The Seduction of His Wife (12 page)

Everything was moving along too fast.

“Relax, Emma. I’m not so much a stranger now, am I?”

She responded in a choked whisper, “Nervous.”

Nervous
didn’t even come close to describing how she felt with her husband touching her so intimately. She’d imagined and dreamed of this so many times. Never actually thought it would come to fruition.

Curling her hands into fists at her sides, she tried to be less stiff under his touch. She scooted up higher on the bed. He followed; his hands caressed all the bare skin he revealed while hitching up her chemise. The edge of the material tickled her flesh the higher it was raised.

What if she wanted more from him than simple intimacy? Oh, she knew she wanted more than this. She wanted a husband who loved her, who would never leave her. She wanted her art, and yes, she wanted him. But she daren’t think she could have it all. His sole goal was an heir. Her greatest desire was to have children.

Her heart sped up with her thoughts. Her breathing rushed out of her and her palms started to sweat where they were clenched.

The back of his hand grazed her left breast through the linen, giving her something to focus on aside from her trepidation. The tip peaked and she could feel gooseflesh rise everywhere he stroked. Did he know that he was igniting an inferno of latent need?

He gave a soft chuckle. “I promise to be gentle.”

She’d rather he not show her such a kindness. She would rather him not care. The more time they spent together, the closer she would become to him. It was inevitable. It meant that she would have to live through the heartbreak of him leaving her all over again.

Why did the hunger for more have to unfurl in her belly? Need started to drown her doubts.

Richard stilled and was quiet for some moments. The silence didn’t help her unease.

“Should I stop?” he asked.

She loosened her hands and curled her fingers into the soft bedding, the tension slowly draining from her body. She shook her head. God help her, the last thing she wanted to do was stop. She wanted him here—she’d debated it and thought it through too many sleepless nights to have him leave now.

“I feel decidedly underdressed,” she said.

He grinned and sat up on his knees to pull his shirt over his head. “Easily fixed.”

With a deep inhalation, she focused on the speckling of coarse hair over his muscled chest, and the line of dark hair that led downward to his thick erection straining against the front of his black trousers.

Her breath caught at the sight. She hadn’t been prepared for that. She’d never seen him naked before, never really seen any man naked. Tonight, everything would change. She forced her gaze away from the tantalizing sight and back to his lust-filled gaze.

“More interested now?”

He leaned forward, slid his hands beneath her rear, and pulled her down the bed. She liked being held by him, and being closer to him. Shyness was forgotten as she reached up to press her palms to his face; he kissed the inside of one hand, then the other.

He stared down at her for a long moment. Did he plan to kiss her? She’d never been properly kissed by him.

Not even on their wedding day. That was when her heart had first splintered and her childish hopes had been tossed to the wind like the rose petals thrown after their wedding. Brides were supposed to be kissed, loved, cherished. She was none of those things.

She closed her eyes, and waited. Finally, he pressed his mouth to hers. She tasted tooth powder, smelled the bay soap he’d washed with, and the deeper scent of sweat that added to the elixir of their first real brushing of lips. It was slow. Methodical. They explored and tasted of each other, his tongue sliding along hers. Her lips pulled at his between the sparring of their tongues. She moaned in protest when he pulled back.

Hands running the length of his back, she felt every firm ridge of sinew flexing and moving as he held himself above her body. She wanted to hold him here for an eternity. Never let him go. Crush herself against him and just stop thinking altogether.

The slide of her chemise over her flesh awakened her arousal from a long slumber. Every inch of her body felt as though it were burning up. She wanted to be naked against him. To rub against him flesh-to-flesh. Finally, he hiked up the offending material of her chemise. He looked down at her chest, his hands pressing and massaging into her flesh from waist to ribs to breast, pulling at the tight peak there with nimble fingers.

The way he stared down at her made her feel empowered.

“You’re beautiful, Emma.” He pulled gently at the dark pink tip of her breast, making the nipple stand taller.

