What the Groom Wants (15 page)

It was darker than she expected, but still pleasing. It jutted toward her, bobbing slightly as he shifted to stand directly in front of her. And she could see the drop of moisture on the tip.

“Touch me, Wind. You won’t hurt me.”

She couldn’t go directly to it. Instead, she touched his belly, watching in surprised fascination as his muscles rippled beneath her stroke. Her other hand stroked his thigh, needing to touch the white scar.

“Pirate blade,” he said, his voice thick. “In the battle for this ship. The cut wasn’t deadly, obviously, but it hurt like the devil. And it’s healed clean.”

She followed the trail of the scar upward, horrified by the wound that had caused it. He spoke as if it were nothing more than a slight scrape, but she knew the wound had been serious. He was lucky to have survived.

All those thoughts flowed through her mind, but they carried only a little part of her attention. She looked at his cock, needing to know more, to understand what they were about to do.

In time, she touched it. The hand on his belly slid lower, while the one below reached higher to cup him. She hadn’t even remembered that men had a sac beneath, but now she knew. Now she touched.

His breath became rough as she explored, but he didn’t move. His cock bobbed as if in approval, but there was no more. He let her learn in her own time, and for that she was grateful.

Then she felt his cock. The thick stalk first, and she was surprised by the stiffness. She hadn’t thought flesh could feel like steel beneath the velvet skin—so thick, so hard, and yet, so hot. His heat pulsed against her hand. Or maybe, that was his life, his blood, his seed waiting there to implant in her.

She glanced up to his face. He was looking at her, his eyes burning with intensity. His jaw was rigid, and his belly twitched as she touched him.

“Grip it,” he said, his voice raspy.

She did, wrapping her fingers around him and squeezing. He released a groan, and when she looked, his eyelids fluttered. Had she done that? She tried it again, tightening her fist and pulling slightly. His breath caught, and his mouth opened on a gasp.

She meant to release him, not sure what she had done was right, but he stopped her. He wrapped his larger hand around hers, tightening as he had her push down toward his body.

“Like this,” he said.

She did what he instructed and was pleased to hear his breath rumble in his chest. Then he released her hand while she repeated the motion. Once, then twice more.

He groaned in pleasure, then had to brace himself with a hand against the wall. She smiled, thrilled at the power she felt. He was trembling from what she did, his breath was short, and his eyes were glazed. And all because she held him gripped in one hand.

She worked him harder, understanding that this was what he wanted, but he abruptly stopped her. He took her hand in his and gently pulled her away.

“Not yet,” he said. “Not like this.” Then he touched her cheek, lifting her gaze to his. “You have never done anything like this before.”

It wasn’t a question. If anything, there was triumph in the statement. She answered anyway, shaking her head slightly.

“Then you must trust me to keep you safe. You must do exactly as I tell you.”

She nodded. She had made that decision long before.

“Slide forward,” he said. Then to help her, he stroked her flanks until he gripped her hips. He was so strong. He had no trouble lifting her and pulling her to the edge of the mattress. Then he stepped between her legs.

She had fallen backward, but not the entire way. Her weight was on her elbows as she looked at him in alarm. He was so big. And she…

“Trust me,” he said softly. Then he leaned down and kissed her, silently pressing her down.

She went easily, and soon she was lying on her back while he kissed her neck and her breasts. Her attention was on his mouth and his tongue as they stroked her skin, but she still felt his hands on her thighs. She knew he had stepped between her spread legs, that he kneaded the flesh over her hips, and then deeper into her bottom.

He captured one of her nipples again, sucking hard, and she squeezed her legs together in reaction. She felt him tremble there, his thighs a hard presence between her legs. She felt air at her most intimate place and a wetness beyond anything she’d experienced before.

Then, while she was gasping at the steady pull on her nipple, she felt his hands shift from her hips. His fingers slid across her belly and down. Then his thumbs slipped between her folds.

It was a slow progression, steady and inevitable. She knew what he intended, knew where he was going, and thought to cry out. Something. But she had no breath and no ability to form words. He was tonguing her nipple, alternating between a stroke and a nip, before sucking her hard. By the time his thumbs slid between her folds, she was arching off the bed, her body on fire.

She felt the slickness there, the wondrous pressure as he slid deep, pushing her open, widening her legs, and… inside! His thumb was inside her! It felt good, she thought, the word so inadequate to what was happening. The words that sizzled through her mind were “deeper” and “more.” And “oh yes.”

