by Jen YatesNZ
Damn if he wasn’t laughing at her again. Who was this man who’d suddenly found the ability to talk to her, touch her, tease her? Please God let him be real.
She leaned back, trying to read his face in the moonlight.
‘Who are you? Where have you been hiding?’
The teasing light faded from his eyes and suddenly the serious, almost stern, Rogan was back. His mouth firmed and his chin, always chiseled and square, jutted belligerently. She’d also swear that his hands, wrapped firmly about her body, were trembling.
‘This isn’t easy, Jass. I long quite desperately to discard that repressed—restrained Windermere you’ve become used to over the years but I’m absolutely terrified of what could ensue if he relaxes his guard and—allows his true self to be revealed.’
His jaw worked for a moment as if he ground his teeth.
‘I’ll not allow anyone to hurt you, Jass. I’ll not allow me to hurt you,’ he growled, his voice harsh and intense.
Jassie sat for a moment watching the fierce scowl on his face, then couldn’t resist reaching up to try and smooth it away.
‘Rogan, what’s the worst you might do to me? Where on the scale of severity would our wedding night fall? Could it get worse? And if so, how much worse?’
Suddenly he screwed his eyes tight and pulled her close in to his chest and the trembling in his hands became markedly more noticeable.
‘Rogan talk to me. I need to know! If I know and am prepared for it, I’m sure I can handle it. What you did that night—I cried because it hurt and I was simply not expecting anything like that! Don’t you see? I can cope if I understand what the possibilities are.’
‘Why should you cope?’ he snarled. ‘No woman should have to cope with such abuse! Unless she freely offers herself—and is paid. Christ, Jassie, I made you cry! I thrashed you as if—as if you were the worst miscreant imaginable. I won’t subject you to that. I love you. How could I hurt you?’
His voice had become a broken whisper but Jassie heard those three precious words. I love you. He’d told her that in the folly that afternoon and she would never tire of hearing those words from his lips. She reached up and held his head down to hers, their foreheads resting against one another.
‘Those words are very precious to me, Rogan. Your love is all I’ve ever wanted.—So please explain to me—on a scale of one to ten—no, tell me have you ever really hurt a woman? I mean hurt as in—damaged in any way.’
His body jerked in reaction to her question.
‘No, thank God,’ he muttered. ‘I’ve never damaged anyone. Though I always make them cry.’
She would not allow herself to dwell for even one second on the thought of Rogan with another woman.
‘So what you did, tying me up, gagging me and thrashing me? That’s all that you do?’
‘All! Isn’t that enough?’
‘Hush,’ she murmured, pressing her lips to his forehead. ‘What I’m trying to say to you, Rogan, is that if that is the extent of the abuse, it—was not so bad. Yes, it made me cry because it did hurt. Punishment is meant to hurt and meant to make one cry. But—but if I understand it’s not really me you’re punishing then—then it’s all right. And if I know it doesn’t get much worse than that, I won’t panic—and scream—and—’
‘And hate me,’ he finished for her, the words flat and angry. His head dropped back on his shoulders and his eyes were scrunched tight.
‘Rogan.’ When he didn’t relax she grabbed his shoulders and shook him. ‘Rogan! What part of ‘unconditional love’ don’t you understand? I—love—you. There’s nothing you can do or say to me that can change that. I—love—you—unconditionally.—Please—take me to bed.’
At last his whole body relaxed and he wrapped his arms about her once more, holding her against his heart in such a way as to make her feel precious, treasured. Jassie had never felt more blessed than in that moment, never more hopeful or at peace.
‘I don’t deserve you,’ he murmured.
‘Yes you do. And I deserve you. Please stop denying us to each other.’
She climbed off his lap and tugged him to his feet. He towered over her and she slid her arms around his waist and laid her head against his chest. The freedom to finally be able to do this almost stole her senses for a moment but then she became aware of the hardness of muscle beneath her fingertips, the breadth and strength of him that she’d never been free to experience since she’d been sixteen.
‘Want to know something funny?’
