With his free hand, he slowly undid the buttons, his fingers spreading apart the fabric of her gown until the ties of her stays were exposed. He pulled on the bow that held them in place around her bosom, closing his eyes when he felt the weight of her breasts settle onto his forearm through the fabric of her gown.
He burrowed the flat of his hand beneath the stays and over her chemise, sliding the fabric sideways until one sleeve fell from her shoulder. Trailing a series of kisses down the column of her neck and then along the top of her shoulder, he thrilled at hearing her soft gasps and barely audible moans.
He felt another thrill when he watched as one of her hands lifted to pull on the bow that held the neckline of her chemise in place. The ties loosened as his hand continued to slide down her back until it reached her petticoats, where his deft fingers undid the tapes.
When she shivered beneath his hold, Jasper lifted his lips back to her ear. “Are you cold?” he asked in a whisper.
Marianne’s murmur of, “No,” was a barely-there breath that changed when he switched arms and did the same with the other side of her chemise, and stays, and gown. He thought to slide the sleeves completely from her arms, but she was already doing so, her entire back suddenly bare. Jasper dropped a kiss between her shoulder blades as he lessened his hold on her so that the gown and chemise could fall unimpeded to the floor. The hand at the side of her waist slid up and under one breast, his palm slowly moving to cover it.
Jasper couldn’t help but groan at feeling the weight of her, at realizing his hand could barely contain the soft orb. He also realized Marianne was holding her breath. “You need to breathe, my sweeting, or you shall faint,” he whispered, not adding that he might faint as well.
He was stunned to find her breasts were larger than the palm of his hand.
One of Marianne’s hands moved to his, the fingers of her small hand covering as much of his as possible. “They’re too fleshy, I know, despite what Aunt—” Her words were cut off when he quickly turned her in his arms, his mouth coming down over hers, as much to quiet her as to counter her claim. His other hand had moved to her other breast, his hold not so gentle as he kneaded the soft mound. When he finally released her lips, he pressed his forehead against hers and whispered, “They are perfect, despite what anyone else may have told you.”
Marianne inhaled sharply, pulling her head from his to regard him with a look of surprise. “You’re not just saying that? Because... because you have to?” she asked. With her eyes wide open, she could make out every detail of his face, every lash framing his dark eyes, every bit of his lips, and his high cheekbones, and the length of his aristocratic nose. He was handsome, obviously a peer descended from some royal ancestor blessed with beauty and good bone structure. She couldn’t help but lift a hand to his jaw, to use a finger to trace the line back to his neck.
Jasper had to resist chuckling at her question. “They are perfect,” he repeated, his hand still kneading the one he held. An engorged nipple had settled between two of his knuckles, and he pressed them together to see how she might react.
He wasn’t disappointed when she inhaled sharply. His mouth was over it in an instant, his tongue laving across the hardened bud before he suckled it with his lips. “So perfect,” he murmured before kissing the nipple. He moved his mouth to the other side, but on the way, his gaze quickly took in her bare belly and nakedness below. Her gown and chemise had formed a silken puddle at her feet, and only her stockings and slippers remained on her body.
He could feel her breaths quickening beneath his hold, feel as her fingers speared his hair, as if she needed to hold onto something to remain standing. The scent of her changed then, a feminine muskiness that told him she was ready for something more. He pulled his lips from her breast and tried to straighten, cringing at how his arousal pressed against the placket of his breeches.
He would never last if he didn’t keep himself under control.
Their eyes met for a moment before Marianne realized he was still clothed. She undid the knot at his neck, her fingers pulling apart the silk cravat until she could unwrap it from around his neck. She jerked at the tie at the top of his shirt before deftly undoing the buttons down his waistcoat and top coat. In the process of pushing the garments from his body, she gave a start when one of his hands delved between her thighs, the flat of his hand pressed against her most private place. Inhaling sharply, she stilled her movements and stared at him until he finally moved the hand. She gasped again, not sure what to do.