She had no breath to say any of it, but he must have heard. He must have known because he did as she wanted. He pushed deeper inside, then pulled out and up. He slid his thumbs across her folds and then higher.

She cried out when he hit an amazing place. Her body seized up when he brushed over it the first time. Then he rolled across it again, and she was gasping as her body writhed beneath him.

He kept working her, deep inside, then a steady roll over her peak. She became a wild thing beneath him. She had wrapped her legs around him and was pulling him tight. Finally, wonderfully, he fell forward. Not on top, not weighting her into the mattress, though that was what she wanted.

Instead, he moved his fingers lower. With deliberate movements, he widened her folds before he pressed himself lengthwise against her. Not inside, but along her cleft.

Heat. Pressure—thick and hard. That was what she knew of him, and she tightened her bottom so that she could rub him as he had been rubbing her. He was braced on his hands then, his body pressed hard against her below, but still off her above.

“Yes, Wind. Just like that. God, yes!”

He was moving as well, pushing hard against her, while she clenched her legs in a rhythmic pull. She arched as he ground down. She heard his breath stutter but no more than hers. And the heat between them built until she thought her skin was crackling from the fire.

Harder. Faster.

She felt him lose control. His thrust became a jerk.

Powerful.

Wild.

Yes!

The explosion in her body consumed her. A detonation that began in her belly but radiated through every part of her body. Her spine arched back, her ears popped, and her toes clenched impossibly tight. And all through her was such bliss, like a boom of joy that went from her into him.

While she was crying out, he shuddered against her. He held there, thrust as hard as he could go, while her body rolled with blast after blast.

They rode the waves together, him rocking against her, pulling yet another contraction from her. Again and again, while she filled with joy. Pulse after pulse of sweet, wondrous joy.

And when the waves subsided, when he groaned and slid to the side, she was glowing with happiness. The heat on her skin, the power of his touch, all combined to make her boneless as she had never been before.

Her heart swelled, her breath caught, as he adjusted their positions so they were lying on the bed. Then he curled around her, spoons nestled together with the heat of his breath along her neck.

Yes!

Was
this
love?
she wondered. Had it finally happened? This was joy, she knew. This was happiness. But was this love? Was she in love?

She wanted to ask him if he felt the same. If he knew the sweet, simmering delight that tingled in her body. And she wanted to know if he was asking himself the same questions. Were they in love?

But she couldn’t put voice to that yet. It was too new, and she was too easily pushed into rationality. He was a duke. She was a seamstress.

She was his mistress now, she supposed, and that brought complications. Weren’t those women completely at their lover’s beck and call? Didn’t they live where the man chose, doing what the man wanted?

Would he want that from her? What of her job? What of her responsibilities?

What of—“Shhh,” he said against her neck.

“What?” she gasped.

“Just… shhh. Let me hold you.”

He tightened his arms, nestling her even tighter. And then, with a grunt, he grabbed the blanket and tossed it over them both. He was a banked fire all himself, and yet she welcomed the intimate cocoon of fabric and man.

“You’re thinking very loudly,” he said. “I’m afraid to ask what you’re planning.”

She frowned. “I wasn’t planning anything.”

“You’re always planning something,” he murmured. “I remember you as a child, always watching, always thinking. And when I asked, you had a plan for something. How to run faster. How to make a fire better. How to sew a dress better. How a woman should walk to make the gown prettier. Always something.”

She smiled, knowing he was right. After all, there were a million ways to do things better, if one just looked. And as a child, she had always been on the outside looking in. Looking and thinking and planning.

“Shhh,” he said as he nuzzled her neck. “This is the sweet part.”

She frowned. “Sweet?”

“This is the rest part, the hold tight and doze part.” He nipped lightly at her shoulder. “This is where I fill my dreams with you before the rest.”

She tightened. “The rest? There’s more?”

She felt him smile against her shoulder. “Rest now. More in a moment.”

She tried to twist to see him better, but he didn’t give her the space. “What moment? What—”

And then she felt it. His sigh against her shoulder at the same moment his hand glided down her belly, until his finger pressed slowly, firmly, inevitably between her folds.

“Very well,” he said, though she could hear the laughter in his voice. “We’ll go to the next part now.”

