by Susanna Ives
Henrietta squirmed. She felt she was nine again, running to her mother, worried. “Kesseley said a stallion puts his big thing in another horse to make a baby horse, just like a man does to a lady when they want a baby,” she had cried. That had led to a very uncomfortable discussion.
Lady Kesseley—Dowager Kesseley—must have sensed Henrietta’s hesitancy and laughed. “My dear, your time together as husband and wife should be joyous.” She leaned closer. “Love my son and let him love you.”
There was a quiet knock on the door leading to Kesseley’s chamber. Henrietta felt those hot splotches on her cheeks.
Dowager Kesseley kissed Henrietta’s cheek. “Enjoy each other,” she said, then hastened out of the chamber with a mysterious smile on her lips.
Henrietta glanced one last time at the mirror. Her eyes were wide and luminous and filled with nervousness. She took a big breath and opened the door. Kesseley stood collarless in a green coat and his old loose doeskins.
Perhaps she’d misunderstood the marital dance. “Kesseley, you’re wearing boots.”
“I brought some for you.” He held out the scuffed shoes she used to tromp about the countryside. “And these.” Her blue pelisse, gloves and a bonnet.
She looked askance at his offerings. “You’re up to mischief.”
“Yes, I have been working very diligently, and I will not have you spoil it by tempting me with that beautiful chemise and your bare feet. Now sit in that chair.”
She did as her husband asked. Kesseley knelt before her, took her bare foot into his palm. His lips brushed her ankle while his thumb rubbed soothingly into her arch. She released a humming moan at his touch. Tonight there would be no other voices crowding her mind, reminding her of propriety and other such nonsense. Tonight she didn’t have to say no to that urge swelling inside her.
He slipped the ugly old boot on as if it were a golden slipper, then rubbed her other foot, not neglecting it of its fair share of soft caresses with his lips. Coming to her hands, he kissed the diamond ring he had put on her finger, not taking his dark, secretive eyes from her face. Each finger got a slow kiss, but her thumb he took into his wet soft mouth and tenderly sucked it. Henrietta’s lips parted with a quiet gasp. That warm, heavy need Kesseley always solicited blossomed inside her.
Suddenly she didn’t want to be a part of Kesseley’s scheme. She wanted him to take her to the bed waiting not a few feet away. To pull off this chemise and feel his skin, his weight, his muscles against her.
She heard a chuckle rise up from his chest as if he could read her mind.
Yet he wouldn’t satisfy her so easily. Instead, he removed her thumb and placed a cold glove over her fingers.
She refused to let him torment her other hand and ripped the dangling glove from him and shoved it on her hand.
He frowned. Displeased.
Then he grabbed her, crushed her against him and pressed his tongue through her lips, deep into her. Henrietta tilted her head back to accommodate his violent plundering of her mouth. Her nipples surged to feel his touch again. She thrust herself against him, but he pulled away.
“Mustn’t forget your bonnet,” he said airily as he put it over her head and primly tied its ribbons.
Something came out of her mouth that wasn’t a complete word, just a frustrated vowel.
And the way his lips slowly nibbled at her neck and earlobes as he slid the pelisse over her arms was plain cruelty. When Henrietta told him as much, he responded that she was his most cherished wife whom he loved beyond all rationality and principle.
Like two naughty children, they crept through the dark corridors on their tiptoes, using the escape route Kesseley had devised in his youth. Except they didn’t climb out the library window with a rope and freefall down a story, but sensibly used the servants’ back entrance.
Outside, the moon was enormous and shining over the lawn, an accomplice to Kesseley’s clandestine mission. He took her hand in his and they snuck behind the labyrinth of boxwoods, then made a quick dart from the garden to the woods, only slowing once they had made it past the outbuildings bordering the lawn. Henrietta clung tightly to Kesseley as he guided her along a path he knew by memory, holding the low branches to let her safely pass. She wanted him to stop and kiss her in the darkness, but he tromped on until they stepped out of the trees and the Great Ouse expanded before them.