‘What?’ he asked, his lips nuzzling into her hair.
‘I’ve never seen a naked man. Except in books. Do you know there are some very—informative books in your library, Lord Windermere?’
‘You mean those ones hidden behind a row of others on the very top shelf, Lady Windermere?’
‘Oh! So you do know!’ she pounced.
‘Philip and I found them when we were about twelve I think.’
‘I was fifteen. It was not long after Quentin died. I spent more time here than at Brantleigh once Phil joined the army and I was here then. You were somewhere in Europe—’
‘Austria. I didn’t know about Quent’s death until weeks afterwards.’
Jassie nodded.
‘That just added to everyone’s misery of course; your mother’s in particular. It was a very dreary time once all the visitors had stopped coming. I rather think your parents forgot I was here half the time and I spent hours hiding and reading on the window-seat in the library. There was no one to monitor what I read and I knew exactly where to look because I had found a couple in exactly the same place at Brantleigh—on the highest shelf and hidden behind a row of other very boring tomes. I considered that I was educating myself for you. But you shattered that particular pipe dream on my sixteenth birthday—along with my heart. It has lain, smashed, at your feet ever since.’
Jassie felt that organ swell painfully in her chest, even now, remembering the bleakness of those days of grief. She’d sustained herself with dreams of Rogan and how much more grown up she’d be when he finally returned, how he’d recognize the woman she’d become and start to treat her as his love instead of a pesky kid-sister as he always had before.
The pain strengthened when she thought of how innocently she’d looked forward to that momentous birthday. At sixteen she’d decided she was definitely a woman grown, and had blithely believed all her fantasies about Rogan Wyldefell would then be realized.
Jassie leaned back in his arms and looked up at his face, stern and deeply shadowed against the moonlight.
‘I dreamed a lot of wasted dreams back then, Rogan. About the only one that has come to fruition is the one where you became my husband. Even that didn’t much resemble the romantic fantasy I made of it. And if I thought I was frustrated before it’s nothing to how I feel now. I burn and ache for you in places a true lady doesn’t ever mention. But I think your mother gave up on the idea of turning me out as a true lady years ago.—Rogan, please make love to me.’
His arms tightened, clasping her roughly back against his chest.
‘I want to, Jass. More than you can ever understand but—’
Stretching up onto her toes, Jassie closed her mouth over his.
‘No more ‘buts’,’ she murmured. ‘Kiss me.’
His beautiful mouth softened over hers. A deep moan of surrender vibrated through his body and his tongue slipped between her lips and Jassie thought her crazy heart would leap right out of her chest. Rogan was kissing her, deeply, lovingly, just as he’d done on the night of her sixteenth birthday before his deeply ingrained sense of honor had forced him to step back—and deliver the cruelest words he’d ever spoken to her.
Her tongue danced delightedly to meet his, their lips melding, clinging. His hands cupped the back of her head, fingers spearing into the mass of her hair. It was as if shafts of wildfire left his fingertips and coursed through her body.
It was happening, it was really happening.
Her ha
nds slid round to the back of his neck, hanging on, dragging him closer until her breasts were mashed against his chest, the nipples hard and burning.
‘Oh Rogan please!’ she breathed into his mouth.
He stilled, removed his mouth from hers and raised his head. When she looked up, ready to plead yet more, his mouth was a taut line, his nostrils flared and his eyes closed.
‘Don’t beg. Please, Jassie, don’t beg. I promise to try and make love to you, as you should be made love to. But—there are triggers—and begging is one of them.’
‘But—I want—’
‘What do you want?’
‘You—you showing me—loving me—’
‘That’s what I want too. Just let me show you.’
He slipped the peignoir off her shoulders then whispered harshly, ‘Take your gown off. I want to see you.’
Jassie stepped back from him, shaking her head.
‘Only if you’ll remove your clothes also, Windermere! I’m not going to be the only one in the buff here! And I have absolutely no doubt you know exactly how the female body looks where as I—’
‘Yeah, I know. You’ve only seen pictures! Let’s get naked together. But I’m telling you, Jassie, if I hurt you again, it’ll be the last time.’
