by Kris Tualla
However, he was not. In her estimation, her husband represented a long and lean sculpture of how a man’s body should look. Perfectly proportioned like one of Leonardo da Vinci’s charcoal studies. Corded with muscle like a Michelangelo carving.
Dagny handed him the mug of water and he gulped it down in one long pull. He lifted his arms and let her tie the scarf around his waist, just as he had worn it the first time.
“Wish me luck?” he asked, handing her the empty mug.
“You don’t need luck,” she murmured. Her hands rested at his waist. “You are the best man on the ship by an immeasurable margin.”
Martin’ blue eyes darkened. He smiled and gave her a quick kiss. “Thank you, Dagny.”
She stepped to the side and looked at Oskar. Both men were in position and Stig Thomassen held a pistol in the air, ready to start the race.
Earlier, when she heard the thundering boots outside her cabin, she was afraid something had happened. She was relieved to see Martin and Oskar flying past her doorway, and enjoyed the unexpected view. Now she wondered if there was a way for her to sneak down to the passenger deck after the start, and sneak back up before the finish, so that she could watch Martin through the entire course.
She decided to try.
The crack of pistol shot made her jump. Martin was gone, galloping along the port side of the ship’s deck. All she could see was his disappearing back and the soles of his feet. When he slapped the bow railing and turned back toward her, Dagny ran to the hatch and down the narrow steps. She stood in the salon doorway and watched with awe as Martin leapt the seven feet to the floor. He ran down the hallway past their cabin and back toward her through the smaller hall.
With a face-splitting smile and a whoop of joy, he rounded the curve and ran to the hatch by the dining area.
Oskar was trailing, but not by much. Dagny let him ascend the rear steps first before scrambling up after him. She ran toward the middle of the ship but didn’t reach it before Martin crossed the finish line.
A roar of approval burst from the crowd.
Martin slowed and came to a halt. He stood by the starboard rail, hands hanging on his hips and chest heaving. His cheeks were flushed. His eyes looked like blue flames. The sheen of sweat caught the sunlight, outlining the bulges and grooves of his body.
And he’s mine.
Dagny’s eyes widened. For a moment she thought she said that out loud. A quick glance at those who stood closest to her assured her that she had not.
Martin’s gaze skimmed over the top of the crowd and met hers. He smiled.
Chapter Thirty Four
At supper that night, Dagny only picked at her food. Martin watched her, searching for any indication that she was sickening. He remained amazed that she could spend so much time in the presence of the treacherous flux and not fall ill herself. Still in the back of his mind, that disbelief prompted him to keep a sharp eye on his wife.
Every time she caught him watching, she smiled at him with a different kind of warmth than she did before the outbreak. This warmth heated his groin quite nicely. Even so, something was clearly putting her off.
Neither Stig nor Astrid seemed to note it, nor did any of the other couples who joined their table that evening. Not only had Dagny become the darling of the ship for her bravery in the face of the dysentery, but this afternoon Martin won money for several of the betting men when he beat Oskar in two out of three of their impromptu races.
Thanks to the fickleness of humankind, Martin and Dagny Hansen were transformed from the scourge of the ship to its esteemed royalty.
Was that it? Martin knew his wife to be uncomfortable with accolades, public or private. After years of strict instruction concerning the importance of keeping a meek and humble attitude, Dagny preferred not to have her attributes pointed out. Perhaps her current reticence and lack of appetite were due to the attention being poured over them.
To be honest, Martin would prefer the fawning to end. While he had no personal problems with being noted for his accomplishments—he finished near the top of his classes at Oxford and had every intention of being a successful architect—there came a point when he yearned for quiet and solitude.
He met Dagny’s eyes again. This time he raised his brow ever so slightly. She caught the question and dipped her chin as though looking at her half-empty plate, then lifted her gaze to his. He understood.
He laid his hand over hers. “How are you holding up, my love?”
Dagny affected wistful expression. “Thank you for asking. I’m fine.”
“Are you certain? You have worked so hard these many days. Forgive me for saying it, but you look weary,” Martin pressed.
Dagny turned her head, giving their tablemates an apologetic smile. “I am rather tired. I’m sorry.”
“Not at all!” Astrid declaimed, effectively halting all protests. “You deserve your rest.”
Martin stood and walked around to Dagny’s chair. “If you will kindly excuse us, I intend to see that my wife gets the respite that she needs.”
“Will you join us later for brandy and cigars?” a man at the end of the table called out.
Like hell I will. Martin gave a little bow. “I shall do my best.”
He rested his hand on the small of Dagny’s back and escorted her to their cabin. Inside, he turned up the lamp and latched the door.
“Did you eat enough, or are you still hungry?” he asked, turning to face her. “Shall I fetch you a plate?”
Dagny’s expression was somber, her pupils dilated. “Do you wish to go for brandy and cigars?”
“What? No!” Martin waved a hand. “I only said that to be polite.”
Her gaze dropped. “If you wish to go, you must be honest with me. I insist on it.”