The current gleamed like tiny silver threads on the water. A gentle breeze blew off the water, cool on Henrietta’s cheek. Beyond the other bank, the full moon shone above the horizon of fields. So large, Henrietta could see its craters and mountains.
“I love you, Thomas,” she whispered, in reverent awe.
“You told me the stillest, most silent place in your heart was by the river.”
“With you,” she reminded him. “You omitted the most important part.” He lifted her chin and gave her that yearning kiss that had destroyed her immature fantasies and upset her old existence. She drew him closer, wanting to smell his dark and sweet scent, marveling at how perfect she felt tucked in his embrace.
For several moments they clung to each other, swaying with the wind, their breaths harmonized. Then he stooped down, ran his arm under her knees and whisked her up. She rested her head on his shoulder as he carried her farther down the bank to their favorite oak tree. Beneath its strong boughs, an impressive tent stood, made of heavy woolen blankets and suspended by a complex web of rope. Henrietta laughed at her husband’s ingenuity.
He set her down slowly, their bodies rubbing together as she slid down his leg. “Why don’t you go inside and remove these unappealing boots and wait while I light a fire?” Henrietta hid her desire to grumble. She didn’t want to wait, and she didn’t want to be away from him. She drew back the blanket flap to find a sweet little room. Kesseley had layered blankets upon the ground and then strewn them with fragrant flower petals. Her knees sank into the soft wool as she crawled in. Fat golden and burgundy pillows bordered the edges of the tent walls. Lavender-scented sheets had been stacked in the corner. He had made all this for her. She smiled at her dear husband, although he couldn’t see.
***
She closed the flap, took off her boots, pelisse, bonnet and gloves, placing them neatly in the corner. With only her chemise on, she drew up a pillow and hugged it. She hated being separated from her husband. Her nerves were giddy. Her feminine core felt heavy and hot with anticipation. She could hear the crackle of the fire and his feet shuffling on the ground. What was taking so long?
Then the blanket swung open, and the light from the fire illuminated the tent. Kesseley entered, not a stitch of clothes on his beautiful, sculpted body.
The firelight flickered on his hard face and the lines on his neck. The shadows and light pronounced the bulge of his muscles on his arms and chest. Her gaze lowered to his taut belly and then to the dark curls and impressive member beneath. Henrietta gulped.
Suddenly, he appeared shy, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
He spoke sheepishly. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to upset you. I just thought you might be more comfortable if I—” She didn’t know what he was trying to say. Her brain had stopped working. She leapt at him, desperate for his lips, his skin, his touch. Her body writhed against his, knowing something her mind didn’t.
He kissed her back thoroughly, his tongue thrusting so deep she could feel the edge of his teeth. He broke free, whispering into her ear, his voice thick and hoarse. “Do you like me?”
“Yes,” she cried. “C-can I touch you?”
He laughed as his lips caressed her neck. He clasped her hand and guided her to him. His penis felt rigid and hot. It jolted at her touch. She heard her own uneven inhale.
“May I show you how to please me?” he asked.
She nodded against his cheek. With his hand over her smaller one, he tutored her. She gazed at his face in the firelight. His eyes were closed. A snarl curled his lips.
“Am I doing it right?”
“Oh God, l
ove.” He leaned his head on her shoulder, his hand moving hers faster up and down his sex. Then he released her and entangled his fingers in her hair. He murmured her name, almost like a groan. She explored his contours, learning she could make him shudder if she stroked him all the way down his length, or elicit a gasp if she moved her fingers over the tip. Her heart swelled knowing she was pleasing him.
Then suddenly his whole body stiffened, and he yanked her hand away.
She was mortified. “Did I do something wrong?”
He drew her against his chest. “No,” he said harshly in her ear. Then he kissed her again as he eased her down to the pillows.
“Wait!” she cried.
He released her, almost too fast. His eyes searched hers. “Are you frightened?”
“I-I want you to see me.”