“Christ, I want you so badly,” he whispered, nearly breathless as he pulled his hand from her and finished removing his top coat and waistcoat. He pulled his shirt from his body in a whoosh of fine lawn, which had Marianne’s eyes widening at the sight of his bare chest. She could make out the details of it without even squinting, his dark chest hair sharp against a broad expanse of skin stretched over muscle and bone. Without even realizing it, one of her hands reached out to touch it before she quickly pulled it back, as if she had been shocked from the touch.
Jasper gripped her hand and placed it back onto his chest. “You can touch me where ever you’d like. When we’re alone, of course,” he managed to get out between gritted teeth. He struggled to undo the fastenings of his breeches and then realized he still wore his boots. He bit back a curse when he had to step away from Marianne—and away from her touch—in order to remove his footwear and stockings.
The coverage of his body suddenly gone, Marianne moved her arms to cross over her bosom, one hand dropping to hide her mons from his gaze. She dared a glance back at the small bunk, wanting desperately to climb under the white linens and hide.
Once again resisting the urge to chuckle at her modesty, Jasper lifted his gaze to her face and gave his head a quick shake. “Trust me when I tell you that you are a beautiful woman. You could have been a model for Michelangelo,” he claimed as he pulled first one boot and then the other from his feet, barely able to keep his balance as he did so.
Marianne was about to counter his claim. None of Michaelangelo’s statues featured fleshy women—at least as far she knew from the replicas that decorated some of the halls of the aristocrat’s homes she had visited this past week. But something about the way he watched her as he removed one of his stockings had her slowly removing her arms from in front of her body. “I don’t suppose you’ll allow me to wear a nightrail tonight?”
Giving his head a quick shake, Jasper regarded her with a wan smile. “I would not forbid it, of course, but I really rather you didn’t.” He paused a moment as he removed his other stocking. “But you can tomorrow night.”
Furrowing a brow, Marianne asked, “Why tomorrow night?”
Jasper finished undoing the fastening of his breeches and paused before pushing them down. “I cannot expect to bed you again tomorrow night.”
Marianne blinked. “But, why not?” she asked before she remembered Aunt Cherice’s warning.
“I expect you’ll be... too sore,” he replied with a one-shouldered shrug. “I don’t wish to cause you any more pain than you’ll feel tonight.”
Wondering at why she felt a combination of relief and disappointment, Marianne allowed a nod.
When Jasper pushed down his breeches, she couldn’t help her slight gasp, for she realized then why it was she would be sore.
However in the world was he supposed to put that inside her? Down there?
Grimacing, Jasper kicked off the breeches and moved to put his arms around Marianne. “It’s not as bad as it looks, I promise,” he whispered, his words nearly breathless as he reveled in how his manhood pressed into her soft belly, a far more hospitable home than behind the placket of his wool breeches.
Startled by the heavy object that had come between them, Marianne finally nodded, even though she didn’t believe him. She could practically feel how his manhood throbbed, how it seemed to have a life of its own. “I’m ready,” she whispered, well aware of how her entire body trembled.
“I’l
l make you more so,” he promised, his attention turning away from her. “Lie down, and I’ll join you in a moment,” he said before he disappeared from her view. He was back in a moment, a bath linen in one hand.
“What’s that for?” she wondered as she watched him unfold the linen. She had stayed standing, not about to get onto the small bed just yet.
“Proof of your virtue, I suppose. And so we don’t muss the bed linens too much,” he added as he draped it over the sheets. When he straightened, he found Marianne regarding him with tears in the corners of her eyes and an expression that suggested she wasn’t the least bit ready for what was about to happen.
He pulled her into his arms again and kissed her slowly, moved his hands over the soft skin of her back and her arms, moved his lips over her jaw, and down her neck, and across her collarbones, all the while his manhood begged for surcease and her body trembled.