“I want your hands all over me, Richard.” She didn’t know where the words came from, and she hardly recognized her own voice, it was so husky. But she was past the point of caring.

“Anywhere you want me.” There was promise in his statement.

She watched his face carefully. He was like the cat in the creamery, lapping her up with his heated gaze.

A profound, inexplicable connection was made when their eyes clashed and they stared at each other in an unguarded moment. Everything felt exactly as it should be.

For now, everything felt right.

Emma was not a shy virgin on her wedding night. She was a grown woman, with a great deal of repressed desire. He was the only man she had ever wanted as an outlet. She wanted this. Had always wanted him even after their disastrous wedding night. And he was hers … for as long as he stayed.

He pushed his trousers down over his hips, shucked them off, and tossed them to the floor. She had to bite her lip to keep from whimpering at the sight of his manhood jutting out proudly between them. He cupped himself, pulling the skin back from the smooth head. She must have made some strangled sound because he released himself and rubbed his hand over the coarse hair at her center.

Fingers separating the folds of her womanhood, he pressed them to her core and let out a groan. “God, you’re wet.” Two fingers thrust up into her so suddenly she squeaked in surprise. “So damn wet.”

He pulled his fingers out and painted the dampness over and around her nipple. Her breath left her in a rush when he leaned over her and sucked the firm tip deep into his mouth and groaned against her breast. She didn’t know what to do with her hands so she threaded them through his hair and held him close. He was all unbridled heat above her.

He pushed her legs apart with his knees. The rough hairs on his legs brushed against her intimately.

“Do you know how sweet you taste?” he asked. “I want to fuck your pretty cunny with my mouth and thrust my tongue deep inside you.”

Her eyes widened. Her mouth went dry. Did husbands and wives normally share this type of familiarity? Despite the bluntness of his words, she wanted to hear more wickedness leave his tongue.

Whatever he saw in her eyes made him still above her. “Wrap your legs around my waist, Emma.”

She did as told, then his mouth was on hers again, his tongue searching out hers. There was a franticness to his pace that made her heart race, that made her feel more daring than she ought to.

She locked her ankles at his spine as he heaved forward. He pushed her up a good inch on the bed as he seated himself within her body. There was pressure between her legs, but the uncomfortable sensation ebbed and that feeling she’d been waiting for started to unfurl in her body like a maelstrom being unleashed and given free rein. It was the exact same feeling that had bombarded her when she was with her husband in the cottage and again when he’d placed the sweetest, most fleeting kiss upon her lips earlier today. She closed her eyes and ground her pelvis up into his, wanting him deeper, wanting so much more.

She wished she knew how to put words to what she wanted.

He palmed her breast, squeezing her ever so slightly, making her arch off the bed.

“Richard…” She did not know why she whispered his name.

His mouth found hers and she bit his lip when he pulled out and then thrust back into her body. He didn’t seem to mind her force and returned the gesture. They were locked in such a tight embrace she didn’t know how he pulled in and out of her body, only that she didn’t ever want it to stop. She tilted her pelvis up, wanting him to fill her deeper. His thrusts were hard, firm, so delicious.

She moaned, she whimpered, it was embarrassing to have so little control over her body as he made her feel. Feel everything she’d only dreamed of and imagined before now.

The grip he had on her rear tightened, and he stilled above her. His breath rasped in and out fast next to her ear as he emptied his seed within her pulsing womb. The thickness lodged between her thighs seemed to throb for long moments.

She didn’t want this to end. He’d leave her now. Just as he’d left her on their wedding night. She choked back a sob and closed her eyes against the tears threatening at the surface. Now was not the time to fall apart emotionally.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Yes,” she mumbled and swallowed back her anxiety.

He rolled off her and flopped on the bed so they were shoulder-to-shoulder. She turned her head toward him, listening to his breathing slow as she pulled down her chemise, trying to make out his features in the dim room. She wanted to touch the shadowed outline of his face but didn’t feel she could be so bold. What would she have to do to keep him here tonight?

She should have never allowed him admittance into her life, into her heart. She was still in love with her husband. What a fool she was. What a stupid fool.