She edged over to the open flap, where the firelight danced. Ignoring the cool air seeping in, she gathered the edge of her silk chemise in her hand and raised it over her thighs, revealing her dark curls. She lifted her eyes to his shadowed face. His intense gaze made her feel self-conscious, yet dangerously sensuous. She swallowed and continued, slipping the cool silk over her nipples, then up over her head. She shook her curls free and let them fall about her shoulders. He was silent as he studied her curves, her breasts, her thighs, taking in the smallest details.
“Me,” she whispered, then repeated the question he had posed to her. “Do you like me?”
He didn’t move. She shivered, waiting, feeling very vulnerable.
“Henrietta, I’ve imagined you like this since…well, since I knew desire.” His voice cut through the silence. “But, my God, you’re more beautiful than I even conceived.”
She went to him, away from the cold, and took his hand, placing it upon her breast. He stroked the sensitive tip on his fingertips, sending a tingle to her feminine parts.
He pushed her gently onto the pillow, his mouth taking in her other breast, sucking, licking, its taut nipple. She dug her fingers into his hair, shamelessly pushing herself against him, unable to get enough of the sweet, acute sensation his tongue elicited.
He lifted his head and gazed at her from below her wet, reddened breast. “Can I please you?”
“Aren’t you?” she cried, barely keeping her voice from flying away.
The way he chuckled made goose bumps break over her skin.
His fingertips glided like feathers down her body, over her belly, lower and lower. She stopped breathing when his hand lingered in her curls. He kissed the inside of her thigh as his finger slid down her wet, feminine folds. Her legs tensed and instinctively she tried to close them.
“I love you,” he whispered, his breath like a caress over her skin. “We don’t have to do any more tonight. I’m content to just hold you.”
But as he spoke, he touched the small mound nestled between her feminine petals, and she shuddered. Again he brushed across her. She bit down on her lip, releasing a soft hum.
His finger began to circle faster, his gaze fixed on her face.
“What—” she cried, but couldn’t finish. Her body arched, and her legs shamelessly widened for him.
He circled and flicked his finger over her mound. Teasing her, making her quiver. She couldn’t form words, all she knew was to throw herself against her husband’s hand, demanding more pleasure. His tongue found her breasts again. She let out a high whimper and curved her body to his touch.
In one long lick, his lips moved down her, coming to rest in her curls. “Don’t fight, my love, let it come.”
Then the most extraordinary thing happened. He ran his tongue down the wet, swollen slit between her limbs. She instinctively flinched, but he held her tight, the back of his hand reassuringly caressing her thigh. “Let me,” he begged.
She bit the edge of her lip, unsure, but trusting her husband. He reached for her hand and laced their fingers together as his tongue lapped at her mound. The shudders returned, this time more powerful. She held her breath, her whole being attuned to the smallest motion of his tongue. The merest touch reverberated down her spine and exploded across her nerves.
He released her fingers, sliding his hand over her breasts, down her thighs, then slowly, slowly she felt his finger ease inside her, exploring her feminine secret. She groaned and instinctively thrust against him.
He moved his tongue, slightly. An intense pleasure shot through her. Her head fell back, her legs so taut they shook. She was on an edge of something. What? Everything was a brilliant white in her mind’s eye.
His fingers gently squeezed her nipple and she cried out. Her body seemed to burst under her, rocking, bucking against her husband. And he wouldn’t stop. With his fingers, his lips, he took her further into ecstasy.
***
His wife’s cry of pleasure resonated to his core. She was amazing beyond any dream he’d ever had. Now she lay against the pillow. Her breath rose and fell like the gentle lap of a calm beach.
He pulled himself onto her. Her limp legs easily gave way, letting him slide between her knees. Her perspiring face glowed in the firelight, those chocolate eyes shiny and slightly dazed. She was beautiful in her wantonness.
“I never knew…” she whispered.
Kesseley chuckled, his heart swollen with masculine pride.
“I didn’t mean to scream,” she said, worry creasing her brow. “Do you think the villagers heard?”