“What—oh!”

He stroked her again, pushing between her legs with steady, building pressure.

“Lift your knee,” he instructed.

She did, and he slipped his knee beneath hers. With an easy motion, he pulled her leg up and opened her, while he was still wrapped around her. Then he held her hard against him with one hand while the other explored in earnest.

“I want to feel you again,” he said, while her breath shortened to a quick pant. “I want to do everything again.”

“What?”

“I want to feel you and see you and hear you as you do it all again. Right now. For me.”

She had no breath to voice her answer, but he knew it anyway.
Yes.

“Come for me, my Wind.”

Oh yes!

“Sir!”

Radley jerked awake at the anxious voice from the hatch, but he didn’t move his body. He would do nothing to disturb Wendy’s warm body, as she lay curled into his side. Sadly, the steady pounding on the cabin door had her stirring in his arms.

“Sir, Mr. Knopp is aboard! He’s coming down here!”

“Now?” he gasped, shifting to throw the blankets off. He needn’t have bothered as Wendy did it for him.

“Here?” she squeaked.

They leaped to pull on their clothes. He tried not to be distracted by the creamy bounce of her breasts or the smooth curve of her backside. How he longed to return to the bed and the sport there. His cock thickened, but he quickly subdued it beneath his pants. He was pulling on his shirt when he realized that she needed help.

“Hold there,” he said in a low voice. “Let me help.”

He made quick work of her corset ties then aided her with the green silk gown.

“My hair. Oh heavens,” she cried as she twisted it into a high knot.

It didn’t stay. She had no ribbons to hold it, and her pins were scattered about the room. He scooped up two and passed them to her, even as he pulled on his shirt.

And then, they were out of time. He heard his employer’s voice outside the door as he spoke to the sailor standing guard. “Come on, boy, step aside. I need to speak with Radley.”

“He’s waking up, sir. I was about to get him a cup of coffee, sir. Would you like—”

Radley had just enough time to shoot an apologetic look at Wendy before the door opened. She didn’t see his expression. Her face was turned away. And then, he stepped to the opposite side of the room in the vague hope that Mr. Knopp wouldn’t look her way.

It didn’t work. The man already knew there was a problem, so the first thing he did when crossing the threshold was look around. He saw her immediately, and his expression tightened. Then his gaze locked onto Radley’s.

“Morning, Mr. Lyncott. Didn’t know you’d be using your berth.”

“No, sir. It was a… um. I wanted to get my things, and I… uh…”
Shite
. He was no good at lying.

“I see,” the man said, a wealth of disappointment in his tone. The words cut him, and he all but hung his head in shame.

He thought the worst was over, but then Knopp turned to Wendy. “Good morning, Miss. If you would just head up…” Knopp frowned then jerked slightly in shock. “Miss Drew? Is that you?”

Wendy’s head snapped up, shock and horror in her expression. Bloody hell! Did she know him?

“M… Mr. Knopp?” she stammered.

“Aye,” the man answered, as he turned glowering eyes on Radley. “Bollocks, man. I never thought you one to…” He grimaced. “It’s damned disappointing, man. I thought better of you.”

Radley stiffened, even though he knew he deserved every word. Still, his pride was pricked, and he heard himself answering in the tone of all embarrassed young men.

“It’s not… Sir, she’s still a virgin.”

He saw Wendy’s body jerk. Did she think they had done the full deed? He mentally slapped himself for being a fool. Wendy was not some dockside chippy. Of course she didn’t understand the particulars.

Meanwhile, Mr. Knopp’s face tightened with fury. The man was angrier than he’d ever seen, and Radley instinctively straightened.

“And you think that excuses you?” Mr. Knopp said, his voice low and cold. “You make everyone think less of her, and you have the gall to claim innocence?” He stepped up, straight into Radley’s face, his larger bulk intimidating. “A title doesn’t give you the right to be cruel.”

Radley’s eyes widened. Cruel? His gaze jerked to Wendy’s, whose face was bright red with shame. How had he been cruel?

“Duke or not, you’ve destroyed her reputation. What will her mother think when she returns home dressed like that? What does she expect now that you’ve been with her?” The man huffed out a breath. “Damn it man, think! Bad enough when you were a first mate with a bright future, but you’re a duke now. You can’t give in to temptations without suffering consequences. And it won’t be you who’s paying!”

