He fingered the tendrils of hair that had escaped her coif and whispered his request. “Please take down your hair.”
She answered with a demure smile, reaching without hesitation to do as he asked. With her slender arms held overhead, her breasts were on full display, their rosy tips erect. He was lost to the sight of them until the moment her reddish brown hair released from its knot and fell in a tangle of waves down her back and she addressed him in breathless tones. “Is that what you desire?”
He could utter but one word. “Yes.”
He wasted not a moment in fisting the strands, tugging gently until she bared her neck to him. Then his mouth was upon her, and he tasted thoroughly the dampness of the rain. Her pulse fluttered under his tongue and her breath quickened. Emboldened by her pleasure, he abandoned her neck and gently, lightly he touched his tongue to the peak of her breast. When her gasps reduced to trembles, he increased the pressure, sending her arching against him.
Though she clutched blindly at his skin, she found his waistband. Her hands moved lower, where his manhood strained painfully against his breeches—though never so terribly as when she touched him through the fabric. He attempted to maneuver away from her, but she caught quickly onto the game and looped her fingers in the band, capturing him gamely.
“I hardly think it fair I am the only one exposed,” she said.
She had distracted him from her breast, and now he stood before her breathing as if he had been chased. “It may not be fair, but have you any idea what will happen if you touch me?”
“I have an idea,” she said coyly, “but my experience is naught.”
“And if you touch me there,” he growled playfully, “your experience is likely to remain as such.”
“Are you saying I cannot maintain your interest?”
He laughed. “I think it safe to say that is one thing with which you need not worry.”
“In that instance, perhaps you should join me.”
He trembled, though he knew not if in anticipation of that moment or from the strength of his desire. If she touched him, he might well explode. He reassured himself with the knowledge she knew not what to expect, but that only brought forward the importance of the moment. She trusted him, and he did not take lightly the honor.
And apparently neither did she. Without waiting for his answer, she went to work on his waistband. Judging by her speed and dexterity, it was clear her skills at undressing far outdistanced his. To that point, she said, “You have but one or two buttons with which to contend. A woman has many.”
“You have but one first time, sweet Anne. Are you sure you wish for it to be like this.”
“I wish for nothing more,” she said.
The slight tremble of her voice hinted at her nervousness, but she did not tarry in pulling his breeches down to his knees. When his manhood sprang free, so did an entirely new awareness of her vulnerability, and with it, he could no longer doubt her want of him. Her eyes grew wide and round, but not with an alarm. He knew not what to call her expression other than one of intense curiosity, but whatever it was, she wore it beautifully.
She wore it for him.
His intoxication with this woman left him wanting for balance, so it was without grace he managed to disentangle from his breeches. Her attention never left its mark. Thinking he might explode under her scrutiny, he drew her close…only to realize his mistake when he, swollen harder than he had ever been in his life, grazed the soft skin of her belly. The touch left her grinning and nearly sent him to his knees.
He ended her humor by fastening his mouth on her breast. This time the hissed breath was hers, and he had little trouble coaxing her to the floor. He centered her over the fabric of her discarded skirts and crawled so he held himself above her, caging her in with his arms. “The accommodations are lacking,” he murmured, his lips to her neck.
Without giving her time to dispute, he again closed his mouth over her breast, teasing the hard peak with his tongue. She said nothing, but her fingernails at his back spoke well enough. Unduly pleased with himself, he switched to the other side, leaving the first wet and exposed. But the mistake was his. She sought breath and arched against him, pressing hard against his groin and nearly ending him.
Left to suck in ragged breaths, he withdrew from her breast and sought equilibrium, but it was not to be won. So he gave in.
He reached for her entrance, hoping to find her ready. Finding her drenched.
The touch of his fingertips sent her hips high against his pelvis, his name spilling from her lips. Josiah held on, praying he would not finish before he started. Wondering how he could possibly start without finishing on the spot.
Her eyes were half closed and fixed along the length of their bodies.
“Look at me,” he said. He wanted to be sure, but he also wanted to see the moment in her eyes where she truly became his. “I have heard this might hurt,” he whispered.
She shook her head and offered a small smile. “And I have heard it to be of pleasures unimagined.”
He hoped that for her. Oh, how he hoped.
As he positioned himself near her opening, he saw his entire world in the dark green depths of her eyes. So many years of missing her and wanting her seemed to have come to that one moment.
So many years had come to the next.
As gently as he could, he began to push into her, and as quickly as those first sensations overcame him, he wanted to plunge the rest of the way. She was fire to him. Fire and heat and seizure, her sleeve so tight he nearly lost all control.
She, too, had sucked in a breath. Her eyes drifted wide, then closed, before finding his again. They traded hard breaths, him trying for all his worth to keep from tumbling ahead of her into pleasure, until he could refuse no more. His eyes fixed on hers, he pressed further inside. Her body resisted his only momentarily, before allowing him to push through, leaving her gasp echoing in his ears.
