by Pamela Morsi
"But it doesn't grow very long," Cessy told him. "I never cut it, but it continues to hang only to the middle of my back. Muna can sit on hers."
Slowly, sweetly he smiled at her.
"Why would she want to?" he asked. "Do her family's chairs lack upholstery? Perhaps we can speak to Maloof about it. I'm sure he will get them a very good deal."
Princess laughed then. That seemed to please him a lot. Gerald laid down the brush and she turned to face him.
He squatted beside her at eye level.
"Any more rituals that must be taken care of before we go to bed?" he asked.
"Aren't you . . . c-cold without a shirt on," she managed to choke out.
He took her hand and placed it against the bare skin of his chest.
"Do I feel cold?"
"No, not at all."
"Are you cold?" he asked as he took her chin in his hand and then allowed his palm to ease along the entire length of her throat.
"It's July," she answered.
"So it is."
His big brown hand continued to caress her, tracing her collarbone and easing under the lace of her neckline.
"What are you doing?"
"Just being friendly, Cessy," he told her.
"It . . . this doesn't seem very friendly," she said.
"You don't like it?"
"No, no, I ... do like it," she admitted somewhat breathlessly.
"I know you do," he said.
"How could you know?"
"From these," he said, using both thumbs to oh-so-gently pluck at her nipples.
Cessy looked down at the turgid points visible through her nightgown and gasped. She raised her hands to cover herself, but he took her wrists in his own and held them fast.
"Don't cover up," he begged. "I like looking at you."
Princess felt the flames in her cheeks. She could not look at him. She could not meet his eyes.
"Can't you tell that I like it?" he asked. "Look at me, see if you can tell that I like it."
He cupped her chin in his hand and forced her to face him.
"Look at me, Cessy," he told her. "Mine are as hard as your own."
She did look at him. His bare, masculine nipples were beaded up to tiny points. He drew her hand to them. He closed his eyes, swallowed deliberately, and gave a long sigh as she touched him.
Princess felt a surge of unexpected power with the reaction that she had provoked.
"Feel how tight they are," he said.
"Yes," she answered, her own voice a faraway whisper.
"They are much like yours. Just by touching each other here we can always tell if the other partner likes what we are doing."
Cessy nodded, nearly entranced by the strange, pleasurable sensation of simply stroking his skin.
"But it's much easier for you to tell," she said. "Because mine are so much bigger."
He opened his eyes then, his gaze sultry and enticing.
"Well, if there is ever a question in your mind about it," he said with silky softness. He grasped her wrist once more and eased it downward. "Then you can just bring your hand down here for a verification."
A tiny squeal escaped from the back of Cessy's throat as she touched Gerald. Only a thin layer of cotton separated her hand from the most private parts of his body.
"Is that hard enough for you?" he asked.
She sat frozen and immobile for a thousand hurried heartbeats before she realized that he no longer pressed her hand against him. It was she herself who clutched him so intimately.
Cessy jerked her hand away and jumped to her feet. She tried to step around him, but he was right there. He wrapped his hands around her from behind and held her fast.
"Don't run from me," he whispered against her hair. "Don't run from me and don't be afraid. I'm going to make it wonderful for you, Cessy. I promise it will be as fine and sweet as any wedding night any woman ever had. You deserve nothing less. And I can give you that."
"I'm being so silly," she said, attempting to regain control of herself. "I ... I want this, I want you. It's just all so strange and so . . . scary."
He nuzzled the hair away from her neck and teased her with little nips and kisses.
"Maybe that is because there is something inherently scary in seduction."
The last word was spoken in a whisper and it nearly took her breath away.
She raised her hand, perhaps instinctively, to protect herself from the sensual assault that his mouth made upon her flesh. But ultimately she buried her fingers in his hair, reveling in his touch and urging him on.
"I'm your wife, Gerald," she told him, as calmly as she could manage. "I don't have to be seduced."
As an answer he turned her to face him and brought his mouth to hers. But he did not kiss her, he allowed his tongue to trace the definition of her lips. His words were a soft, warm whisper, so close and intimate.
"Perhaps a bride on her wedding night does not, by necessity, require being wooed and won," he told her. "But my Cessy, I want you to have the whole experience, all of it. I want you to never be able to imagine that our first night together could have been more exciting."
"I don't really want excitement," she assured him. "It's the excitement that is so frightening. I just want some . . . some tenderness."
"Oh, Cessy," he promised. "I will be so tender with you."
As if to prove it, he kissed her then, sweetly and civilly. And it was oh-so-seductive.
"Lay down on the bed, Cessy," he said softly. "Lay down and let me lay down with you."
Cessy would have been happy to comply if she had retained the strength to move. Somehow her limbs had turned to jelly and her brain to mush. It was Gerald who lifted her to the bed and eased her down on pressed cotton sheets. And it was Gerald who stretched full-length atop her.
"Oh! Oh dear!"
"Am I too heavy for you, Cessy?" he asked.
"No . . . no."
"Do you want the light out?"
"No ... I mean yes, yes, please," she said.
"Whatever you want," he told her.