Radley stared, his mind working too damn slowly. He hadn’t meant to be cruel, but he certainly hadn’t thought about what he’d done to Wendy’s reputation. And what would her mother think? And her brother!

Damnation, Henry was his best friend. Would Henry bang on his door demanding satisfaction? Certainly, Radley intended to marry Wendy, but… Good God, he’d planned to court her slowly, and now, he’d gone and shamed her.

Radley rubbed a hand over his face, his gaze returning to Wendy. She wasn’t looking at him. She was standing so still he wondered if she was even breathing. Why wouldn’t she look at him?

He took a step toward her, but Mr. Knopp froze him with a glare. Then the man stepped between them, touching Wendy with a tenderness that shamed Radley for its gentlemanly courtesy. “Miss Drew, please allow an old man the pleasure of escorting you home.”

She looked up, her eyes shimmering with wetness. She was crying? Bloody hell, what had he done?

“N-no sir. There’s no need—”

“There’s every need. I shall worry about you otherwise. And Irene would never forgive me.”

Irene? His daughter—ah! Irene was the purchaser for the dress shop. That’s how he knew Wendy. Not that the information helped. “Sir, I can—”

“No, you can’t.” The words were hard and implacable. Then the man huffed, his gaze gentle on Wendy. “I was young once too, my dear, and a father. Allow me to act as such to you this day. As a kindness to me.”

Spoken so sweet and elegant. He watched Wendy drop her head. She might have started to curtsy. “Thank you, Mr. Knopp.”

“There, there, young lady.” Then he glanced behind him. “And you will stay here.” The words were an order. “I have something I wish to discuss with you. I’ve written it up. Was going to double check it this morning before showing it to you. Now you can do the work.”

Radley didn’t bother to argue that he was no longer employed here. It would be too disrespectful, and besides, he was curious what the man wanted. So he responded as if he were still first mate. “Yes, sir!”

Knopp flipped open his satchel, pulled out a few sheets of foolscap, and passed them over. “Look it over. Then come to my house tomorrow morn. We’ll discuss it then.”

Radley gave him a sharp nod. Meanwhile, Knopp gently placed Wendy’s hand on his arm. “Come along, my dear. You can tell me all about how your shop is faring. I hear only a few details from Irene, you know, and that is all about what bargains she has found. I should love to know the end use for all those things she buys.”

“Of course, sir.”

They moved toward the door. Radley had been dismissed—or disciplined, depending on one’s view—and was, therefore, of no more consequence. But he would not be so disregarded. Not by Wendy. So he stepped before them, blocking their exit. It was rude, but he had no interest in ending the most glorious night of his life in this way. He had to speak to her, if only to convey his thanks.

“Wind,” he began, his voice rasping through a suddenly tight throat.

“Miss Drew,” his former employer corrected.

He cast a frustrated look at the man, but was forced to acknowledge he was right.

“Miss Drew,” he said, his words and his tone more formal by necessity. “May I call on you later? This afternoon? For our walk—”

“No,” she said softly.

He felt the blood leave his face. She would not see him? But why—“I haven’t the time,” she said, her voice tight with her own frustration. “I was supposed to…” She choked off her words.

He guessed she was going to say work. That she’d been supposed to sew a frock last night, and now, needed to spend the time stitching. He tried not to be resentful. After all, he knew she was a working woman in the most honorable sense. But couldn’t she set aside her work for him? He was a duke now. And he wanted to marry her. As his duchess, she need never work again!

She must have read the frustration on his face. She must have guessed his thoughts because her tone turned hard. “I can no more ignore my sewing than you could forget to trim a sail. Don’t ask me to choose. You might not like my answer.”

He winced. She was right. He could not ask her to ignore her business. He knew that, but it was so damned hard to wait on her attention.

“Of course,” he said, fighting to sound earnest. “Tomorrow then?”

She looked down.

“I shall call anyway,” he said, rather than hear her refuse again. “We should talk about…” He glanced awkwardly at the bed they had shared. “About the future.”

Her eyes widened, but he couldn’t understand why. Did she truly think he would spend a night with her and not plan to marry her? It angered him that everyone assumed him a cad.

“I… I shall wait upon your call,” she finally answered. Simple. Demure. And correct words. But his belly tightened in anxiety. There was something missing. Some secret Wendy held tight to her chest that made her anxious.