Josiah braced himself on his arms. He was not yet fully seated within her, and already the pleasure was greater than anything he ever imagined. How she could be so soft and at once so tight was beyond his comprehension. How she could be so unbelievably hot without combusting, he did not know. The woman was fire and he was lost to her.
He withdrew just enough to shift his position and press more deeply inside her, keeping the rhythm as slow as he found possible. He would like to think he did it for her—to give the opportunity to take him in—but the truth did not end there. He needed every second to reclaim control. He had always heard intimacies were best enjoyed in rapid beats, but nothing could be better than the slow, deep acceptance she granted him. Each stroke brought him deeper until he was at last tight against her, their bodies as joined as they were able.
She owned him now, for he could not imagine he would ever have another thought that did not center on that moment. If he moved within her he would be finished, so he held fast and found her lips. Untold intimacy existed in that kiss. With their mouths as deeply entwined as their bodies, a new wave of passion seemed to take over his body, sending him rocking against her even as he willed himself to stillness. Though she remained impossibly slick, friction grew from the slow grind of their bodies and any hopes he entertained of holding on were lost. Her breathing grew rapid, her breaths ragged, and with her pleasure he gave up his resistance and jerked against her, saying her name until all the syllables were lost to him and the firelight had turned to pinpoints of stars.
The world as he knew it ceased to function.
And for the life of him, he would have it no other way.
Chapter Twelve
Josiah woke with Anne in his arms. Dusty sunlight drifted through the cabin, illuminating a mismatched pattern of wood, much of which had turned gray with age. Now that he could fully see the single room he found it a wonder the walls had lasted the storm, but there was something charming about the forgotten place. Or perhaps it was the length of woman stretched over him, her creamy complexion a stark contrast to h
is tanned arms and chest.
Her beauty unnerved him. Verily, the whole of her did.
Other men spoke often of sex. Of women—even Puritan women—who shed their inhibitions along with their clothing and performed so sinfully they must not have feared for the wrath of the church. Though if they did indeed repent, it was no surprise the whole of the population ceased everything to worship on Sunday. Josiah could not begin to guess the accuracy of such tales, but now that he had experienced it for himself, he could want for nothing more. Hours before, he wondered if he would ever again feel his legs. Now, the very thought of sinking into her impossibly soft, slick heat had him hard.
He had not realized her awake until her hand circled him. She toyed with him lazily, but his body would have nothing of games. “Careful,” he murmured. “My manners are long forgotten.”
“If you seek to tempt me, you are well accomplished.”
“I have heard tell you are to be sore the morning after. Unless, of course, you are saying I did something wrong.”
“To the contrary,” she said. “You did something wonderfully right.”
Perhaps he had, but in the light of day he could not help but worry for her honor. His intentions were pure, but Anne deserved more.
She deserved a soft mattress, not a dusty floor atop damp garments.
And a man who had earned her hand, not one who had merely taken it.
During the night, he had not seen around his passion. He could say he could not deny her and that would be true, but it was also true he wanted her. Verily, he had gotten what he wanted…but had he taken too much?
He swallowed his blooming heartache and made a genuine attempt at keeping his voice light. “Your parents will want more for you.”
She twisted in his arms so she faced him fully. “Do you not understand? They could ask for nothing more. You are well-schooled. Strong of heart and hand. And you care for me, which is far more than they could hope from a stranger in want of a marriage transaction.”
He wanted to tell her he loved her, but the words could not rise past the lump in his throat. Instead, he threaded his fingers through her hair, gently touching the side of her face with his palm. He hoped the gesture would speak for him, and it must have, for she rested her head against his shoulder and he could do little more than marvel at the sweet weight of her in his arms. She was so beautiful with her hair loose around her face. Even more than joining, unpinned hair was the kind of intimacy reserved for a marital eve, and it struck him how much she had granted him with the wildly freed strands.
Memories of the night’s explorations rekindled a burn in his chest. He valued Anne’s honor, and though he tempered some guilt over their coupling, his love was true. Though not commonly known—or otherwise accepted—among the elders, such pleasure was seldom saved for the marital bed. Josiah had abstained, but not for lack of opportunity. Offers had not been scarce—he had been pursued just as often by women seeking pleasure as he had those seeking a husband—but Anne had never been far from his heart. He could not imagine returning to her with the knowledge he had not been true, so he had maintained his faith, praying all the while she would somehow find her way to him in the same disposition.
And verily she had. In all of her beautiful innocence, she had come to him. She had given herself, shyly but freely, and if Josiah’s life ended that day it would be with the kind of fulfillment he had not dared hope he would find. Yet it hung so precariously, he feared touching it—touching her—might shatter it. Her parents had yet to approve of their union, and after her mother’s warning to stay away from Josiah, he did not expect they would.
Her parents.
The moment for which he had waited so many years had to come to an end, for despite his intimacies with their Anne, he held a duty to her parents. “Your parents are doubtlessly wrought with worry. We must go.”
A small frown marred Anne’s pretty face, and he did not resist the urge to kiss it from her lips. With his hands cradling either side of her head, he touched his mouth to hers, sweeping her into a deep intimacy the moment her lips parted in breathless acceptance.
