Once Upon a Tower
Page 46
She yawned and rolled onto her back, pulling her gown tight against lush breasts. A groan involuntarily broke from his lips.
“You’re so beautiful, Edie.” He bent his head to kiss her, but she wriggled away.
“Not through my nightdress,” she said, sounding much more alert. “Last night it was quite unpleasant sleeping with damp patches over my breasts.”
That was fair, if a bit cold.
Edie pulled the gown over her head. A ray of moonlight flickered over one breast, down to the curve of her waist.
Desire punched through his body, and made his breathing rough. With a struggle, he made sure his voice was even. “May I kiss you now?” he whispered, tenderly guiding her onto her back.
“On my breasts?”
She sounded altogether too rational. It was a bit demoralizing. “Yes, here,” he said, curving his hand around a luscious breast.
“Yes, you may,” she stated.
He felt as if he’d lost his senses, as if the world had shrunk to one creamy breast, the fire in his loins, the catch in Edie’s breath when he suckled her.
“You like that,” he murmured, moving from one breast to the other. He could tell she did. He was learning her body. It softened under his caresses. He couldn’t stop kissing her, his hands roaming over her body. Every touch was intoxicating.
The only thing he wished . . .
“Edie,” he said, and then cleared his throat. His voice sounded embarrassingly guttural.
“Yes?”
He would have preferred that her voice sounded more like his, which was stupid. “Would you—” He stopped. He couldn’t demand that a gently bred lady touch him. Perhaps when they knew each other more. Last night she had stroked his chest and back, and he longed for her hands to roam over the rest of his body. But he felt hesitant to ask . . . What if she thought he was too muscular? Too burly? Too much like a laborer?
Sweat beaded across his forehead, but he kept kissing her breasts, determined not to overwhelm her. “Does this feel good?” he whispered, closing his teeth in the gentlest of bites.
Edie shivered, and a little gasp broke from her lips. He almost couldn’t hear her answer: her yes was a thread of sound.
His desire burned so hotly that he felt unmoored, as if every moment he wasn’t inside her was a sacrifice. It didn’t matter that he’d just pleasured himself. He wanted to push open her legs and lick her there until her body squirmed away from his and she got that enchanting hitch in her throat, and then he would bury himself in her so hard and fast that he could feel his balls against her.
He had to pause, collect himself, remind himself that he was a thinking, rational man whose young bride was still new—
Hell, he was still new to it.
Slowly, slowly, he kissed his way down her body until he pushed her legs apart. He may be drowning in lust . . . but all the same, the logical part of his brain was still operating, and it was offering observations. They weren’t all encouraging.
When they had first kissed, in the carriage outside her parents’ house following the Chuttle ball, Edie had been as feverish as he, her hands flying around his body. Now, she wasn’t. One moment she would gasp and a little tremor would go through her body, but then, all of a sudden, she would go still. She didn’t touch him, not really. She stroked his arms, or his chest, or twined her fingers in his hair.
For a while he lost himself kissing her, but then he knew she was ready. She was swollen and soft, and every time he licked her, she would make a little moaning sound, and her hands would tighten on his hair.
Her beautiful eyes were squeezed shut but as he came up, over her, she opened them. For a moment they looked hazy with pleasure and then something else came into them.
“Edie!” he said, startled. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” she said with a little gasp.
He looked at her a second longer, but she arched her back and rubbed against him. “We should . . . we should make love now, Gowan. We have to be up early tomorrow.”
Her touch sent his mind reeling into a smoldering place where rational thought wasn’t possible.
“Tell me if it hurts too much,” he told her, and she nodded.
Coming into her, his Edie, was the most exquisite feeling he could have imagined. Why didn’t people do only this—make love—day and night? He went as slowly as he could, hoping that it wouldn’t hurt too much. When he finally seated himself, she wound her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder.
“How does it feel, Edie?” he asked. He dropped kisses on her ear, coaxing her. “Does it feel good?”
“It’s fine,” she whispered.
He froze.
“No, it’s—it’s better,” she said, almost sounding surprised. “It is not so painful.”