Martin tipped her chin up until she looked him in the eye. “I promise that I will always be honest with you, Dagny, do you hear me?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“If I wanted to go for brandy and cigars with those men, then I would. I do not. So that is that,” he stated. “Now, are you still hungry?”
She shook her head. “My appetite is off tonight.”
A surge shook Martin’s bowels. “Is it the flux?”
Her eyes widened at his question. “No! It’s nothing like that. I swear it.”
“Can you tell me what it is?” he pressed, still not convinced.
Dagny’s face scarleted. She twisted her hands together, yet Martin noticed that they shook.
His fear moved from his gut to his chest. “Dagny? What’s amiss?”
“Nothing,” she whispered again. Something had stolen her voice and he would question her until he knew what that something was, no matter how bad the situation.
Martin pinned her gaze with an intense stare. “You must be honest with me. I insist on it.”
Dagny pressed her lips together. Words were trying to push through them but she was holding them back. Martin waited, his pulse pounding in his ears, hoping he could hear her when she finally let the words out.
“I don’t know how to ask this,” she began. She closed her eyes before finishing her thought. “But, I want you to… You said when I asked you… Ugh!”
Her hands leapt up and covered her face.
Sensations surged through Martin which had nothing whatsoever to do with fear. “Dagny, are you asking me to bed you?” he asked as tenderly as he could. Laughter threatened to break through, but he thrashed the unhelpful reaction soundly into submission.
She nodded from behind her hands.
“Is that why you couldn’t eat? Because you were worried about asking me?” Relief made his knees weak.
Another nod.
Martin pulled her hands away. He had to ask the next question, though some men would call him an idiot for doing so. “Are you certain you’re ready, Dagny?”
She seemed taken back by that. “Don’t you wish to?”
A hint of the laugh leaked out. “More than anything, yes. To ma
ke you my wife without any reservation is all that I hope for,” he said honestly.
For the first time since they left supper, Dagny seemed to relax. “And I desire nothing more that to have you as my ‘unreserved’ husband.”
***
Martin cupped her face in his palms. His kiss was soft and sweet, like the first kiss of a new love. Dagny melted into it.
“Do you want wine again?” he murmured against her lips.
She was going to say no before she reconsidered her level of bravery. “That would be nice.”
Martin stepped back. Dagny leaned against the bunk to steady herself.
“I’ll send hot water first, so you may wash and change,” he said. “Then I’ll return with the wine and glasses.”
“Yes. Perfect,” she agreed.
He kissed her again, long and inviting. He leaned his forehead against hers. “I am so very pleased, Dagny.”
He turned away and left the cabin before she could find her voice.
The hot water arrived while Dagny’s nerves demanded she straighten the cabin and fluff the bedding. She undressed and washed her important parts well, remembering Astrid’s astute advice. For a moment, she considered sliding under the blanket without donning her silk gown, but found she wasn’t that brave. She did hike the hem to her waist this time, however, so there wouldn’t be the same sort of awkward tugging that accompanied her deflowering.
When Martin entered with the wine she was sitting in the bunk with the tufted blanket covering her naked thighs. She smiled and felt her face flushing.
“I feel like we’ve been here before,” he quipped as he handed her a glass of the burgundy liquid.
“Oh, no,” she assured him. “We have never been in this position before. Much has changed.”
He tilted his head and gave her a pensive look. “Yes. In truth it has.”
Dagny sipped the wine while Martin disrobed and washed. When he began to search for his nightshirt, she stopped him.
“Why would you cover yourself now?” she asked, sincerely puzzled. “After you have been unclothed in front of me these last days?”
“You haven’t yet seen me in a state of arousal,” he explained. “It’s not the same.”
She dismissed his words with a flip of her wrist. “I’ve touched you, though. Through your shirt. Did you forget?”
Martin chuckled and shook his head. “No. I could not forget that.”
Dagny patted the edge of the mattress. “Bring your wine and sit by me.”
He did as she bid. Her gaze rested on his manhood. It seemed larger.
“I want to see the transformation,” she confided.
Martin huffed a little grunt. “Keep watching it like you are and you won’t be disappointed.” He swallowed half the wine in his goblet.
Dagny’s eyes jumped to Martin. “Just looking at it makes it bigger?”
He leaned close and his lips took hers with leisurely possession. He tasted warm and delicious, like the wine. She didn’t want the kiss to end, and yet it did.
“No. It’s your wanting it that makes it grow.” Martin’s voice had a smoky sound. “See?”
Dagny looked at his lap, fascinated by the change. Inches longer and stiff, the opening in his foreskin showed the dark pink tip lurking inside. The junction of her thighs warmed and dampened.
“Are you finished with your wine?” he asked.
Dagny gulped the goblet’s contents and handed her husband the empty glass. He set them on the table, and turned back to face her.
“Will you leave your gown on?” he asked, his face blank.
Dagny’s heart thudded. “Will you dim the lamp?”
Martin rose from the bed to do so.
“Not too dark,” she cautioned.
He smiled at her and complied. Martin sat on the mattress, now facing her. He pulled back the blanket and smiled again.
She lifted one shoulder. “I didn’t want it to be in the way this time.”
