by Cheryl Holt
“Must we?”
“It’s much more pleasant that way.”
Without giving the matter any subsequent consideration, she consented. Whatever he wanted to do, whatever he asked, she’d acquiesce. She had to discover how it would be between them. It seemed as if the Earth couldn’t possibly keep spinning if she didn’t find out.
He pulled off her robe and lowered her nightgown, easing it down so that the fabric was under her breasts; then he dipped down to her nipples, nursing at one while he played with the other. He shifted back and forth until she was dizzy with excitement.
Down below, he was inching up her nightgown, his wandering hand roaming higher and higher. He’d touched her like this before, so she knew his destination, and her womanly core wept with need.
“Oh, hurry, Luke,” she embarrassed herself by begging.
“There’s no rush, Helen.”
“Yes, there is. Don’t torture me.”
“But suffering is half the fun.”
“I don’t want fun! I want relief!”
“And you shall have it. Very, very soon.”
Eventually, he arrived where she was desperate for him to be, his crafty fingers slipping inside to taunt her, but despite how thoroughly he fondled, there was no respite from misery.
“Luke!” she implored.
“Almost there.”
“I can’t bear much more.”
“You won’t have to.”
His thumb flicked out, jabbing at a spot she’d never noted prior. She was transfixed by the potent sensation centered there. How could she be twenty-five years old and not know the strange cravings of her body? How could he know them when she didn’t?
He flicked again, again, as he sucked on her nipple. Suddenly she felt as if she’d shattered into tiny pieces and was flying across the sky. She climbed up and up, having no notion of how it would end, or what her condition would be at the conclusion.
Finally—finally!—she reached a peak; then she floated down and landed gently in his arms.
“Oh my,” she breathed. “What was that?”
He was very smug. “That was a dramatic example of physical passion.”
“Can it occur more than once?”
“Most definitely.”
“You’ll kill me with ecstasy.”
“Perhaps.”
She chuckled. “You are so wicked.”
“I can’t deny it.”
“I’m a wanton.”
“I’ve never thought a bit of wantonness was a bad trait in a female.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“There are worse things.”
“I’m beginning to agree with you.”
And there were worse things, she realized. Like being a spinster. Like never being held by a man. Like never learning of this wonderful bliss.
How could she have deprived herself for so many years? And now that they’d commenced, why would she ever want to stop? Carnal activity was addicting, like a dangerous drug, and she had a humiliating vision of herself, aged and decrepit but continuing to lure him into secluded parlors and demanding he bestow more of the same.
A frustrating prospect dawned on her, and she scowled. “Am I still a virgin?”
“Yes, but you won’t be for long.”
“So I didn’t . . . you didn’t . . .”
“No.”
Butterflies swarmed in her stomach. “How will I know . . . ?”
“When we’re finished, there won’t be any doubt.”
“You are so exasperating. Will you quit speaking in riddles?”
“If I told you what was about to happen, you wouldn’t believe it.”
“Try me.”
He shook his head. “It’s easier to show you.”
“So what are you waiting for?”
“I don’t know.”
He smiled, and they started in again, the spiral swiftly escalating, and she was amazed by how eagerly she joined in. She was rapidly becoming a sexual fiend, so needy and voracious that there was no predicting what she might do to keep his attention.
He freed her from the remainder of her clothes, and he caressed her everywhere. She followed his lead, massaging him with great relish. He was so strong, so masculine, his skin burning hot as if there were a brazier chugging away inside.
She was completely naked, but she didn’t flinch or hesitate. She was prepared to let him try whatever he wished, just so he vanquished the terrible ache deep inside.
With each passing minute, he grew more intense, his kisses more intoxicating, and he fumbled with his trousers, loosening them and drawing them off his hips.
“What are you doing?” she managed to ask.
“I plan to make love to you—as a man does to his wife. Give me your hand.”
He clasped it and lowered it to his crotch, and he folded her fingers around a firm, pliant shaft. He guided her into a rhythm, her fist stroking him in a fashion he obviously enjoyed. Perspiration beaded on his brow; his pulse accelerated.
“What is this thing?”
“My cock.”
“Is it attached to your body?”
“Yes. We’re built differently.”
She was so naïve! “What is it for?”
“It’s for pleasure—and for making babies. Which we won’t attempt.”
She struggled to move out from under him, to scoot down and look, but he wouldn’t let her.
“I want to see,” she complained.
“No.”
“Luke!”
“When it’s over, you can explore.”
“I want to do it now.”
“Helen,” he grumbled, “have you any idea how long and how badly I’ve desired you?”
“No. How long and how badly?”
“Since the moment I first laid eyes on you.”
“Really?”
“I’m in agony.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.” He sounded strained. “Well, a little of it is. If you weren’t so damned sexy, I wouldn’t be so miserable.”
“You think I’m sexy?”
“Yes, and I can’t wait another second. Now be silent, so I can mate in peace.”
He gripped her thighs and yanked them apart, and he arranged himself between her legs, the odd appendage being wedged in, stretching her in a manner she didn’t care for, at all.