Relief swept through him. Now he just had to maintain control. It had taken thirty, forty minutes, but if he stayed the course, she would catch up to him and take her pleasure. A swell of emotion, a determination that he would give his wife the same ecstasy he felt, came from deep within him, and he braced himself above her and began moving.
Edie lay back with her eyes closed tightly, and for a time he just concentrated on keeping his hungry flesh under control. Finally, he said, “Edie, how does it feel?”
Her eyes snapped open, startling him. They weren’t hazy with desire but grave and focused. Gowan felt a sudden pang, a ridiculous wish that she would be playful. That wasn’t fair. His Edie was serious by nature. Even having that thought was disloyal.
“It’s all right,” she said. She shifted under him and the small movement rippled through his loins like fire. “You feel so . . . well, you make me feel full.”
Full? Full couldn’t be good. Full sounded like a belly after a Sunday meal. “Is that a pleasurable sensation?” he asked.
She bent her knees, and he shuddered at the feeling that washed through his body.
“You should come,” she whispered.
“Not without you,” he said. “What would make this feel better for you?”
Edie met his eyes with a feeling of utter panic. Her interior parts were burning—not as badly as they had the day before, but it wasn’t pleasant. And worse, she felt horribly inadequate.
Desperate.
Was she the only woman in the world who found it deeply unsettling to have a large man on top of her, with part of him inside her? Once or twice she felt a flicker of pleasure. But then Gowan would shift his position, or say something that would make her start thinking again.
She ended up lying beneath him hating herself, longing for it to be over.
Gowan watched as Edie closed her eyes tight again, wishing he knew what she was thinking. He channeled his desire into long, slow strokes that would eventually get them both where they needed to go. Looking down at her, he was struck by a surprising wave of protectiveness so ferocious that he nearly stopped altogether.
He wanted her to be happy more than anything he’d ever wished for in his life. Fantasies were nothing like the reality of her: physical beauty was one thing, but the seriousness of her, her thoughtful kindness, her wry sense of humor, were another.
“Edie,” he said, speaking his heart. “Come for me,” he ordered, kissing her. “Come for me, mo chrìdh.”
“You’re so beautiful, Edie.” He bent his head to kiss her, but she wriggled away.
“Not through my nightdress,” she said, sounding much more alert. “Last night it was quite unpleasant sleeping with damp patches over my breasts.”
That was fair, if a bit cold.
Edie pulled the gown over her head. A ray of moonlight flickered over one breast, down to the curve of her waist.
Desire punched through his body, and made his breathing rough. With a struggle, he made sure his voice was even. “May I kiss you now?” he whispered, tenderly guiding her onto her back.
“On my breasts?”
She sounded altogether too rational. It was a bit demoralizing. “Yes, here,” he said, curving his hand around a luscious breast.
“Yes, you may,” she stated.
He felt as if he’d lost his senses, as if the world had shrunk to one creamy breast, the fire in his loins, the catch in Edie’s breath when he suckled her.
“You like that,” he murmured, moving from one breast to the other. He could tell she did. He was learning her body. It softened under his caresses. He couldn’t stop kissing her, his hands roaming over her body. Every touch was intoxicating.
The only thing he wished . . .
“Edie,” he said, and then cleared his throat. His voice sounded embarrassingly guttural.
“Yes?”
He would have preferred that her voice sounded more like his, which was stupid. “Would you—” He stopped. He couldn’t demand that a gently bred lady touch him. Perhaps when they knew each other more. Last night she had stroked his chest and back, and he longed for her hands to roam over the rest of his body. But he felt hesitant to ask . . . What if she thought he was too muscular? Too burly? Too much like a laborer?
Sweat beaded across his forehead, but he kept kissing her breasts, determined not to overwhelm her. “Does this feel good?” he whispered, closing his teeth in the gentlest of bites.
Edie shivered, and a little gasp broke from her lips. He almost couldn’t hear her answer: her yes was a thread of sound.
