mouth felt dry. “I want…”

  He kissed her just below the ear and she couldn’t remember what she was supposed to say.

  “What do you want, sweet Pen?”

  “Shirt.” She swallowed. “Off.”

  Edward dragged the last barrier between them over Penelope’s head and with it, her final defense. He straddled her and sat back. He needed a moment to regain his control or he might end up hurting her.

  She lay with her arms splayed across the pillows panting. Her lashes lowered in innocent seduction. The moonlight cast just enough of a glow across her torso to reveal the mostly faded bruises of her captor’s abuse. Killing the man wasn’t a good enough demise for marring his wife.

  Edward had seen the bruises when he undressed her after they had arrived on the ship, but he was too worried about her unconscious state to take more than a cursory glance. Father Buford had assured him Penelope would be fine when she woke. Sleep was the body’s way of coping with traumatic events.

  Dear God, had Penelope lied about Clive? Had Clive raped her? Was that the reason she wanted an annulment? So he wouldn’t find out? Please don’t let it be true. If it was, he would know but he would never discuss it. He loved her.

  It did matter though. It mattered a great deal. It mattered because if Clive raped Penelope, she wouldn’t know how beautiful, how exquisite, how intimate making love was. But Edward was going to teach her and tonight he was going to show her just how much he loved her.

  She lowered her arms to cover her breasts.

  “Don’t. I want to look at you.” He placed her hands above her head. “Stay like that.” He skimmed her waist and glided his hands over her ribcage while watching her face.

  Her lips parted and she licked them.

  He cupped the sides of her breasts.

  She inhaled, raising her chest to press into his palms.

  He thumbed her nipples and the sharp intake turned into short gasps.

  “Do you like this, Boots?” he flicked her nipples harder, faster.

  She closed her eyes and moaned. The short breaths now had sound. She was amazing. If she was this responsive how would she be if he suckled her?

  “What else do you want?” He slid down her legs and laid partially over her. God if he didn’t rub himself against her, he was going to explode.

  “I want…”

  Edward didn’t wait. He took a nipple into his mouth and sucked.

  Penelope arched.

  He held her down, released the nipple, and took the other.

  When he stopped, fingers clutched his hair and exceptionally long legs wrapped around his middle to keep him in place.

  “Do.

  Not.

  Stop.” Her words stuttered.

  Edward disengaged her fingers and forced her hands over her head. He moved fully atop her and held her, rocking against her groin.

  God she was beautiful flushed with passion, puffy lips, heavy breasts, and sensitive pink skin.

  “Edward, I need…”

  “Shush,” He took her mouth and drew out the kiss. “I know what you need, sweet.”

  He lifted his weight and she locked her ankles.

  “Let go Penelope. I’m not going anywhere.” He nibbled her lips. “Let go.”

  She slipped her legs from around his waist and he journeyed his way south, stopping to tease each nipple and tongue her navel. When he reached his destination, his bride let out a wild-eyed yelp.

  “Oh my God.” Penelope bucked and slammed her thighs shut.

  Edward gripped her knees and pried her loose then held her, fully exposed to him, without ever lifting his head.

  “You have to stop.” She keened back grabbing his hair and moaned. He was licking her. Down there. Flicking his tongue in the most exquisite way imaginable. Never again. If she survived this…

  He sucked her nub and her hips came off the bed. What was he doing to her? She couldn’t breathe. Her insides clinched, heat pooled between her legs, every nerve seemed to be attached right where Edward flicked his tongue.

  The pressure.

  He needed to stop.

  She gripped his hair and pressed him closer. “Harder.”

  She lifted her hips to give him better access. “Edward.”

  His hands lifted her bottom so high she had to release his hair. Her shoulders supported her weight. “Don’t. Stop. Oh God.” She was going to die from the pressure. “I need, I need,” she didn’t know.

  Edward sucked hard and ground his teeth across her nub.

  Every muscle in her body seized. Her back arched and she exploded in mind numbing waves of pulsating ecstasy.

  Edward continued tonguing his wife until her legs went limp and then he lowered her onto the mattress. Of all the women he had ever known, not one of them ever came close to Penelope’s responsiveness. His control started to unravel when she pressed his face closer. But when she came, screaming his name over and over and over, he almost snapped.

  He crawled up her torso, stopping to re-acquaint himself with each breast and then kissed her mouth.

  She was half lucid, relaxed, and wet. He fingered her slickness. First one finger, then two, and a third. She was going to be tight.

  “I’m going to take you now, Penelope.”

  He kissed her again and moved over her, pressing his advantage. Sweet mother, he needed to drive into her. But he wouldn’t chance hurting her if he could help it.

  He closed his eyes and concentrated on the push. Slow and steady.

  “Are you in pain?” she sounded concerned.

  He opened his eyes and Penelope was staring up at him. She touched his shoulders.

  He grimaced and pecked a kiss. “It’s you I’m concerned about.”

  “Why?”

  He pressed his forehead against hers. Now she wanted to talk. He pushed his way inside her inching little by little.

  Penelope stiffened.

  He stopped and kissed her. “Don’t Pen. Lift your legs and wrap them around me.”

  Her breaths were staggered. “It hurts.”

  He pressed furt
her. His control slipping rapidly. Bloody hell she was tighter than a pair of riding gloves left out in the rain. The pain was exquisite.

  Hands pressed against his chest.

  “Stop. Edward, it hurts.”

  “I can’t.” His muscles shook. “I need to be inside you.”

  “Edward—”

  He kissed her hard and thrust, sinking into her blissfully tight sheath.

  He stopped and waited for her muffled cry to subside. “Shush. The worst is over. I promise it won’t ever hurt again. Just this once. Tell me when it stops.” And please God let it be soon. He didn’t know how much longer he could wait. He needed to move. She was so tight and if he didn’t move soon, he was going to…

  “I’m okay, now.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He felt her nod into his neck, and he nuzzled her temple. “I’ll try to go slow, Pen but I’m holding onto the last shreds of control. Just relax.”

  On her shaking intake, Edward moved. Incrementally slow, lengthening his stroke bit by blissful bit. Taking them farther the more she relaxed.

  Her legs moved further up his torso giving him more room, opening her to deeper thrusts. “Pen,” he kissed her, sucking in her tongue.

  Her response mirrored his, taking, biting, sucking his lower lip. Then she thrust her tongue into his mouth mimicking his movement and his control snapped.

  He pulled her tight, blindly forging ahead. His only focus on the building pressure in his loins and the ultimate release. Deeper, he needed to be deeper.

  He turned her over and took her on her knees, pressing farther, deeper now, adjusting her legs wider. The sound of her panting, the slap, slap, slap of her bottom meeting his groin. The thunder of his heartbeat roaring through his ears.

  The pressure, the pressure, the pressure, the final thrust, and then gripping her hips tight against the continued jerk of his release as she spasmed repeatedly around him.