A Practical Arrangement

by Nadja Notariani

She returned his heavy gaze, eyes wide and wary. “Better,” she breathed.

  He rested his forehead against hers again, gathering his own composure. “Christ, you're small.”

  A new unease spread in her middle. “I'm sorry. I...I did not know,” she apologized, not fully sure why she did so. He groaned as if in pain, worrying her further. “Am I hurting you?” she asked softly, fresh tears threatening.

  Another groan reverberated through him and into her. “God, no, sweetheart. You feel so good.”

  His voice was ragged and hoarse, and coupled with what he’d just confessed, Evangeline grew warm all over. He pushed deeper within her. The burning built to a fevered pitch, but she did not wish to stop him. Again, his retreat. More burning. How much more could there be? When he pushed inside her again, a startled cry tore from her lips despite her attempts to contain it.

  “That was the worst of it, sweetheart. I promise.”

  For untold minutes he remained still, seated deeply inside her body. He kissed her tenderly. She gripped his shoulders, desperate to be comforted as her body adjusted to his filling presence. At last, he looked at her, his gaze blazing.

  “I'm going to move now, Evangeline. Easy.”

  “I am all right now,” she assured shakily. Whether truth or lie, she could not say for certain.

  Oh! When he moved, she was in both pleasure and pain. His gaze burned into her with such intensity she buried her face against his shoulder, for she couldn't look into his eyes and retain any of her heart. His breath fanned against her hair, his rough groans wild and carnal – how she understood this, a mystery. Still, he remained gentle and controlled, which only captured her trust more fully.

  He surged into her and held her against himself, groaning her name. “Evie...God, Evie.”

  His length swelled, stretching her, and heat poured deep within her body. Low and throaty he husked against her ear, “You are mine, sweetheart. I've made you mine.”

  And saints help her, he didn't lie.

  Another cry escaped her as he slowly withdrew from her body.

  “Easy, baby,” he soothed, pulling her snugly against his side.

  Well!

  That had been nothing like she'd expected. At all! Her terrified imaginings of flailing arms and frantic pawing skittered across her mind's eye, causing her to stifle a bout of relieved laughter. Thomas' loving had been anything but. He'd been so gentle and considerate. She hadn't been discontented, either. Truth be told, she felt connected to him in a manner she’d never experienced with another being.

  His hands touched and caressed her arm, trailing down her side in languid strokes. “Are you all right, sweetheart?” he asked in the still, dark quiet.

  “Yes, Thomas. I am all right.” It was the easiest answer. And she was all right, she realized. More than all right. But she was also terribly afraid of the powerful emotions coursing through her.

  Thomas rolled them, hovering over her. “Did I hurt you, Evie?”

  Evangeline opened her mouth to protest his endearment – no one had ever called her Evie – but she opted to indulge him. Considering his question, she decided he had not hurt her, really, despite the discomfort. “No,” she answered, her brow creasing, “but...will it be easier if we do that again?”

  Thomas groaned softly, the sound vibrating through her in rippling waves. “Sweetheart, when we do that again.” He kissed her forehead, then her cheeks. “And yes. It will be easier.”

  Evangeline sighed, “May I ask you a question?”

  “Anything,” he replied.

  She drew in a breath, exhaled and gathered her courage. “Are you disappointed about my...my smallness? I did not know, or I would have informed you before you married me.”

  For a moment she thought she'd die, so serious was his expression, but then he laughed, kissing her with a passion that replaced one unease with another. “My God, Evie, no. I'm not disappointed, sweetheart. I uttered those words in the midst of passion as a way of expressing how pleasurable your body's tightness is to me.”

  “I thought...I thought maybe something was wrong with me,” she confessed shyly, “that you were unhappy or thought I'd kept it from you on purpose.”

  “Forgive me,” he chuckled. “I should have considered how my words might sound to you. When a man is inside a woman, the tighter she grips him, the greater his pleasure.”

  “Oh.” She blushed profusely.

  “I am glad you asked me, Evangeline. Now I have something I need to ask you.” He planted a gentle kiss alongside her jaw. “Why did you become afraid when I rested my weight on you?”

  “I'd rather not talk about it. Please understand.”