He couldn’t help himself. “Of course they did. And you know what they are saying, don’t you?” He leaned down until he was by her ear. “Kesseley made that beautiful wife of his climax.” Then he tossed his head back and howled like a wolf.
She gave his arm a small swat. “Well, it’s your fault. You told me to let it come.”
“And you surely came, my love,” he heartily agreed, knowing she was ignorant of his meaning.
“What’s so amusing?”
“Nothing’s amusing, my beautiful, dearest wife whom I desire more than life.”
He gave her a reassuring kiss. Her lips were gentle and languid, and he had a problem. He was between her legs and achingly aroused. Squeezing his eyes closed, he willed himself to be a patient husband. She was still a virgin, and they might not be able to consummate this marriage tonight, he reminded himself.
Then he felt her tentative fingers running along his cock as he had shown her.
“Yes, love,” he whispered, encouraging her confidence.
He could feel her eyes burning through the shadows. “I love you, Thomas.”
He clenched his teeth, fighting for the self-control to be gentle and not ram himself inside her. But she rested wantonly below him, open, the tips of her swollen breasts rubbing his chest, her heated cinnamon scent intoxicating him.
The light, fast movement of her hand crumpled his will. He thrust at her, desperate to discover the mystery waiting within her.
“Please let me inside of you.” His voice was as hard as his cock.
She reached up and held his cheek. “Yes,” she said quietly.
He turned his face and kissed her hand. Then he brought himself outside her swollen wet folds. Her eyes grew large. He could feel her nervousness.
Kesseley was breaking up inside with aching, consuming desire and the fear he would hurt his petite wife, that he couldn’t stop himself and would damage her burgeoning sensuality.
“I love you,” he said, almost as an apology, then covered her mouth with his.
He pushed slowly, steadily, feeling her body resist, then give. She whimpered in his mouth, her legs tense around him.
He stopped, biting down on his lip. “I’m sorry. I tried to make it better for you. We don’t have to continue tonight.”
“No,” she said, pain tightening her voice. Then she rose under him and in a swift motion impaled herself on him.
“Oh God,” he cried, unprepared.
He felt her body trembling. Willing restraint with every ounce of energy he had, he lowered himself carefully onto her, chest to chest, belly to bel
ly.
“I love my fearless wife,” he said, and with a tender hand, brushed her long curls from her face and kissed her temples, her cheek, her chin. Her body relaxed, and they lay together, silent, feeling their hearts beat together.
She entwined her fingers in his. “Thomas, we are one.”
A silent awe came over him, years of yearning finally realized. Henrietta was his wife. Her love was his completely. There would be no more separation between them. He knew this moment would linger in his heart until his death.
His lips brushed hers and he began slowly rocking his body. “Does that hurt you?”
“No,” she whispered. He licked the edge of her ear and whispered his love while he eased farther into her. She writhed under him, chafing against his leisurely rhythm. Her ragged breath and moans heightened his excitement.
Kesseley clung to the fragments of his vow to be gentle, but she lifted her knees to let him sink farther inside her, her hips urging him to go faster. When she sighed his name, he could no longer hold back.
Again and again, he thrust. Her face was tense with pleasure, her beautiful, heavy breasts shook, and her lovely, sweet whimpers rung in his ears. Her nails dug into his arms as she moved frantically under him. Kesseley peered down at his ravishing bride, her lips opened, body arched. For a moment she didn’t make a sound—then a guttural cry escaped her throat. She sank him deep into her dark softness, breaking his last bit of restraint. He could no longer hold himself back. The sensation overpowered him. He tossed his head back and cried out through clenched teeth as he released his seed into his wife.
For a moment, they didn’t say anything, their perspiring bodies united, their breath ragged in the stillness. Kesseley felt tears welling in his eyes, a fragile wonder trembling inside him. He fell beside her, and gathered her to him. “I meant to be gentle, but—oh, I love you. Please say I didn’t hurt you.”
