by Sahara Kelly
“So anything else we can discover, we can take with us to increase our knowledge of the man and his character.” She sighed, suddenly exhausted by the puzzles and questions surrounding her parents.
He put his other arm around her; an invitation for her to run her fingertips over his bare skin. She did so with pleasure, enjoying the tickle of his hairs as she stroked gently back and forth.
“Those are excellent ideas, sweetheart. We should go armed with every single fact we can gather, and then hope it will be enough to inspire someone to take a closer look at Gerrard Hatfield’s case.”
“Mmm,” she answered, not really listening so much to his words, as feeling the rumble in his chest as he spoke them. His bare chest. That she could now reach by just stretching out her arm…
Splaying her fingers, she touched him, and heard his breath catch in his throat.
“Cressy,” he whispered. “My Cressy…”
She turned her face to his. “Yes.”
*~~*~~*
That one tiny word was all it took to spark the fire that had simmered inside Richard for too long. Her face was so close, her body nestled into his and his manhood was ready, willing and more than able to claim this woman finally as his wife.
He pulled her roughly over him, his hand going to the back of her head and urging her face down to his. The kiss was heat and desire and tongues…he lost track of who was the more demanding as she parted her lips and shared his breath, taking it and returning it mingled with her own.
His hands slid downward and he grabbed handfuls of her nightgown. He was naked and it was time for her to bare herself to him as well.
She gasped as he wrenched the fabric upward, then moved and let him tug it all away over her head. He managed to toss it away in the seconds before she returned to his kisses. Just feeling her silk skin moving against him nearly tipped him over the edge and he groaned as her hip grazed his rigid cock.
He let his hands roam over her back, learning her curves, finding the firm buttocks and squeezing them, noting how her hips writhed and her legs parted as he did so. She was wonderfully innocent yet wanton in her movements, and if he hadn’t already been harder than iron, her touches would have aroused him immediately.
But there was no need. In fact, he would have to slow her down a little lest he embarrass himself by erupting over her body instead of inside it.
So he moved, turning and lifting himself so that she ended up on her back beside him. He could see her eyes open and stare at him as he put a few inches between them and offered a quick prayer of thanks that he’d not snuffed out all the candles. He wanted to see her nude and waiting for him. He wanted to watch as he roused her desire and heard her whimpers of pleasure.
“Ah, Cressy…so lovely…” he stroked her neck, light touches that made her sigh with delight.
“I like that, Richard,” she whispered.
“Good.” His hand moved to her chest…and then to her breasts. Perfect globes, small but full and firm and tipped with nipples that budded sharply as he ringed them with his fingertip.
“Ohhhh…” Her spine arched a little, a mute invitation that he would accept willingly.
He put his mouth to her, at first just ringing the mound with his tongue, tiny flickers now and again to the taut peak. She grew accustomed to the sensation, tiny purrs of pleasure adding to his excitement. Then he surrendered to the need driving him…and suckled her. Hard and thoroughly.
She almost rose from the bed, her cry of surprise echoing around the room. “Oh God,” she groaned.
He eased back. “Do you like that?”
“Oh yes…no…yes…I don’t know.” She grabbed his head. “Do it again.”
He obeyed, and from her tiny whimpers and the fact that she was grabbing his head and pushing her breast into his mouth, he deduced that yes, she did indeed like that.
From that point on, Richard knew she was with him, that these moments weren’t all about his desire for her, his need to bury himself inside her. No, they were shared moments. Her need for him equalled his for her.
And that discovery drove him wild.
He kept one hand on her breasts, toying, pinching, teasing and pulling the ruched buds, while the other hand began to explore further down her body. He learned the soft curves of her belly and the heat of the skin above her soft hair. He glanced at her sex, smiling at the copper-red curls hiding her secrets, and threaded his fingers through that hair, tugging at it gently, hearing her moan and seeing her thighs opening to reveal more and more of her secret places.
Her scent drifted over them, richly provocative, a mix of woman and the lavender soap she used. When he investigated further to find the folds and heat between her thighs, his hand dampened with the slick honey of her desire.
His mouth watered.
“I need to taste you, Cressy,” he whispered.
“I…” she gasped for air.
Without waiting for a further response, Richard slid down, releasing his hold on her only to shift it to her thighs. He was between them in an instant, her legs over his shoulders, his head exactly where he wanted it to be. She glistened in the candlelight, her folds swollen and bright pink, her woman’s curls dappled with her own moisture.
“Beautiful,” he breathed.
And then he put his mouth on her and her cry of surprise soon softened into to moans of ecstasy. He worked her with all the skill he had, finding that sweetly swollen bud of her pleasure and gently swirling around it with his tongue, gauging the results by the tremors of her thighs against his ears.
The scent of her honey thickened the air around him and he slid one finger through it, pressing and daring to enter her. She stilled at his first intrusion, but she was so slick that he knew he wasn’t hurting her. He continued to tease her, keeping her gently simmering with tongue and finger.
