"Gladly."
"Now I need you to move the full-length mirror over here. I know it’s large, but it should roll prettily easily with the casters."
"Where do you want me to put it?"
"Over here, right at the foot of the bed."
She stared at him but did as she was told.
"Now I’m going to show you just how gorgeous you are. How lovely we are together."
Her eyes widened. "Oh, no, really."
He patted the mattress between his legs. "Come sit up here, love, and take off your robe."
She shook her head. "No, Michael, I’m sorry I ever said-"
"I’m sorry you ever had to be married to such a bastard and hear such a pack of bloody lies, darling," he said with barely concealed anger. "So just please come here and trust me."
Bryony removed her silk covering and sat on the bed tentatively. Michael immediately spread her legs gently with both hands As he murmured in her ear, his hands began to caress down her body, from breasts to thighs and everywhere in between with long hypnotising strokes.
"You need to take my word for this. I’ve seen quite a few women in my day. Maybe about fifty, perhaps sixty. Mostly breasts and bottoms, of course, but occasionally, with ones who were more than just a roll in the hay, the whole of them. And I have done quite a bit of exploring with my hands and watching maybe a few times with some of the more game ones, and the ones I was sure were clean. I’m not rubbing your nose in my past, darling, believe me. I just want you to know that I do have some basis for comparison.
"I’m much more experienced than you, since you’ve only ever seen two men. The fact that you’ve only seen two, and were a virgin the day you were married, and a decent wife the whole time you were wed, proves you’re not a whore. You also need to believe me when I say that out of all the women I have ever known, you’re easily the most lovely woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. Inside and out."
By this time Bryony’s arousal had caused her cheeks to flush and her lips to part. Her eyes and roiling core were both limpid with desire. When he stroked her delicate bud and inserted one finger deeply inside her hotly welcoming body, she closed them.
"No, love, you need to keep them open so you can see yourself, and relax. See how lovely you are in the throes of passion and pleasure, not the pain and degradation the bastard put you through. Look how lovely you are, how moist and soft and pliant, how firm, pink, supple."
Their eyes met in the mirror for a moment, and then she looked down as he instructed.
He stroked his fingers in and out, spreading her dew until she looked like a glorious rose in the morning sunlight. Now his thumb moved against her with an assured stroke. Her legs fell open further of their own accord. "Look how lovely. So pretty and delicate. Like the most elegant rose in the garden, or a magical sea shell with a lovely little present for me inside. For truly joining with you as one is a gift from the gods. Would you like to see?"
Bryony nodded wordlessly, licking her lips to moisten them, for her desire had made her mouth dry even as it had flooded her loins. He raised her up to place her on his jutting manhood. One hand pressed her belly and mound, while his other roved over both breasts until they crested in eager entreaty. He lifted his hips off the bed as he filled her with a slow rhythm which soon set off the compelling cascade of sensation which resulted in her cataclysmic culmination. Still Bryony watched herself as she climaxed, and grew even more aroused.
His voice was a sensual rasp which set all of her taut nerve endings even more aquiver. "Keep your eyes open, love. Watch yourself. Look how gorgeous you are when you spasm like that. That’s what I see when I look at you, what I feel in your arms when you come.
"Only the poets have got it wrong. It’s not a little death. It’s a huge burst of life, exuberance, joy. Do you see you muscles flexing against me? That lovely slow sensual slide in and out?" He thrust his hips in time with his words.
"That’s beauty. And try as the artists and the poets have, they can’t even being to capture one half of the beauty I see before me."
"Oh, Michael," she laughed shakily when her powerful climax at last subsided. "You can charm the birds from the trees."
He grinned cheekily at her in the mirror. "Well, darling, if it gets you to perch on my branch I’m glad."
"Oh, you. You can make me reach my zenith just by talking."
"An interesting experiment for another time, love. But I’m a man with a mission at the moment."
She moved to caress his thighs, but he shook his head. "I’m still not done. I’m still trying to prove how gorgeous you are. I want to also have a little experiment to see how wet I can get you."
"If I were any more wet I would wash off the bed," she said ruefully.
"Let’s just see about that." He slid out of her and replaced his hardness with his first two fingers. "No, not good enough," he purred. "We need to change places here, with you resting your back against the pillows. And you’re still going to have to watch."
Bryony rose from the bed for a moment whilst he slid to one side on his hands and bottom. Then he put his hand upon her most intimate parts again lightly. "Can you see yourself from there?" he whispered against her ear.
"Yes," she said, still feeling incredibly desirous and stimulated from his lovemaking, and her being able to watch every single little sexy detail. She was now a dusky rose colour, engorged, and she could see his essence and the blush of love which tinged her cheeks and lips as red as her nipples and feminine core. She looked like a woman made for love, Michael’s love, and it thrilled her.