  “Evangeline, do you remember when I told you I could not care for you properly if any secrets existed between us?”

  “I do. But I know you won't hurt me now.”

  “While it pleases me to hear that, it is beside the point. Sweetheart, when you reacted like that, I was afraid someone had tried to hurt you – to violate you. Did someone try to force himself upon you? Is that why you didn't want to marry, because you were afraid?”

  “No! Nothing like that.”

  “Then tell me. I'll always wonder how you'll react to my touch if you deny me the truth.”

  “I hadn't thought of it that way,” Evangeline admitted sadly. “If I explain, will you keep my secret?”

  “You worry me, Evangeline Masterson,” he warned.

  Oddly, his insistence made her feel better. Her husband was ordering her to explain, so she wasn't betraying her mother, was she? “I... well, my mother becomes rather emotional, especially concerning my father, and,” she paused, discerning how best to explain, “well, she loses control of herself at times.”

  “And what occurs when she loses control?” His voice had gone quiet and unsettling, dangerous.

  “She would hold me. Painfully so. And warn me.”

  “Warn you of what?”

  Yes. His voice was different. Icy. Hard.

  “Please do not be angry with me,” Evangeline whispered. “I didn't know how...that you would be so kind.”

  She found herself wrapped in his arms. “Sweetheart, I am not angry with you,” he assured gently. “Tell me.”

  “She'd warn me that husbands hurt their wives, made them cry. That they used them and cast them aside.” The difficult story spilled from her, her confusion over her mother's varying moods and the pain of her biting grip. Her inability to get away when her mother took one of her fits, all of it, until she was void of words. “She can't help herself, Thomas. And I was afraid that if I married, my husband may become emotional and not be able to help himself either.”

  “I understand better now,” he comforted. “I made the right choice, forcing your hand. You'd never have come to me on your own with that sort of fear. Evangeline,” he avowed, “I'll never, ever put my hands on you in an uncontrolled manner. Do you understand?”

  She nodded. What she didn't ask was whether he'd cast her aside.

  ...He shall tire of you quickly...

  Augusta's viscous words blared in her thoughts.

  “Rest, sweetheart.”

  “Thomas?”

  “What is it?”

  “Do you mean for me to sleep here? In your bedroom? Or should I go to my own?”

  He pulled back to study her. “I want you to sleep here. With me, Evie. Always.”

  * * *

  'Evangeline...Did I not warn you?'

  The voice whispered, smug and taunting from afar.

  'You traded one master for another. First fear owned you, and now emotion. You'll be lost when he abandons you. Foolish girl...'

  A heaviness pinned her. She fought to escape, struggling against unseen bonds.

  Evangeline's eyes flashed open. She couldn't move! Her brain battled her sleep induced stupor, grasping for purchase in unfamiliar surroundings. The reason for her inability to move dawned as she discovered her new husband wrapped around her like a vine. Anxiety fled in the know
ledge. Strangely, his nearness impressed a sense of safety. She wondered a moment at the realization.

  Bread and butter!

  Nature called – bellowed actually. Gingerly, she extracted her limbs from his and eased from the bed, tiptoeing from the room so as not to wake him. The fire had died down to little more than glowing embers, and she blindly felt for the doorway as her eyes struggled to adjust to the darkness. Outside the warmth of the bed covers and separated from her husband's body heat, her teeth chattered violently. By the time she returned, inching across the darkened room in search of the bed, she ran smack into Thomas. Her startled cry had him lifting her in his arms.

  “Are you all right?”

  “You scared me,” she whispered. “I cannot see where I am going!”

  “I woke up and you were gone.”

  “I had to...”

  Oh! How to navigate these uncomfortable waters?

  “To use the...”

  He silenced her with a kiss. “You're back with me now.” Tucking her beneath the covers, he moved to build up the fire.

  Flames sprang to life, illuminating the room – and Thomas' naked form. Evangeline took in his broad shoulders and tapered waist, his muscles rippling as he hoisted a heavy log onto the blazing heap. Her inspection traveled lower, lean buttocks and thighs her reward – male perfection, she supposed. She flushed with embarrassment, for he turned to catch her admiring him, revealing that part of his anatomy. Heat suffused her being, but she could only stare with morbid fascination at the jutting length between his thighs. Evangeline gasped aloud as it thickened and lengthened under her wide-eyed scrutiny.