He slid another inside, moving them both around as he teased her with rapid licks beneath the hardened bud. She gasped, panted, moaned and writhed, but nothing could deter him from his goal
Her muscles grew taut and her legs tensed, shuddering as he moved those two fingers in and out—a rehearsal of what was to come. She responded wildly now, arching, gasping, her fingers scrabbling on the linens beside her body.
It was now, he knew. One last rough caress of his tongue and he pushed his fingers in to her as far as he could go.
She erupted. Spasms shook her as she screamed her release, her heels locking him to her and her thighs iron bars against his head. It lasted for eons, it seemed, but as soon as the shocks began to diminish, he was over her.
“Hold on, love,” he whispered.
And then he thrust himself inside her, tearing his way through her flimsy maidenhood with nary a check.
At last.
At last, his wife was well and truly his.
*~~*~~*
It was all a blur. An amazing and sensual blur of erotic positions and touches and feelings that drowned Cressida in a world of sensation she could never have imagined.
Her breasts felt swollen and sensitive to every breath of air. Her skin was alive and on fire wherever he touched her. And the parts he was kissing now?
There were no words to describe the feelings he was evoking with his tongue. All she could grasp was the sense of being drawn onward, upward, toward some peak she never knew existed.
And yes, there it was, oh God, a maelstrom, an abyss of pleasure the likes of which could not be described. She shattered, it seemed, into a million stars, and tumbled with them through a wild ride of inner eruptions.
Then there was more, a stretching, a sharp pain and then such fullness…as if something inside her had opened a space that only Richard could fill.
“Hold on,” he’d said, so she did, gripping the bed linens and letting her mind focus on what was happening within her. The spasms from her own release still quivered when he thrust his way in, and she barely felt the destruction of her virginity. The sensation of his hard length sliding into her as if it belon
ged there—it was overwhelming.
He moved then, pulling back, sliding against muscles and tissues that were still thrumming with pleasure. Once again, thrust deep, stretch her, then pull back, rubbing against places that had a life of their own.
She felt every inch of him inside her and outside she became aware of the heat of his skin against her thighs. His hip bones rubbed, and she shifted her legs, bending to encase him with her calves against his spine.
She could hear his breathing now, harsh and eager as his pace accelerated and he plundered her, leaving gentleness behind and replacing it with urgent need.
She shared it, feeling that lightning tingle beginning again, wondering if it could be so.
It was. His thrusts were touching all her newly-sensitized parts, and she absorbed the totality of them as she breathed in the unique scent of sex mingled with Richard. Something so all-encompassing, she lost track of his and hers. It became theirs, an act uniting both man and woman into one writhing, aching mass of limbs and flesh, taking those final steps to the top together and at last, with one great thrust and groan from Richard, leaping off the edge of infinity together.
Once more she cried out, her body seizing his, gripping and releasing with fierce contractions she could not control. He was frozen above her, a great groan exploding from his throat even as she felt him pulsing strongly within her, filling her not only with his cock but with the potential of life.
And it was that realization, the knowledge that this was not only the beginning of their real marriage, but also the possibility of a family, that cracked what little composure she had left and brought a flood of tears to her eyes.
Her second trip to an erotic paradise overwhelmed her and she collapsed beneath her husband with a great sob.
Which, as was to be expected, scared the devil out of him.
“Cressy…love…are you all right? Did I hurt you?” He slid from her body and immediately cuddled her, stroking her, wiping the tears from her cheeks, kissing them away… “Cressy…”
“Richard,” she sighed, trying to catch her breath.
“Sweetheart, did I hurt you? Please tell me you’re all right. Was I too rough? Did I…”
She reached up and stopped his words with a finger to his lips. “I’m all right. In fact, I’ve never been better. It was just all so…beautiful. So overwhelming for a few moments. And no, you didn’t hurt me. Quite the opposite. You made me feel…well, there are no words, Richard.”
He stroked her face as if it was something priceless, a tender and worshipful caress. “There are words, Cressy. Words I never imagined myself saying to a woman.” He took a breath. “I love you, Cressida Ridlington. I didn’t when we wed, because I didn’t know you. But I do now. And everything you are is so much more than I thought I could ever have. You are my wife. And I’m not sure what else to say because those words mean everything.”
Stunned, Cressida lay in his arms, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to choke her. “I never imagined,” she whispered. “I think I fell in love with you from the first moment. Maybe even before. Maybe I knew you might be someone special when I asked Aunt Phyllida who you were. I don’t know.” She shook her head a little. “But now? It doesn’t matter. Because I can tell you that I love you too, and not be afraid to say those words. I love you, husband. I love how we are together, how we work things through together and laugh together. And now I can also say how much I love making love with you.”
He smiled as he listened to her.
She smiled back. “There it is. That look. The one you give me that makes me melt deep inside. And now I know why. So…there you have it. We’re really married now, aren’t we?”
“Yes we are.” His grin turned wicked. “And I shall enjoy reminding you of that fact many times over the years to come, so you have been warned.”
“Hmm,” she chuckled. “Well, I think I’m free for the next few hours…”
They laughed, touched, talked and loved, much as newlyweds would be expected to do. Cressida surprised him by taking him inside her again, knowing that his gentle treatment would not give her any more discomfort than she was already experiencing, and even that was diminishing.