He could never get enough. The more he tasted her, the more he wanted. He did not know how he would bear the separation they must keep at the inn, for even if her parents accepted him as her intended, he and Anne would have to maintain an honorable distance until they had exchanged vows. And if her parents did not approve of their union…he did not ask Anne what would happen, though he knew he would abide by her wishes.
Anne’s attention fixed on him so intently she must surely have read his thoughts, but he dared not ask. These moments were precious and perhaps few, but greater responsibilities waited. With that in mind, he brushed his lips to hers and gently untangled from her embrace. Once he was on his feet, he reached for her hand and helped her to stand. He stepped into his breeches and watched shamelessly as she donned her first layers. Her slender form—a trim waist, the gentle curve of her hips, and the creamy swell of her breasts—enthralled him, for never had he seen anything so beautiful. Could she ever know how much he valued the gift of her body? Years of anticipation had not prepared him for this.
Still watching Anne, he slipped into his shirt. The fabric was damp, though no longer drenched, and evoked a chill despite the thick, hot morning. Through a broken shutter, the sun splintered the forest, dotting the wooden floor with pinpoints of light where the roof had worn through. If he opened a window, the room would fill with sunshine. With the thought, he could almost picture a home there. His mind went back to the house raising and he imagined all of Salem coming together to celebrate another union—his and Anne’s. But he and Anne would surely live at the inn, and there would be no gathering in Salem Village, for she would want to remain in town in her family’s home.
As he helped her into her petticoat, he prayed it would be the first of countless times he helped her dress. He fastened the buttons for her—more easily this time than last—and smiled as she smoothed her skirts and twisted her hair back into its bun. Propriety had returned, but what lay between them could not be revoked.
She shared a secretive smile, and he knew she must feel the same.
After ensuring the fire was out and their clothing had been properly reapplied, they let themselves outside onto the storm-drenched landscape. The weather front had finally pushed through, leaving brilliant sunshine that dove through his fears and gave him hope their request would meet with some kind of approval from Anne’s parents. His heart was so light he even took her hand, steadying her as they walked the muddy path, but once they were on the somewhat firmer surface of the road he released his grip. Though it was the last thing he wanted, he would not have the next passerby learn of their relationship before her parents did.
The walk passed in companionable silence. It seemed they each had much to ponder. Several moments passed before she addressed him.
“Why did you lose touch with the rest of your family? What happened with your father?” Anne’s sweetly voiced question caught him off guard, instilling a hard edge in his gut. But he would not deny her a response, and was even more surprised she had not asked about his blame in his mother’s death, though perhaps that was the intent of her query. As a boy in Salem, he had faced few questions over his mother, for she had been gone since the summer after his birth. Anne had known as much, which kept Josiah from sharing the terrible truth he harbored—not just a terrible truth, but a gruesome parallel to Samuel’s death.
Josiah cleared his throat, squinting against the bright light of day. If he came across his hat, he would wear it no matter how much mud it had collected. “My father died after he sent me away for schooling. His new wife never cared for me, so I am sure she has much to do with the way I lost contact with the children she shared with my father.”
“She must be a terrible woman!”
She had her reasons. But he did not say the words, for they would bring questions—questions for which he was no longer sure he wanted to provide an ans
wer. “Judge her not. She believed her course of action was best.”
Anne looked in puzzlement, the glint of curiosity lighting her luminous green eyes. “How could anyone think it best to cease ties? You were his son.”
He touched her hand, drawing a smile, the simple beauty of which lightened the heaviness that had settled over him. “I cannot begin to know what exists in another man’s thoughts. I can only respect what I cannot change and know my own heart is true.”
“And your heart?”
“My heart is yours.”
She smiled and her light was greater than that of the sun. He could only pray he was not about to face one of his darkest moments, for around the next bend loomed the Scudder Inn.
And within it, the answer to the most important question of Josiah’s young life.
…
Anne subconsciously smoothed her skirts, her hands then moving to her coif. It was hopelessly tangled, but she could have done no better under the circumstances—circumstances that had left her wonderfully sore and happier than she could remember feeling in all of her days.
Josiah had walked her to the door, but he would go no farther.
She had only begun to ask why he stopped when the door flew open to her mother’s fitful cries. “Anne? You have worried us sick!”
“Worry not, Mother. It was merely the weather that delayed my return.”
“For heaven’s sake, child,” she said, ushering her into the house. “Why were you out in the weather to begin with?”
At one time, Anne might have worried for her response. But that time had passed. “I went to the gallows. And you just shut the door on Josiah.”
Her mother’s countenance darkened considerably, whether from mention of the gallows or of Josiah, Anne did not know. Though it was no hardship for Josiah to be left outside, it remained terribly, terribly wrong for her mother to shut him out without the slightest show of gratitude. “Your father will see to him. Come, we must draw a bath to rid you of this filth.”
An Unexpected Sin (Entangled Scandalous) Page 9