But he kissed her instead of turning to the lamp. It was a kiss like none other he'd given her. It was a kiss of more than his lips, it was his mouth, his arms, his hands, his whole body.
The nearness of him was familiar and welcome, yet the feelings he evoked were new and enticing. His hands moved along her body with ease and comfort. But in the wake of their touch her skin began to tingle and her insides to quiver.
He teased and tasted her from the corner of her mouth, along her jawline, to the flesh of her throat and beyond.
He nuzzled his face against her thinly clad bosom. And then showed her, by toying her nipples with his teeth and tongue, that he was aware of her pleasure in his touch.
She bit down on her lower lip to stifle the moan that rose from her throat.
His hands were not idle, one moment stroking her thigh, the next caressing her breast.
Cessy wrapped her own arms around his bare shoulders, burying her fingers lovingly into his thick, dark hair.
Between her legs there was growing a strange, aching emptiness, that somehow could not be ignored. She squirmed beneath him, attempting to assuage the craving.
As if he understood her distress, he clasped her leg behind the knee and bent it, parting her legs around his hips.
She was closer to him then, much closer, and she could feel the hardness of his body against the softness of her own. Cessy needed to press against him. Somehow she needed very much just to press against him.
Her nightgown constrained her and she jerked at it in frustration.
"Easy, easy sweet bride," he whispered against her neck. "We'll get this thing off of you and it won't be in the way."
She heard his words but when he moved away from her she tried to hold on to him.
"Don't leave," she pleaded.
"I'm putting out the lamp," he said. "And I'm getting rid of this blasted nightgown."
He dispensed with the li
ght with one energetic puff of breath into the top of its chimney. The room was immediately pitch black. Cessy heard him fiddling with the window shade.
"What are you doing?"
"Moonlight, Cessy," he said as he finally got it to retract into its roller. "I think they must call it honeymoon because couples see each other for the first time in moonlight."
He was standing in that stream of glorious silver moonlight as she watched him peel off the thin cotton trunks and cast them carelessly to the floor.
She could see him only in silhouette, but clearly he was as differently made as ever she had imagined a man to be.
He pressed one knee on the mattress tick.
"Let's get rid of this nightgown," he suggested softly.
Cessy remained mute as he firmly grasped the hem of the last remnant of her maidenly modesty and slowly eased it up. Her body was prickling with thrills and quaking with anxiety.
"Up," he ordered simply as he reached the top of her thighs.
Like a trained pony she braced herself upon his strong shoulders and raised her bottom so that the gown slid under easily. A second later it was over her head and Gerald threw it behind him as if he never cared to see it again.
She was half sitting, half lying on the bed. And she was naked. She tried to cover her breasts, but he held her back. Propping her up on her elbows, giving himself unrestricted access to her body.
He explored her slowly, almost curiously. His hands left a trail of tingling sensation upon her skin. With one finger he made a circle around her right breast, as if staking out a claim. Then he took it into his hand, weighing it, sizing it.
"You have pretty breasts," he said.
"They are too small," she answered quickly.
"No, I don't think so," he disagreed, exploring them in a seemingly dispassionate manner that somehow took Cessy's breath away.
"They are firm and high and they have very long nipples," he said. "I like the very long nipples."
To prove his words, he first placed a delicate kiss upon the very tip of one. Then he took it between his lips. With insistent pressure, gentle at first and then more lustily, his mouth pulled at the keenly aroused nipple.
Cessy, overwhelmed by the sensation, threw back her head and cried out in gratification.
"So you like this, my Cessy," he whispered to her as he moved his attention from the right breast to the left. "You like it when I lavish attention on your bosom. I suppose, dear wife, that we'll have to make it part of your evening routine. You brush your hair one hundred strokes and then I suckle you until you cry out my name."
He did not need to help her a second time to get close to him. Deliberately, she parted her legs around him, pressing herself as closely as nature would allow.
Gerald turned on his side and slid one strong thigh firmly between her own. That was better, it was much better. But it wasn't nearly enough. Cessy almost immediately began to squirm and wiggle against him. He allowed her freely to do so and even aided as he caressed the curve of her buttocks and urged her even closer.
"This is my Cessy," he whispered against her neck. "This is my own, determined, aggressive Cessy. And I think that she wants me."
"I want you," she replied, aching. "Oh please, please, I want you."
He rolled her onto her back and got up on his knees. The loss of his body was tangible. Cessy whined and reached for him.
"Wait, Cessy, I'm going to kiss you."
"Yes, but . . ." She couldn't quite voice her need. But she scooted way down in the bed, attempting to capture his knee between her own.
He resisted.
"Oh, no, no more of that," he said, clasping one large hand upon each buttock and sliding her back away from him.
"But . . . please . . ."
"I said I am going to kiss you," he told her. "And you've got to trust me, Cessy, to know what is right for when."
Her whole body was on fire. She was trembling from the need to be touched. But she did trust him. He had given her so much pleasure, and if this was almost pain, Cessy vowed that she could stand it.
"Kiss me," she said, raising her arms to accept his embrace.
He took her hands and held them in his own as he bent down and placed his lips upon that part of her that so instinctively craved him.