Finally, well past midnight, they slept, wrapped around each other as if unwilling to let go even in sleep.
Just before dawn, Cressida awoke, and her skin shivered at the bitter cold in the room.
“Oh God no,” she whispered, sitting up and nudging Richard with her hand.
He remained asleep as she pulled the quilt around her. “Richard,” she whispered. “Richard, wake up.”
“He will sleep…”
She heard the words in her mind, shocked into stillness as a figure materialized at the end of their bed. This time she could make out a face, a woman, her face sweetly sad, dressed in an old fashioned gown with a jewelled corset and loose curly hair. Her hands were crossed at her breast.
“Joanna?” Cressida spoke the name on a gust of mist.
“Yes, my dear. I am Joanna. Please be not afraid, for I am neither witch nor threat to thee. I am thy family.”
“I know.” Cressida answered the voice that spoke only to her, only in her mind. “We have learned of your love for Roger and your vile mistreatment by his wife. We found your clues…”
“I had hoped thou wouldst,” sighed Joanna sadly. “I thank thee, child. But there yet remains one still not at peace.”
“Oh no…” Cressida swallowed down a lump of pain.
“Yes, Gerrard.” The spirit of Joanna lowered her head. “He walks in darkness.”
“My father.”
“Indeed, he is thy father. He cannot join thy mother until the shadows are lifted and the path is clear,” answered Joanna.
“We have a plan,” said Cressida. “We will do our best to clear his name…”
“That is good. And it will help him find his way home.” Joanna smiled. “Thy courage ennobles thee, little one.”
“I must ask…” Cressida hesitated. “Do you know…can you tell me…were my parents related?”
The spirit frowned, as if trying to understand the question. Then her brow cleared. “Oh no, sweeting. Not in that way. Thy father’s line was not of my body, but of another branch of the Hatfield line.” She looked around her vaguely. “We would all gather here in the summers…”
Cressida heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Joanna.” She shivered. “Can I help you to find your path?”
Joanna’s curls trembled as she shook her head. “I am already upon that path. To help thy father and obtain justice for his soul is my mission. I have no need for redemption. That time is long past.”
“I’m sorry, Joanna.” Cressida felt the urge to add that apology. “On behalf of those who accused you, tried you and carried out such a terrible sentence—I’m sorry.”
“No need,” sighed the spirit. “’Twas not thy fault. If thou canst help thy father, then I shall also be free to take those final steps.” Her smile was soft and tender. “Thou bringst honour to thy name, child. Love thy husband and thy children, and keep them close, for thus shall ye also find the path when thy time comes…”
Cressida gulped down a sob. “I will. I promise.”
“Then I can leave thee at last. Farewell, dear child. Be happy.”
The spirit faded slowly, a smile lingering on her lips as she departed Cressida’s bedroom, leaving it barely lit by the sunrise which was only moments away.
Richard awoke with a grunt. “God, it’s cold…” He sat up. “Oh no. Where is she?”
Cressida sat upright, still wrapped in the quilt. She lifted her hand and pointed to where a tiny wisp of light was coiling around itself. It vanished as he watched.
“She was here?” He blinked.
Cressida nodded. “Yes. She was here. We spoke.”
“You spoke to her?” His eyes were wide. “Really?”
She turned to him. “She told me to love you.” Reaching out a hand, she touched his face. “She didn’t
have to. I already do.”
He gulped, reached for her and pulled her down beneath the quilts, taking her cold skin and warming it with his own. And as he did so, the heat rose between them once more.
If Joanna was still lurking in the shadows, she could have observed a physical demonstration of the fact that Cressida did indeed love her husband. And that her affections were thoroughly and energetically returned.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
From that morning, both Richard and Cressida felt an increased energy surrounding them.
Cressida walked firmly around Branscombe Magna, a slim notebook in her pocket as she began the process of evaluating each room; its best use, and what it needed to achieve perfection.
Richard watched as her lists of furnishings grew, but he knew that she was enjoying the position she’d finally come to accept. That of Mistress of Branscombe Magna.
And his wife.
Most nights they continued to explore each other with joy and enthusiasm; sometimes eagerly and fiercely letting the passion and desire explode between them, and on other nights content to gently love each other with soft words, delicate touches and a final meeting of their bodies in a magic-filled vortex.
After a week or so, they knew the time was near for them to visit Ridlington.
“I don’t want to put it off any longer,” said Richard over breakfast. “We have matters we need to discuss with them, help and advice to solicit, and they haven’t met you yet. I think they should, and very soon. I’d prefer it not to be after our first child is born.”
Cressida giggled. “Well, I think we can safely say that’s not a possibility, but I do agree, we must go.”
So they set the date…the following Monday they would set out on their journey. Richard wrote a letter to Edmund, outlining his mission in reference to Gerrard Hatfield, and also letting them know that both he and Cressy would be on their way to Ridlington very soon. He had a lad take it over to the post in Ilfracombe, where it would be dispatched on the next Royal Mail coach and reach the Chase before he and his wife rumbled up the front drive.