Martin lifted her silk gown over her head and tossed it on the little chair.
They were naked together. There was no going back.
***
Martin took Dagny’s shoulders and laid her back on the bed. “Tell me if anything I do causes you discomfort, will you?”
“Yes,” was her barely audible response.
He slid his palms over her skin, starting at her waist and working upward. Her bosom was hot and heavy, overfilling his hands. Her breathing quickened.
“You are so beautiful, Dagny,” he sighed. “I love your body.”
“Can I touch yours?” she murmured.
“Of course.” Martin switched directions and lay down beside her.
Her fingers closed around his erection. “What should I do?”
Martin curved his fist over hers and showed her how to stroke him. He began to pant in an effort to maintain control. He wanted to go slowly this time, but her efforts were undermining his intent.
In an effort to distract her, he pulled her thighs apart and began erotic strokes of his own.
She gasped.
“Does this bring you pleasure?” Her body’s responses told him the question was unnecessary.
“Oh… yes,” she sighed. Her eyes closed. Her grip on his cock tightened.
Martin decided to try and bring Dagny to completion before he entered her, since he knew his own peak wasn’t going to be anything near to slow in coming. He owed her this—a full and satisfying experience in her sexual awakening.
He applied his skills to setting her body aflame. She moaned and twisted under his assault. He unwound her fingers from their target before she unwittingly finished him and laid her hand over her left breast. Martin took the right one in his mouth.
Dagny whimpered.
Martin used his tongue and fingers relentlessly until she cried out and her body stiffened. Her breaths came in uneven draws and whooshes. He pulled back and climbed over her, settling his knees between hers.
“Wrap your legs around me,” he begged.
She did so. Her eyes were still closed and she was breathing hard.
He didn’t hesitate this time, but plunged into her all the way to his root. Dagny stiffened once more and moaned. Her hands twisted the sheets.
Martin plunged again. And again. Dagny began to move her hips and meet his thrusts. When Martin’s peak dragged him out of his own body and threw him into the stars, he felt sure that Dagny followed him there.
***
Dagny lay under her panting husband. Every nerve in her body tingled with the aftereffects of whatever had just happened to her. Two, maybe three times.
Her quim became the center of her world. All the wonderful sensations Martin was sparking coalesced into a ball once again, but this time the ball grew and grew, until her belly could no longer contain it.
That explosion was powerful and magnificent. Yet when Martin slid inside her, his rigid bulk filling her, she thought she felt another. When he pounded into her over and over, she definitely did.
Now she couldn’t move. Her pulse thrummed in her ears. The apex of her core still quivered, and Martin was still buried deep within it. One thing was certain; not one fiber of her body was left frustrated or unsatisfied this time. She wondered if she should write the nuns a letter, and correct their misinformation.
Dagny began to giggle, imagining the nuns’ horrified reaction.
Martin lifted himself on stiff arms. He frowned and stared down at her. “Why are you laughing?”
Dagny grabbed both sides of his head. “Because I am so happy!”
Martin shook his head. “Laughter after swiving is not normally considered a compliment.”
Dagny clapped one hand over her mouth, the other remained tangled in Martin’s hair. But she couldn’t stop, no matter how hard she tried.
“I’m sorry, Martin,” she said from behind her hand. “But you have made me the happiest woman in the world—and I am so relieved!”
“So you enjoyed the experience t
his time?” he fished.
Dagny rolled her eyes. “You will have to explain what happened to me, but yes. Yes! You must be an unusually skilled lover.”
Martin kissed her slowly, signaling an end to their play. He withdrew from her quim, that action sending another pleasant shiver through her body. He lay on his back beside her. She considered his cock.
“Why does it look different?” she asked. “I can see the ridge now.”
Martin reached down and slid his foreskin back into place. The tip and its ridge were once again hooded.
“God gave us a bit of protection, considering how sensitive that particular part is,” he explained.
She looked at him with wonder. “I have so much to learn.”
Martin grinned. “And a lifetime of lessons ahead.”
Chapter Thirty Five
Dagny touched her husband’s cheek.
She had one more thing to say, but her courage was failing her. Something must have showed on her face, however, because Martin turned toward her and leaned on his elbow by her side. He kissed her forehead.
“What’s on your mind, Dagny? You may ask me anything, you know.”
“I know. But it’s not a question,” she demurred.
“You want to tell me something?” he prodded.
Her pulse, which had finally slowed, stepped up its marching cadence once again. “Yes. It’s something I realized the night you stopped breathing.”
Martin’s mood sobered. He rested a heavy hand on her hip, its heat flowing through his skin to hers. “Tell me.”
Dagny tried to smile, but she felt her lips quivering. “I—”
Martin planted a quick kiss on her mouth. “Try again.”
His tactile acknowledgement of her nerves made Dagny relax a little. “I never thought to say this to you, so it’s hard to form the words.”
Martin waited, his expression growing more apprehensive the longer it took her to push past her fear.
“Martin Hansen.”
He played along. “Yes?”
She took another run at it hoping the momentum of the words would fling them from her tongue. “Martin Hansen… I—”