“Mate . . . how?”
“I’ll enter you.”
“Enter!”
“Then I’ll flex with my hips.”
He shoved the rod in a tad farther, and she squirmed with dismay. “I’m not sure about this.”
“You don’t need to be sure. You just need to relax.”
“Relax! Are you mad? It’s too big; it will never fit.”
Her anatomy rebelled, and she wrestled to escape, but the writhing excited him. “It will fit fine. Trust me.”
“I don’t,” she replied. “I absolutely don’t.”
He laughed. “The first time is awkward. But only the first. After that, it’s wonderful.”
“It doesn’t feel wonderful.”
“It will.”
“Luke!” she tried, but he was beyond the point where he could listen, and she was hardly in a position to beg that he cease. She’d given him explicit permission to proceed, yet she was shying away like a frightened ninny.
She was so fickle! Why did he put up with her?
“Let me in,” he said quietly. “I want you, Helen. Let me do this with you.”
When he spoke like that, so sweetly and so tenaciously, she was powerless to resist. She couldn’t tell him no. She drew him to her, embracing him with a renewed fervor.
She was terrified, but he wasn’t a patient or a verbal man, so he couldn’t delay or explain. As if she were on a ship being tossed in stormy seas, she closed her eyes and held on, hoping that he would steer her safely through to the end.
He was sucking on her nipple, his fingers working down below. Without warning, th
e commotion swept over her again, the second incident even more riveting than the initial one had been.
She was blinded by rapture, and as she wound up and up, he was increasing the pressure at her center. It felt as if her torso would never open to him, that he might rip her in half, when suddenly he burst through a barrier and his body was magically connected to hers.
Keeping himself very still, he murmured, “That’s the worst of it.”
“It hurts.”
“The pain will pass.”
A tear dribbled down her cheek, not from discomfort but because of the enormity of what had occurred. She couldn’t grasp this new reality. He leaned down and tenderly brushed it away.
“Don’t cry,” he whispered. “I can’t bear it when you’re sad.”
“I’m not crying,” she insisted. “I’m not a virgin anymore, am I?”
“No.”
“Do I look different?”
“Only prettier.”
How was she to respond to such a dear sentiment?
She cradled him to her, and shortly, as he’d claimed, the ache ebbed, and his invasion didn’t seem so abnormal.
He began flexing slowly, his cock pushing in and out. Gradually, his pace escalated, until eventually, he was thrusting with a wild abandon. They stretched and strained, their loins slamming together like the pistons of a huge machine. For a woman who’d never previously participated in a similar endeavor she was especially adept. On some primal level, she knew what to do and when to do it, and she couldn’t believe how much she enjoyed the exploit.
With each penetration, she surrendered a bit more of herself, so that ultimately, she forgot that they were two separate people. They were one.
“You’re so tight,” he muttered.
Deciding this was a compliment, she retorted, “Good.”
“It’s heaven, being inside you. It’s simply heaven. Wrap your legs around me.”
“Like this?”
“Yes, just like that.”
He pressed into her, his muscles quaking, his cock buried deep. With a growl of anguish, he roared to a conclusion that she couldn’t mistake as the end. He retracted himself from her sheath, as something hot and sticky shot across her abdomen; then he collapsed onto her.
She cuddled with him, curious as to what they’d say, how they’d act, and the silent aftermath unnerved her. Why was he so ponderous? She assumed she’d done well, but how could she be sure? What if she’d failed to entice him?
A horrid vision nagged at her—of the beautiful, sophisticated paramours he’d consorted with in London—and she was certain they all knew how to tantalize him as she never would. If he’d found the encounter distasteful, she’d be dismayed beyond measure, and she yearned to shake him.
It was her first time! How could he expect proficiency? If he told her she was boring or clumsy, she’d die of mortification!
He kissed her on the forehead, and she braced, ready for any awful comment, when he mumbled, “I’m sorry.”
“What?”
“I’m sorry.” He flashed a wry grin. “And I don’t apologize very often, so don’t gloat.”
“I’ll try not to.”
“I’d appreciate it.”
“Why are you sorry?”
“For being so rough. I can’t control myself around you. You arouse me beyond my limits.”
“I do?”
“Yes, you minx.” He swatted her on the rear. “Are you all right?”
She extended her legs, and her innards protested her new situation with an uncomfortable twinge. “It appears I survived.”
“What a stellar endorsement of my amatory skills!” He was laughing, and there was mischief in his eyes. “You’re supposed to stroke my vanity and tell me it was the greatest moment of your life and that I’m the most fabulous lover in the entire world.”
“Well . . . it was . . . interesting.”
“Interesting! Aah!” He flopped onto the pillow. “I must be losing my touch. Perhaps I need more practice.”
“Does that mean you’d like to do it again?”
“I’d like to do it all night, but I doubt your body could stand it.”
Feeling shy, she glanced away. “You liked it?”
“Yes, you silly goose, I liked it. If it had been any more exciting, my heart would have exploded.”