He finally lifted her into his arms and placed her onto the small bunk, his body following hers down until he was settled beside and atop her. Having a hard time deciding which engorged nipple to nibble first, he used his nose to tickle both as the flat of one hand slid down her belly and over her mons. He felt her body stiffen beneath his, but she did his bidding when he coaxed her thighs apart and used the heel of his hand to press against her wet folds.
“Breathe, my sweeting,” he whispered, as much a reminder for her as it was for him. Pulling his hand back a bit, he slipped a few fingers along the silken folds before sliding them sideways, circling and teasing until her womanhood finally emerged from the moistening folds.
Rubbing it gently as he continued to worry a nipple between his teeth, he felt a good deal of satisfaction when he heard her slight gasps. He had a mind to use his tongue and lips on her womanhood, but thought better of it. He could practice a Roman art when they were closer to their destination.
As her breathing quickened, Jasper rubbed a bit harder and then slid a finger into her tight haven. Expecting her reaction—to either pull away from him or to clench down to prevent his entry—he was surprised when she bent a knee and lifted it slightly. Her neck arched back into the pillow and a strangled cry sounded from her throat.
“Is it all right if I continue?” he asked in a hoarse whisper, his manhood throbbing against the side of her thigh. He knew it wanted to be doing what his middle finger was doing, but she was still far too tight to accommodate him.
Marianne nodded and murmured her consent, her breaths still a series of pants and gasps.
Spurred on by her body’s movements and how her ambrosia dripped from his hold, Jasper slid a second finger into her as his thumb continued what his hand could no longer do. Circling and rubbing, his fingers pushing in and pulling out just a bit, he soon had her stretched as much as he could manage with just his fingers.
Rubbing her womanhood a bit harder, he thrilled when her entire body seemed to seize and his fingers seemed as if they were being sucked into her tight cocoon. The cry of his name sounded loud as he quickly repositioned his body and managed to press his manhood into her just as the last vestiges of her orgasm waved through her lower body.
He knew he had hurt her when he paid witness to her wince and quick inhalation of breath. He could feel how she clenched on her body’s intruder, and it took everything he had not to simply allow his release just then.
Covering her mouth with his own, he managed a quick kiss before he stilled his body. Suspended over her, barely pushing into her a bit at a time and then pulling out slowly, he finally paused to take a labored breath.
“I’m so sorry this is hurting you,” he whispered.
Marianne gave a quick shake of her head in the pillow. “It’s not so bad, really,” she managed, a tear rolling down her temple to her ear. She lifted her knees a bit, and gripped the sides of his thighs with them.
The movement had Jasper growling in response. “Yes!” he whispered hoarsely. Knowing he could no longer hold back, Jasper pulled his manhood almost all the way out of her body before thrusting once, twice, and a third time until he was as deep as he could go. His seed spilled into her as the spasm of pleasure, sharp and intense, had blinding flashes of lights exploding before his eyes.
Grimacing, he held himself suspended for a few seconds before his arms betrayed him, and he collapsed atop Marianne’s soft body. He managed a kiss on the corner of her mouth before he passed out.
Not sure what to do, Marianne slowly lowered her feet to the bed and allowed her breathing to return to normal. At some point, her hands had moved to his shoulders, as if she needed something to hang onto as Jasper took her body. She now moved them beneath his arms and around his back, wondering at how his body seemed to jerk a bit at her touch. Jerk at the same time he inhaled sharply.
Did her touch tickle him?
She smoothed a hand down his back as far as it would go, remembering how when he had done it to her, her skin had reacted in a series of pleasant frissons and tickles. She wasn’t disappointed when she felt the same happening beneath his skin. Then she heard his breathing hitch and slow.
Whatever he had been doing down there had been uncomfortable at first, at least once he had his finger inside her. Uncomfortable mixed with a sharp pleasure that had her wanting more at the same time she wanted it to end. Then there had been the wash of warmth that seemed to spread through her lower body, a signal for his turn at the pleasure of sexual congress, she now realized.