His finger traced the lacy edge of the linen covering her shoulder. She shivered. He was all heat and solidity next to her, and she wanted him to wrap himself around her again. To touch and taste at her. To make her warm when she felt so cold inside. Before she could voice her wants, he was off the bed, leaving her chilled even in the heated summer air.

“Does this time suit you for tomorrow evening?”

“Yes,” she responded numbly. Was he really leaving it at that? Had he not felt the depth of their connection? Had there been nothing sacred in the passion they’d just shared?

The door clicked shut behind his retreating form.

Pulling the sheet up around her shoulders, she reached out to touch the impression he’d left in the blankets next to her.

Would he still be at Mansfield Hall come morning?

*   *   *

Not exactly what he’d planned.

He wanted to talk to her. Wanted to spend the evening inside her, around her, any way he could have her. But he hadn’t a clue as to what he was supposed to say or do with her. He’d never spent the night with a woman. Never made idle conversation after taking his pleasure in her body.

That brought his thoughts right back around to the feel of her body. It was softer than he remembered. Filled out and womanly. Her breasts were plump and firm beneath the very proper night rail she’d worn.

Bloody hell, he should have stayed for another round. He was still hard as a goddamn poker. Wrapping his hand around his prick, he stood with his back to the door and stroked over the sticky length. Her wetness. His sperm. He wanted to suck at her breasts again, put his mouth in places that would shock her. He stroked his thick length harder. She’d been full of fire. His hand moved faster. Then he released another torrent of seed. His head fell back against the door, his hand milking his pulsing cock.

Shit.

He’d not taken his hand to himself since his school days.

Tomorrow night he would take it slower. Strip her down and explore every inch of her body. Taste every inch of her skin. Why had he left? She’d been so full of passion. He wanted that, didn’t he?

Confound him!

His wife was not a simple creature to figure out.

Chapter 9

You consume my every thought.

Emma scooped more eggs onto her plate, took another sliver of ham and sat next to Grace with a heavy sigh.

Grace put her fork down and turned to her. “What are you sighing over?”

“Hmm … I’m sighing?”

“Yes, like a woman completely smitten.”

“Don’t be silly.”

Grace laughed. “You spent the night with your husband. I didn’t think you’d give in to him so easily. Not after only a week.”

“You shouldn’t say such things.” Emma turned and looked at the door, hoping no one lingered close by. “Anyone can happen by.”

“When else am I going to be able to bring up the matter? I want to know all the details.”

“I can’t share any such thing with you.” Grace stared at her, disbelievingly. “If you must know, I spent some time with him.” With a whisper, she added, “Last night.”

Her sister sat back with a harrumph and crossed her arms in a knowing smirk. “I knew it!”

“He didn’t stay the night,” Emma cut in.

“You probably told him to leave.”

“I did no such thing.” Uncomfortable talking about this, Emma fidgeted with the lace edge of the tablecloth. “We … he … he didn’t stay long afterward.”

“I may not have cared for Howard’s attentions when we were married, but he often spent the night,” Grace confided as she leaned forward and took Emma’s hand. Emma squeezed Grace’s fingers and sat back in the chair, shaking her head resolutely.

“I don’t want to know your thoughts on this, Grace.”

“Why not?” Her bottom lip pouted out as she absently pushed food around on her plate.

“Because, truth be told, I felt inept afterward.” Oh, dear. Not what she’d meant to say at all. Her sister needn’t know Emma’s incompetence where her husband was concerned. She worried her lip and stuttered out, “I look forward to the day I’m with child.”

“He didn’t offer you your own pleasure, did he?”

Emma’s silence must have been answer enough.

Fork clanking against the dish, Grace’s fist pounded against the table, marking her words. “If I knew him better, I’d tell him what a selfish blackguard he is to worry about a good rub off for himself but not to worry about fulfilling the needs of his wife.”

Emma choked on her eggs and picked up her glass of water to help wash it down. “Promise me you’ll not say a word about this to anyone.”