“So I . . . I . . . did everything correctly?”
“You were perfect, Helen. I’m very pleased.”
He was studying her as if she was a puzzle, as if he couldn’t understand his attraction to her, and she was positive he was about to utter a profound remark when he sat up and moved off the bed.
For a frantic instant, she was afraid he was leaving, and like a possessive shrew, she clutched at his hand. “Where are you going?”
“I ought to tidy us up a bit. Is there some water and a towel?”
“There’s a pitcher on the dresser.”
He walked over to her washbasin, and she watched as he swabbed himself clean, but from her angle, she hadn’t a good view of what she was dying to see. When he returned, his trousers were loose around his hips, and she considered slipping her fingers inside to investigate, but she hadn’t yet worked up that sort of courage.
He perched on the edge of the mattress, and as he dabbed at the mess on her stomach, she pointed at a white cream that had been emitted during their sexual foray.
“What is this?”
“It’s my seed. If I’d spilled it inside you, I could have planted a babe.”
“Does it spew out every time?”
“Yes.”
“So we must be careful.”
“Extremely careful.”
She was temporarily diverted by the mention of pregnancy. What they’d done seemed too raucous and physical to result in procreation. It was difficult to fathom how the boisterous event translated into parenthood.
“Would you ever want to have a child?” she inquired.
“No, I never would.”
He stared at her, but added nothing further, and she wasn’t surprised. He rarely talked about himself, and she knew so little about his past. He’d confessed to having a notorious father, but she hadn’t bothered to probe for details about his mother, or how he’d come to be a criminal and pirate.
Shouldn’t a woman learn that kind of information before lying down with a man? The fact that she hadn’t was more proof of how low she’d fallen, of how strong his influence over her was.
He dipped the cloth and wrung it out; then he pressed it between her legs. The cool moisture soothed her tender places, but when she peeked down she was stunned to note that he was wiping away blood.
“Am I injured?”
“No. The blood indicates that you’re not a virgin anymore. There was a piece of skin inside you. It’s called your maidenhead. I tore it.”
“Will it grow back?”
“No.”
“Is it the same for every woman?”
“Yes.”
She nodded. “So . . . a husband could guess if his wife had ever . . . ever . . .”
“Yes.”
He stared again, his silent message clear: She could never marry. Her fate as a spinster was sealed, but she wasn’t concerned. Luke would forever be her one and only love. After him, how could she have another?
“I’m not sorry,” she said.
“Neither am I.”
Their gazes locked, a hundred thoughts passing between them that couldn’t be spoken of aloud. Helen was overcome by dozens of urges—to chat, to snuggle, to babble about nothing until he was annoyed—but mostly she yearned to have him stretched out on top of her again.
She gestured at his trousers. “Take them off.”
“What?”
“I want you naked.”
He raised a brow. “You do?”
“I’ve been undressed from the start. It’s only fair that I have you in the same condition.”
“If I remove my pants, I’ll have to have you again.”
>
“You’d better.”
“You’re sore, and you probably will be for a day or two. I won’t hurt you more than I already have.”
“I’m not made of glass.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Take off your trousers,” she repeated. “Now.”
“Are you positive?”
“You promised I could look after we . . . we . . .”
“So I did, Helen. So I did.”
He stood and, without the slightest hesitation, he tugged them off and pitched them away. He posed for her, the rod hardening, extending out, and she was transfixed by the sight.
She scooted over and held him, stroking and petting, and the more she played, the more it reacted. It was a living, breathing—demanding!—organism, with a mind and temper of its own, and she couldn’t get over the size and shape. It was so peculiar and intriguing, and it beckoned to an ancient, covetous part of her that had her eager to keep it for her own.
“You are so beautiful.” She caressed from base to tip, and he tensed and shuddered.
“Do you think so?”
“I don’t want to share you with any other women. I want you all to myself.”
“Then I am yours, my dear lady.”
She recognized the pledge as a false vow, but they were illicit lovers, embarking on a sinful liaison, so she supposed a few prevarications were allowed.
She leaned forward and kissed the blunt end, licking her tongue across it, and she was amazed at how she focused his attention. He was riveted on her, on her mouth, on her hands.
“You like that, do you?” She licked him again, thrilled when his every muscle went taut.
“I definitely do. I can tell that you and I are going to get along just fine.” He grinned. “Let me show you something I suspect you’ll enjoy.”
She lay back and pulled him down with her.
11
Tell me about your past.”
“No.” Patricia shifted in the water and grabbed for the soap.
“I don’t understand why you’re so secretive,” Robert protested, though kindly. “I’ve told you absolutely everything about me.”
At thinking of the stories he’d related, she smiled. He tried to make light of his terrible upbringing, and many people might insist that he’d had it easy, that food on the table and a roof over his head negated his right to complain, but she knew better.
Despite his meek mother and cruel father, he had such a tender heart. If the Captain hadn’t stumbled on him in the slave market, she couldn’t predict what might have happened to him. She’d spent enough time in Arabia, herself, to comprehend the perils that could befall such a handsome man.