Her body still trembled.
When would it stop?
She was no longer frightened, not that she had been too terribly scared by what had been about to happen. Except when she realized he was sliding two fingers between her honeyed folds. She had thought those two fingers too large to enter her, the assault stretching her until she thought she would burst. But then she remembered how large his manhood had appeared when it was released from his breeches, how heavy it felt pressed into her belly. Had he truly managed to get it entirely inside her?
He is still inside me, she realized just then. Filling her completely, pressed in so deep she didn’t know where he stopped and she started. Even his torso, completely covering her own, was like a thick blanket of bone and muscle and warmth. Pressed skin to skin, his heartbeat apparent against one of her breasts, she didn’t know where she stopped and he started.
Just thinking of what his thumb had been doing in her most private place had a frisson shooting through her entire body, a sensation accompanied by waves of pleasure. Jasper must have felt it, for his body quivered in response, and she heard his slight chuckle next to her ear before his lips left a kiss on her earlobe.
“I should move. I must be suffocating you,” she heard him whisper, the words sounding loud so close to her ear.
“No. Stay,” she replied, her fingertips tracing circles on his back, her drowsiness apparent in how far away her words sounded in her own ears.
If every night was like this—sans the painful pinch she had felt when he impaled her—she decided she would enjoy the marriage bed.
If all they ever did was hold one another like this, she would be satisfied. If all they ever did was kiss, well, she would be quite content.
Chapter 10
A Dark Night for Reflection
Later that night
The slight and constant sway of The Fairweather would have lulled Marianne to sleep had she not been so aware of her husband’s body pressed against hers. Of the slight rise and fall of his chest, his warm breaths washing over one of her breasts. Of his pulse at his wrist where it rested under the other breast.
Warm and heavy, Jasper had finally moved from atop her, carefully pulling himself from her body before giving her a quick kiss and nearly collapsing at her side.
Trembling from a combination of arousal and uneasiness, Marianne felt a bit of relief when Jasper didn’t remove himself entirely from the bed. Her aunt had warned her he might do so in some kind of misguided notion that she would desire privacy over staying close.
“May I stay?” he a
sked, his whisper sounding rather drowsy.
Marianne had to still herself, tempted to ask where he intended to go if she said “no.”
She had no desire to be alone.
No desire to lose the pleasant warmth and weight that kept her from floating away. “Please do,” she replied in a matching whisper, one hand feeling about for the edge of the downturned bed linens. She pulled on the linens and blankets until both their bodies were covered.
“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice so quiet Marianne had a hard time making out the simple words.
She allowed a grin, deciding she felt rather content just then. “You’re most welcome.” She couldn’t complain of being sore, exactly, but something was different. Thrumming, almost as if she were cold despite the fact that she was blissfully warm, her body felt boneless.
“I think we shall suit one another.”
The words sounded almost slurred and far away, delivered in a voice that betrayed its owner’s drowsiness.
“Indeed,” she replied with a grin.
Jasper opened one eye and yawned. “Good night, my bride.” Within moments, he was sound asleep.
Good night?
They hadn’t yet had dinner!
Marianne thought to get up. Find the pitcher and bowl of water and clean herself. Pull on a nightrail, despite Jasper’s earlier words. What if someone should come into their cabin? She wasn’t wearing a stitch!
Except Jasper had thrown the bolt when he shut the door. No one would be coming into the cabin. With that thought, she simply closed her eyes and finally dosed off.
Hungry, aroused, and well aware of the close confines of the cabin, Jasper rolled off the bed as quietly as he could manage. His breaths coming faster as his heart rate increased, he quickly pulled on the pair of breeches and the shirt he had shed earlier, his need to get outside growing more urgent by the moment. Although he didn’t usually suffer from seasickness, he would be sick if he didn’t get outside.
The Vision of a Viscountess (The Widowers of the Aristocracy Book 2) Page 9