Jassie sucked in a ragged breath then almost sobbed on the exhale. She didn’t know what affected her most, the realization she was about to see Rogan without his clothes for the first time or the thought that it might also be the last.
And if it was the only time she might ever see him then she really wanted to see.
‘Do you mind if I light a candle?’
A rough chuckle escaped him.
‘Why would I ever have thought you’d be a shy bride? Most virgins, especially the more gently bred ones, would cringe at the thought of exposing themselves for the first time. It was that which terrified me most about you all these years. I’d half expected that confrontation on Neave Tor years ago. Let’s light all the candles. We’ve both waited too long for this moment.’
Jassie couldn’t keep the grin from her face and she set about creating as much illumination as she could.
‘I’d been thinking of approaching you about it for a long time but you see—maybe your Mama did succeed in teaching me a little—for I had a really hard time talking myself into actually doing it.’
His chuckle was the most beautiful sound she’d heard in a long time.
With the last candle lit, they came together again beside the bed and Rogan sat on it to pull his boots off. As they hit the floor he came back to his feet and looked down at Jassie with a quizzical smile.
‘Are you going to take that gown off or are you just going to stand there and watch me?’
‘The latter. You’ve way more to remove than I do. And I don’t want to miss a thing! I’ve only ever seen a gentleman immaculately turned out, proper from head to toe. The salacious mystery of how he came to appear like that and how he divests himself of all his finery at the end of the day in the privacy of his bedroom has completely escaped me. I intend for that gap in my education to be filled this night.’
His eyes were glowing oceans of darkness as he considered her, then with a small shake of his head, he ripped off his neck cloth and hunched out of his dark blue superfine jacket and dropped them on the ottoman. Shirt, breeches, stockings all swiftly followed until he stood before her in only his drawers, the front standing out like a tent.
‘Let me,’ she whispered and stepped close to pull his hands away from the laces. He let his arms fall to his sides and looked down at her with an indulgent smile.
It was going to be all right, she thought. If he can smile at me like that surely it is going to be all right. She wanted to touch the smooth skin overlaying the sides of his muscular stomach and ribs, the vee of soft dark hair across his chest, the hard flat nipples peeking through. Laying her hands on the smooth skin at his waist, she slid them slowly up to cover his nipples then further upwards to splay across his upper chest.
‘You are very—impressive, Windermere.’
Now she felt oddly shy but couldn’t resist leaning in and placing a teasing kiss first on one nipple and then the other. A faint hiss of air passed his lips and she darted a glance up at him.
‘Am I doing something wrong? Don’t you want me to touch you?’
‘Nothing wrong, Jass. It’s just that—finally having you before me like this, your hands on me like this—my brain is having trouble adjusting. I’ve denied any thought of this for so long that it’s hard convincing myself it’s all right. And then there’s the wild sensations that race through my blood and flood into that one place that is so desirous of—knowing you, filling you, f—’
‘F—fucking me?’
‘Yeah.’ His chest heaved. ‘Are you going to untie those laces because I’m starting to feel quite—urgent about the fucking part.’
Chapter 9
Tentatively she reached for the ends of the laces and tugged them undone and the garment slid easily down his legs. Kicking them off, he reached down and tossed them on top of the rest of his clothes. When he came upright again she was standing, wide-eyed and still.
‘It looks bigger than in the books.’
‘Mmm. He’s not usually that big. He’s excited.—May I now remove your nightgown?’
Wild color flooded her cheeks and he realized the shy virgin was there after all, though of course he’d taken care of the virgin part on Neave Tor. She could only maintain the bravado for a little while. Please God, he could finally show her the bliss of coming together in love.
He plucked at the shoulders of her gown and lifted it up over her head to fall away from the ends of his fingers, forgotten in the glory that was Jassie.
His wife. Fingers of panic clawed into his heart but he swiftly thrust them aside.
‘You, Jassinda Wyldefell, are a beautiful work of art,’ he whispered.