"Good then." He scooted over further until his head was parallel with her legs. He lifted one over his neck and inserted his tongue deeply within her.
Bryony immediately wriggled and tried to squirm off the bed, but one hand held her against the pillows by her abdomen. His thumb teased her soft nest of curls and delicate mound while the other kept hold of the leg, pinning it into the curve of his neck.
"Just watch," he whispered against her flesh, his breath tickling her thigh.
She clutched at his head convulsively. "No, please. It’s—"
"Delicious. Delectable."
She shook her head. "Disgusting."
"Delightful. Divine. Like roses, and honey and some other sweet perfume that doesn’t even have a name, and certainly can’t be bought in a bottle. Can you see yourself?"
He angled his head to slide down her delicate lips and cast a glance out of the corner of his eye. His erection surged painfully against the mattress as he caught a glimpse of them in the mirror. "Oh my," he breathed in awe.
He could see her fully, and she was pink and moist and welcoming. Never had he seen a woman appear more well and truly loved. But then, that was part of the game, wasn’t it? To make her look even more voluptuously wet and fulfilled?
He licked and nuzzled each side of her entrance to paradise, while the hand which had held her leg now moved up her thigh to press into her thrilling tight wetness.
"Still not wet enough," he said softly. His fingers now began to exert a pressure of their own as he sought out what he guessed to be the seats of her desire. He moved them into her gently, and curled his fingers, then slid them deeper and pressed down and rubbed.
A keening cry told him his conjectures had been accurate. Her whole body vibrated against the pillows in the vise-like grip of the most marvelous release. He replaced his fingers with his tongue, lapping at her essence while he rubbed her bud.
His slow thrust and wiggle was enough to set her off again. She clung to his head convulsively, her eyes never leaving their reflection in the mirror.
At last Bryony began to believe it. It was beautiful, the love they shared together, and Michael wanted her. Revelled in her. Was not repelled by her because he truly loved her and esteemed her, would never harm or degrade her.
"Just gorgeous," he breathed when she had quieted once more. "But you’re still not wet enough," he said with a wide grin.
She gasped
in outrage and tried to lift his head and grasp his erection. He had already swept the pillows out from behind her. She landed on the mattress with a thud. He tugged her sideways and pulled her upper leg until her bent knee was in his hand.
She could see just over his elbow in the mirror her fierce arousal. She glistened, and her entire body, her whole secret core, was practically begging for his stroke. He now nibbled on the arched dome at the crest of her thighs, nipping with his teeth.
But two could play at that game. For his lingam was near enough now that they were once more front to front for her to taste him.
She swirled her tongue along the smooth gap between the ridges at the top of his cock. She took him into her mouth and sucked hard. In an instant he was heaving her hips down to the edge of the bed.
He poised himself between her legs with his hands and thrust into her. He risked resting some of his weight on the floor and found that cradled deeply inside her body and against the bed with his knees the pain was not so excruciating.
But then nothing about being with Bryony was painful except the thought of not making her happy. There was no doubt of that at the moment, for she was as wet and steamy as he had hoped she would be. Her entire skin seemed to glow with his every touch.
He knew there was no point in holding back now. One last thrust brought them to the absolute bliss which had he had tried to keep at bay during their delightful foreplay.
Every ounce of rapture they had already experienced was increased a hundred-fold as he stroked them both to climax, until his arms gave way and he fell on top of her with a delighted groan. He threw his head back and gave a full-throated laugh and whoop of joy.
Bryony could not help laughing back at his exuberant response, and gave a small whoop herself.
He squirmed and wriggled against her as he felt her chuckle, and wheezed, "Oh no, sweetheart. Please don’t do that at the minute. It’s just too thrilling. I need to get back on the bed before I fall over."
"I’m ready. Let me move first and I’ll help you."
He raised up so she could move out from beneath him quickly. She grasped him under the arm and pulled the lower half of his body up onto the bed.
She helped roll him over, and made him comfortable with some pillows. She tried to straighten the tussled covers to make them a cozy little nest once more.
The fire had died down in the hearth by this time, so she went over to bank it up. She took an afghan she had made and brought it over to the bed. She tucked one end of it around him tenderly, then laid down by his side and drew the other half over them both.
"Thank you, Michael."
"No, thank you."
"Seriously, darling, I mean it. I do have to say thank you. You’ve been so patient with my foibles and fears. You make me feel so happy, so good about myself, so confident. As if nothing can ever hurt me."
"Nothing ever will, love, I promise. But you can hardly think you need to thank me after everything you’ve done to try to help me recover. All of your patience and care has been a true gift. It can’t be easy for you at times. I mean, for one thing I’m pretty heavy, and -"
"I certainly haven’t noticed. I love the feel of you on top of me. Like we’re truly one flesh, you know?"