  Thomas felt her gaze upon him sure as if her hand stroked his length. He wanted her again. Damn his selfishness! She had to be tender after their lovemaking; he'd spilled her virgin blood only hours ago. Pulling back the covers, the evidence on the sheets convicted him.

  He knew she spotted it the minute she sucked in her breath.

  “What will we do about the sheet?” she stammered. “Everyone will know what we...what transpired between us!”

  “Sweetheart,” he reminded with a chuckle, “they'll know regardless. I'd hazard a guess it is rather expected.”

  She flushed a deeper shade of red, he knew without doubt. Sliding alongside her, he pulled her close, fitting himself to her naked body. The moment he touched her, his cock jerked against her belly. Evangeline went still in his arms.

  “Talk to me, sweetheart,” he encouraged, nibbling her ear delicately.

  She shivered. “Are you going to...to bed me again?” A slight frisson of fear laced her tone.

  “Will you have me, Evie? God forgive me, I want you again.”

  He found her breast and suckled greedily, teasing and tasting her like a man starved. She became pliant in his hands, a soft sigh reaching out from her to caress his desire. Equal attention was paid to the other breast before he kissed lower, moving until he reached the apex of the thighs.

  “Thomas!” she cried out, clutching at his shoulders.

  “Easy, baby. Trust me. I want to give you pleasure.”

  “I...I do not need this!” she pleaded.

  Soothing her skin with his long fingers, he kissed her most tender flesh.

  “Ahh,” she whimpered. “Is this natural?”

  Her thighs desperately sought to displace him, but he refused their denial. “Let me, baby.”

  The simple command stilled her.

  “Much better,” he praised, spreading her legs and kissing her again. “Relax for me.” Thomas lowered his mouth, slowly laving her open. Her journey toward fulfillment consumed him; he wanted her pleasure to be his before he sank within her and found his own. His artful worship sapped the strength of her inhibitions, her silent acquiescence the summit at last scaled. Releasing his grip, her thighs fell open, her body accepting if not yet welcoming.

  Thomas made love to her with his mouth, her pleasure evident by the silky wetness betwixt her legs and the soft sighs he knew she fought to contain. Still, she hesitated, unable to fully surrender and reach her crisis.

  It will take time.

  He reminded himself of the fact ruefully.

  Take one day at a time.

  His heart swelled at thoughts of her eventual submission to pleasure, his cock hard and ready. Climbing up her body, teasing her flesh with his lips along his path, he pressed himself against her as he captured her lips. The welcoming heat which met his swollen length nearly unmanned him instantly, forcing him to lie still and focus on exploring her mouth. His efforts were rewarded with a tiny moan from his wife, and her arms wound around him in welcome embrace. When he could deny his hunger no more, he pushed inside her, slowly encasing himself within tight liquid heat.

  It was his utter undoing. Carnal expertise evaporated, relinquished with neither shame nor regret. A few strokes and he erupted, emptying himself into her, her name a benediction torn from his throat.

  Thomas Masterson, beholden to a woman. Evangeline. His Evie.

  * * *

  Evangeline wakened in the early dawn, glancing about the room to gain her bearings before realization set in. She was alone in the great bed. Quietness enveloped her, and she supposed daily activity had yet to commence. Always an early riser, it surprised her to discover her husband had risen without waking her.

  Venturing from the warm solace of the coverlet, Evangeline sought the sitting room. Perhaps Thomas would be having his morning tea and she might join him. The golden-papered room with its rusty brown carpet was as empty as the bedchamber. She wandered to the windows, pulling aside the cream-colored sheers to gaze out upon the grounds and collect her thoughts. Cherry Hill lay before her. Her new home. The reality seemed ludicrous.

  Shaking her head with a smile, Evangeline wiled away precious moments in silent inspection. The view afforded from the private sitting room was impressive. Gently rolling turf stretched to the wooded backdrop, the lank branches slightly ominous in appearance. Summer, she knew, would blanket the towering trees in lush greenery, making the view quite spectacular. The sitting room boasted a set of French doors between the windows, which led to an outdoor balcony. This would provide a perfect breakfasting area in warm weather.