His desire burned so hotly that he felt unmoored, as if every moment he wasn’t inside her was a sacrifice. It didn’t matter that he’d just pleasured himself. He wanted to push open her legs and lick her there until her body squirmed away from his and she got that enchanting hitch in her throat, and then he would bury himself in her so hard and fast that he could feel his balls against her.
He had to pause, collect himself, remind himself that he was a thinking, rational man whose young bride was still new—
Hell, he was still new to it.
Slowly, slowly, he kissed his way down her body until he pushed her legs apart. He may be drowning in lust . . . but all the same, the logical part of his brain was still operating, and it was offering observations. They weren’t all encouraging.
When they had first kissed, in the carriage outside her parents’ house following the Chuttle ball, Edie had been as feverish as he, her hands flying around his body. Now, she wasn’t. One moment she would gasp and a little tremor would go through her body, but then, all of a sudden, she would go still. She didn’t touch him, not really. She stroked his arms, or his chest, or twined her fingers in his hair.
For a while he lost himself kissing her, but then he knew she was ready. She was swollen and soft, and every time he licked her, she would make a little moaning sound, and her hands would tighten on his hair.
Her beautiful eyes were squeezed shut but as he came up, over her, she opened them. For a moment they looked hazy with pleasure and then something else came into them.
“Edie!” he said, startled. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” she said with a little gasp.
He looked at her a second longer, but she arched her back and rubbed against him. “We should . . . we should make love now, Gowan. We have to be up early tomorrow.”
Her touch sent his mind reeling into a smoldering place where rational thought wasn’t possible.
“Tell me if it hurts too much,” he told her, and she nodded.
Coming into her, his Edie, was the most exquisite feeling he could have imagined. Why didn’t people do only this—make love—day and night? He went as slowly as he could, hoping that it wouldn’t hurt too much. When he finally seated himself, she wound her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder.
“How does it feel, Edie?” he asked. He dropped kisses on her ear, coaxing her. “Does it feel good?”
“It’s fine,” she whispered.
He froze.
“No, it’s—it’s better,” she said, almost sounding surprised. “It is not so painful.”
Relief swept through him. Now he just had to maintain control. It had taken thirty, forty minutes, but if he stayed the course, she would catch up to him and take her pleasure. A swell of emotion, a determination that he would give his wife the same ecstasy he felt, came from deep within him, and he braced himself above her and began moving.
Edie lay back with her eyes closed tightly, and for a time he just concentrated on keeping his hungry flesh under control. Finally, he said, “Edie, how does it feel?”
Her eyes snapped open, startling him. They weren’t hazy with desire but grave and focused. Gowan felt a sudden pang, a ridiculous wish that she would be playful. That wasn’t fair. His Edie was serious by nature. Even having that thought was disloyal.
“It’s all right,” she said. She shifted under him and the small movement rippled through his loins like fire. “You feel so . . . well, you make me feel full.”
Full? Full couldn’t be good. Full sounded like a belly after a Sunday meal. “Is that a pleasurable sensation?” he asked.
She bent her knees, and he shuddered at the feeling that washed through his body.
“You should come,” she whispered.
“Not without you,” he said. “What would make this feel better for you?”
Edie met his eyes with a feeling of utter panic. Her interior parts were burning—not as badly as they had the day before, but it wasn’t pleasant. And worse, she felt horribly inadequate.
Desperate.
Was she the only woman in the world who found it deeply unsettling to have a large man on top of her, with part of him inside her? Once or twice she felt a flicker of pleasure. But then Gowan would shift his position, or say something that would make her start thinking again.
She ended up lying beneath him hating herself, longing for it to be over.
Gowan watched as Edie closed her eyes tight again, wishing he knew what she was thinking. He channeled his desire into long, slow strokes that would eventually get them both where they needed to go. Looking down at her, he was struck by a surprising wave of protectiveness so ferocious that he nearly stopped altogether.
He wanted her to be happy more than anything he’d ever wished for in his life. Fantasies were nothing like the reality of her: physical beauty was one thing, but the seriousness of her, her thoughtful kindness, her wry sense of humor, were another.
“Edie,” he said, speaking his heart. “Come for me,” he ordered, kissing her. “Come for me, mo chrìdh.”