"I know. Though I love a few of our other positions as well."
"Then our only limitations are our imagination."
He sighed. "If only." His face took on that closed off look she had come to dread.
She kissed him tenderly. "Darling, you’re getting better every day, I’m sure of it. Maybe not as fast as you wish. But just think what you were like when we first met. Or even further back, to just after the battle."
She hung onto him tightly as he began to tremble. "And that’s another thing. There’s also been such an improvement in your attitude. You’ve had fewer nightmares and funny spells."
He shot her a grim look, and she shook her head. "I’m only saying this because it’s made such a huge difference in things now that you’re more calm and rested."
His smile was little better than a thin line. "Well, we haven’t exactly been resting, have we?"
"No, I suppose not. Are you complaining?" she countered.
"No, not at all."
"You have been resting. Being in bed has taken some of the pressure off your back. Your sleep, when it does come, is sound and peaceful. And if you want to sleep, love, you have only to say. You don’t have to impress me with your rakish tried and tested sexual repertoire."
He scowled again. "That’s not what this is about at all!" he gritted out.
Bryony kissed him. "I couldn’t agree more. Nor is my lovemaking the residue of my marriage in which I was forced to behave like a harem slave. Nor the product of any misplaced notions of pity. When I see you naked in that bed, Michael, there are a lot of things I feel, but pity is most certainly not one of them."
Her sparkling eyes told him she meant every word she said. Her smile was sultry as she sat up in the bed and moved away from him, sitting to face him but so far away that he could not reach her. His eyes, heavy-lidded with sleepiness, flew wide in alarm. "Are you leaving me?" he gasped.
"No, not at all." She flicked off the covers so that he was completely bare once more to her ardent gaze. "I just want to respond to your challenge. I want to see if I can get you hard or make you climax just talking to you. Not even touching you."
She began to regale him with praise for his entire body, his eyes, hands, and of course his manhood, cataloging each and every part of him which made her light up like a soaring comet. She was not the only one who began to soar as she spoke in sultry tones.
Then she told him all of her fantasies of what she would like to do to him, including a detailed one with some melted chocolate, and another even more seductive one which featured several of her silk stockings.
As she began to wax lyrical about the different positions she could take him in, the things she could do to him with her mouth and hands and some strawberry jam, she began to move her own fingers against her glistening flesh in a teasing rhythm which matched the tempo of her wicked recital.
As her breath became more reedy and the blush of rampaging desire once more crept all over her glorious body, Michael made a choking sound. "Oh no, I’m going to-"
She moved quickly onto him and rode the crest of his passion until they both gasped their last. Then she dragged the bedclothes over them once more and nestled herself against his side.
Unable to even move his head for a kiss, he slept the dreamless sleep of absolute fulfillment.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Michael and Bryony spent a busy week at Blake and Arabella’s house with Ash and Eswara, discussing their future plans and paying visits.
Blake took them around to meet his relations, his two pretty blonde-haired cousins Ellen and Georgina, and his dark-haired cousin Samuel.
"Martin will be sorry to have missed you," Samuel said with a smile. He was referring to his handsome but grim-faced brother, who had lost his brand new bride a few years before in the most tragic circumstances, and had never been the same since.
Ellen Jerome hung back shyly from the two new men, and left the room shortly after the introduction. Georgina remained, however, and flirted with all three men in the most shameless way which set Bryony’s teeth on edge.
But Bryony noticed the pretty young miss never once looked directly into the eyes of the two men confined to wheelchairs. In fact, when Ash began to play at her own game and flirt back, she too found a pretext to leave and departed in a hurry.
They got on better at the Stones’, where Blake’s other cousin Josephine was married to the youngest brother Henry. "Clifford was one of the original Rakehells, as I told you. Tomorrow we shall go see Thomas and his wife Charlotte," Michael said to her on their way to Stone Court.
The Elthams were delighted to have them at the Castle, and there was nearly a full Rakehell reunion, for Philip Marshall was just down from Oxford for a half-term reading holid
ay.
Bryony stared at the huge dark-haired man and shuddered. He reminded her so much of her former husband it was uncanny. Philip too had been a rake of the first order, she’d been told, and yet he was so excessively devoted to his lovely blond-haired wife Jasmine that it was a wonder he didn’t just sit in her lap all the time.
She found herself almost envying them as she watched the happy couple, expecting their first child in a matter of days. Michael was a lot of things, but affectionate and demonstrative with her outside of the bedroom was not one of them.
"That’s not to say he can’t learn how to be," Eswara pointed out when Bryony saw her looking at the Marshalls.
Bryony wondered how she could have known....
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