  She at last abandoned her reverie and locating her trunk, dressed and fixed her hair, braiding her long, sleek tresses and pinning them snugly. Not as well done without Corinne, she thought regretfully, but acceptable. Corinne should arrive in a few days, and Evangeline looked forward to having her near. The familiar face would offer comfort. With a firm resolve taken hold of, she headed downstairs. A good impression would begin things well. She'd mulled over how best to assume her duties, and the best course, to her way of thinking, was to ask questions and observe before taking action.

  Her practical nature pleased her in this moment; it would serve her well in her role at Cherry Hill. Despite the enormity of the task, her confidence remained intact. If only she felt as confident where her husband was concerned. That thought intruded on her peace, and she stepped up her pace. Anxious to gauge his reaction to their meeting this morning after...Well! Best to have it done with.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Masterson,” Mrs. O'Leary greeted. “Will you be taking breakfast?”

  “Thank you, yes,” Evangeline answered. “Has Mr. Masterson taken his meal already?”

  “Oh, yes, ma'am,” the woman responded. “Mr. Masterson had a visitor, and they've gone near the field house I believe.”

  “I see. Thank you.” A slight sinking feeling dampened her high spirits. After last night, she'd hoped beyond reason that her husband harbored true affection for her. His absence this morning confused her. No sense jumping to conclusions! With no real idea of what to expect, Evangeline decided it wise to withhold any hasty judgments. “I shall have my meal, Mrs. O'Leary, and then a report on general daily activities before I begin writing my letters. Will that interfere with your duties?”

  “Not at all, Mrs. Masterson!” the good natured woman exclaimed with a broad
smile. “Would you care to examine the menu as well?”

  The cheerful response revived Evangeline's confidence. “That would be wonderful, Mrs. O'Leary. Thank you.”

  By mid-afternoon she'd exhausted her tasks. Cherry Hill's schedules needed little adjustment at present, Evangeline discovered. Mrs. O'Leary, whom Dorcas had informed her oversaw the kitchen and the female servants, had matters well in hand. A delightful woman, Betsy O'Leary exuded enthusiasm in all she did or spoke of. Evangeline rather thought her wild, red hair matched her personality well and found the woman a joy to work with.

  She sighed, adding a sugar cube to her teacup and stirring absently. Thomas had yet to return to the house. Truthfully, relief mixed with anxious wonder, for she could not imagine what to say to him when he did appear.

  Of all the nonsense! Sitting around and fretting like a ninny!

  In that moment, Evangeline determined to go about her business and push all thoughts of Thomas Masterson from her mind. Nodding at her own return of sound sense, she sipped the deliciously warm brew, cozy contentment blossoming. A brisk walk after tea would set her to rights completely. The aroma of warm bread stole her attention, and she indulged in a slice with jam, a favorite treat, before calling for her hooded wrap.

  “Mrs. O'Leary, I shall not wander far,” Evangeline assured the nervous woman.

  “The wind is bitterly cold and it looks like rain! I'd not forgive myself if you took ill, ma'am. Mr. Masterson will not like it.”

  “I've a strong constitution,” Evangeline announced, ending the discussion. “Afternoon walks are a regular habit of mine. Mr. Masterson is aware.”

  Stepping out the door without a backward glance, Evangeline set off. The wooded patch she'd spied from the sitting room window practically begged her to explore. Frozen grass crunched beneath her steps as icy air stung her nose and cheeks, the sound and sensation fueling her sense of adventure. Nature consumed her, quieting her torrid thoughts as the rustling of frozen leaves betrayed scampering squirrels, and frosted branches hung wearily under the drab, cloudy sky. Wholly consumed with the spectacle before her, she slowed her pace.

  The tree line stretched further than she'd estimated, and before she’d traveled half its length, cold, sleeting drizzle began to pelt her from the menacing gray clouds, forcing her to turn back. Rejuvenated from her vigorous dash toward the dry warmth of indoors, Evangeline sloshed into the great stone house cold and sopping wet but in high spirits.