And she was. Rich, sovereign gold waves of hair drifted down her back and across her shoulders. There was a warm blush on the honeyed satin of her skin. But she stood proudly, beautiful full breasts with taut rosy nipples begging for his attention; the deeply curving indentation of her waist and the toned flatness of her belly tempting his caress; the darker gold of the soft curls hiding her woman’s secrets from him; her long, lightly muscled horse-rider’s legs that would wrap so strong and lithe about his body.
But when he looked back up at her eyes he was captured by the wide open, topaz stare as she took in all of him. Though he rather thought her attention was firmly fixed on one part of his anatomy.
‘You look—worried.’
‘I’d like to touch—it.’
Her cheeks bloomed with color and her eyes glowed with excitement.
‘I’d like nothing better than for you to touch—him.’
He forced himself to smile encouragingly at her when what he really wanted was to lay her on the bed and ravage her with his mouth, hands and body. But he could be patient. He would be patient. She was adorable in her ambivalence of desire and anxiety.
‘What are you afraid of?’
Her tongue slipped out and nervously wet her lips that now glistened like ripe cherries in the candlelight. She had no idea how she tempted him. There was no artifice about his Jassie. She was as honest and forthright in this as she was in all things.
‘It—he—looks too big.’
He shook his head.
‘Fitted just fine the other day—on Neave Tor.’
Damn, he wished he hadn’t thought of that day and how he’d taken her without a thought for her virginity or her finer feelings.
His blood was beginning to surge in a disconcerting way. He must stay in control, not allow himself to become immersed in the passion of the moment. Maintaining mental clarity was imperative; as was redeeming himself in her eyes—and his own.
He reached for her hand before he could dwell on her expression that had fleetingly looked like fear. He’d hurt her that day and again on their wed
ding night and if he did it again now he’d want to slit his own throat. And he certainly would not be tempted to try making love to her again.
Please God, he could behave like the gentleman he’d been raised to be.
Drawing her closer, he placed her hand against his swollen cock and watched as her eyes glowed with wonder. Her fingers felt like velvet against his straining flesh, cool and tantalizing.
‘Don’t be afraid to hold him firmly, to stroke him, caress him. He’ll be deeply responsive to such treatment.’
His voice sounded like something from the bottom of a tin of rusty nails, his throat tense with anticipation. Incredibly, he registered that nothing had ever felt more arousing than her tentative, curious—loving—touch.
‘Jassie!’
Her name was a groan torn from his throat and she snatched her hand back and stared up at him.
‘What?’
‘What? You don’t know what that does to a man?’
She shook her head, her gaze never leaving his. His innocent Jassie—and he’d had the utter gall to thrash her and practically rape her. She’d bring him to his knees yet.
Irresistible Jassie.
Cupping her head, he held her for his kiss and almost immediately her arms slid up his body to clasp at the back of his neck. He was lost. If there’d ever been a moment when he could turn back the tide of his need for her it was long gone. Her mouth was a sweet moist cavern of temptation, and he delved hungrily, tasting, savoring the sweetness and intense flavor of her desire—for him. Gently he turned and laid her back on the bed, their mouths still clinging, their hands roaming, seeking, discovering. He wanted to bless her, everywhere, with his mouth. He drifted kisses across the top of her lip, along the bridge of her beautiful straight little nose, and up onto her forehead.
‘Oh Rogan,’ she moaned, her fingers spearing into his hair and gripping his scalp. She was so deeply responsive and he’d scarcely begun searching out the erogenous zones of her body. Sweat popped out on his forehead but he was determined that tonight should be all about Jassie. His own needs were of no import.
Pressing her back onto the bed, he trailed his mouth and tongue down her neck and onto the soft plane of her chest. He aimed straight for a straining breast, and closed his mouth over it, suckling firmly. Jassie cried out, her shoulders coming up off the mattress as she thrust her breasts urgently upwards, needing more. Nothing loath, Rogan intensified the suckling until Jassie was moaning incoherently and writhing beneath him in a manner guaranteed to boil his blood.