Cessy cried out in shock and momentary shame as she tried to pull her knees together decently. He would not allow it and held her open as he used his mouth and tongue upon her.
It was wonderful, it was thrilling, it was almost frightening. Cessy tried to clamp down upon the feelings that swamped her. It was a wild abandon that began to override all her conceptions of sensuality and propriety.
Her hands, which only moments earlier she had sought to use for her own protection, were now buried in his thick dark hair, urging him on.
When he raised himself to embrace her once more, every nerve in her body was at attention and she was as malleable as a wet dishrag.
He kissed her and she tasted herself upon his mouth. It was startling, strange, and without any precedence in her experience.
His hand replaced his lips in exploration. She could feel his fingers inside her, searching her, stretching her. His thumb intermittently working the small stiff nubbin partially hidden in her curls.
"I think you're ready now," he told her. "I don't wish to hurt you, not a little, not at all."
"I'm not afraid," she told him. "Hurt me anytime if it feels this good."
He gave a very light chuckle and positioned himself above her. Guiding her hand to his erection, his words were demanding but tender.
"Put me inside you, Cessy," he said. "This is not something I do to you. It's something we do together."
His body was warm and smooth and Princess wanted him very much. She wanted to join with him, be part of him, to be bonded for life, to bear his children.
A little clumsily she eased him into her entrance. He pushed forward, gently, firmly. His hands were everywhere, soothing, caressing as he pressed inward with slow, smooth strokes.
"This is it," he said softly. "I'll be easy . . . I'll be easy . . ."
She felt something give inside her. But there was no pain, not even a sting. Having overcome a tremendous obstacle, he began moving forward at a more rapid pace. Kissing, caressing, and cooing to her as he went.
Then he was completely inside her. He filled her and was part of her, as deeply embedded in her body as he was in her heart.
Inexplicably tears began to flow down her cheeks.
"Cessy?" His tone was rife with concern. "Oh, sweetheart, did I hurt you? I'm so sorry. I didn't think I hurt you."
"I love you," she said to him in answer. "I'm not hurt, I'm in love. I love you and I love your body in mine."
"Oh, sweetheart," he whispered, relieved and almost jubilant. "Oh, Cessy, I haven't even showed you the fun part yet."
"You mean it's not over?"
"Not by half," he answered, holding her face in his hands and smiling down at her. "And the best half is yet to come."
As he began to withdraw, Cessy clasped her hands upon his naked buttocks.
"Don't take it out yet," she pleaded.
"Trust me, Cessy," he told her once more as he thrust back inside her, only to begin withdrawing once more. "Trust me."
She intended to do just that, but the effect his rocking movement was having upon her prevented her from any further coherent speech.
He was certain and sure, adjusting his rhythm to that which seemed easiest for Cessy. She began meeting and matching his pace. More and more sure of herself and her part in this dance of bodies and hearts.
Her legs became restless as she sought to get herself nearer and him deeper. Understanding her need, he grasped her knees and wrapped her legs around his waist. It gave him more access and her more of him.
The pace accelerated until she could not move at all. He thrust into her more and more rapidly and within minutes had her quaking, shaking, shrieking. As if the whole of her physical se
nsation was coalescing into an ever-tightening spiral. Further. And further. And further. Until her body went for an instant totally rigid. Then the deep recesses of her female anatomy grasped and spasmed and clenched around him, pleasure filling and sparkling through her entire body as his essence spilled into her.
"Gerald!"
She screamed out his name in wondrous gratification and complete, earth-tilting satisfaction.
Chapter Twelve
Cessy Calhoun, Tom thought to himself as he tiredly observed his sleeping wife in the faint light of early dawn, had the finest twachel he had ever encountered in his entire life.
He quietly pulled down the window shade so that the rising sun would not awaken her.
Many women were beautiful. Some had curvaceous bodies. Some had pretty eyes. Some were charming and witty. Some could sing so beautifully, they put the birds to shame.
But of all those traits and talents a woman might have, Tom could not imagine one more sure to please a husband than the natural ability that his new bride had shown last night.
He leaned over the bed and gave her a tiny kiss on the forehead. He didn't want to wake her, but somehow he couldn't leave without the gesture. Sweet, the thought came to him. She was so sweet. And she was such pleasure.
And he had to leave. Cedarleg would be expecting him at the rig. He couldn't just not show up. He'd have to tell him something, make some sort of explanation.
Tom Walker had to very permanently disappear. But he couldn't just vanish without a word. There would be too many questions. The path of sophisticated Gerald Crane would surely never cross the acquaintances of ordinary Tom.
So he quietly made his way out of her room and down the stairs into rooms that were wallpapered in fine silk and trimmed with polished walnut. There were sounds of breakfast preparation and conversation emanating from the back part of the house. Practicing amazing stealth, Tom managed to attract the attention of no one. The front door was too accessible and the porte cochere too close to the kitchen. So he eased out the little-used French door in the sun parlor. The exit put him in a completely private part of the garden. With no windows to observe the area, it was a perfect place for a thoughtful person to contemplate the nature of the universe. Or for a wily person to enter or exit the house without notice.