But there was no more time. Mr. Knopp was tired of waiting, so he patted her arm. “Come along, my dear. The docks will soon get much too crowded for my tastes.”

In other words, the longer they waited to leave, the more people would be aware of her indiscretion the previous night. Damn, why had he not thought of these things himself? Was he so used to light skirts coming on and off the boats that he classed her in the same vein? It wasn’t true. He’d never thought of her in that way, and yet, he’d treated her exactly the same as any tavern doxy.

Bloody hell. He wanted to run after her, somehow make it right. But she and Mr. Knopp were already out the door, and what could he say to mitigate the damage? Nothing. So he held his tongue when all he really wanted was to curse.

Then his gaze chanced to fall on another one of her hairpins. He picked it up, spinning the thin piece of metal in his hand. It was a simple thing with no more decoration than a vague ripple. This was something a poor seamstress would own—pure function—except perhaps, that vague yearning for more in the ripple.

It was a fanciful thought, but one that gripped him. His Wind was a simple creature by necessity. She worked. She lived. And she was completely untouched by anyone but him—he was sure of it. When she had come apart beneath him, she had been a wild creature completely unschooled. Her reactions had been pure and honest in a way that made his chest swell with manly pride. She was his completely.

Yes, he was impatient to get her in his bed, to complete what they had begun last night, but he had time. After all, if she had no room in her life for a duke, then he could be sure no other man was sniffing at her door.

He grinned as pressure eased from his heart. He had spent the last ten years fearing that another man was courting her, that someone else had caught her fancy. That while he was away making his fortune, someone who lived right next door had seduced her.

Now he knew it wasn’t true, and that made him giddy with relief. “I can be patient,” he said out loud. The words steadied his nerve and hardened his resolve.

He would go slow. After all, he wasn’t shipping out ever again. He had all the time in the world.

***

The ride to her home was the best and the most excruciating moments of her life. How a ride with Mr. Knopp could compare to a night spent with Radley, she didn’t know. Except that she wasn’t ready to dwell on what they’d done—and not done. In truth, it was rather shocking that she was apparently still a virgin. What she’d felt—what they’d done—had been so earth-shattering that she knew she’d never be the same. It had to be the shift from virginity to fallen woman. It had to be, and yet, he’d said she was still innocent.

Had it been a lie? She was ashamed to admit she didn’t know. There had been no pain, but she knew some women claimed that their first time had been easy. So she didn’t think about it—couldn’t handle it just then—which made her focus on Mr. Knopp, as reassuring as it was horrible.

He was kindness itself. Fatherly, as she had never known since her own father disappeared when she was seven. He’d been impressed, they believed, grabbed and dragged to work on a boat where he probably died. So she had spent her adolescence wondering what it would be like to have a man look at her as Mr. Knopp was now doing.

Answer: it was excruciatingly bad. He was polite, asking about the dress shop and what she did. He patted her hand and seemed to smile, even though there was sadness in his eyes. A distinct melancholy—or was it disappointment—and she twisted inside at the shame.

By the time the carriage stopped, she wanted to run inside and hide under her bed. And yet, perversely, she longed to throw herself into his arms and feel a fatherly man hold her again. Instead, he touched her hand, stilling her movements.

“If you might indulge an old man for a moment, Miss Drew?”

She paused, turning back to look into his steady gaze. “Sir?”

“Do not sell yourself cheaply. You are worth far more than you realize. And it does us men good to be reminded of that. Frequently.”

She blinked, overcome by tears. What he said was so simple, and yet, it rocked her to her soul. How had she forgotten that? Wasn’t she the one who always said to get payment first, to barter the deal on everything, no matter how inconsequential? And yet, Radley had kissed her, and she had given up everything. No questions, no hesitation, just a simple yes. Yes, I will give you everything.

What had happened?

“Thank you,” she whispered. She wanted to say more. She wanted to throw her arms around him and sob out her fears and confusion. She wanted to sit and ask questions, getting answers without judgment. She wanted such a thing, but she barely knew this man. He was father-in-law to a friend who worked at her shop.

Still, she squeezed his hand. “I will not forget your kindness, sir.” It was the best she could say.

“My dear, don’t forget what I said.”

“I won’t,” she vowed. Then she had to get out and climb the steps to her new home. She stepped through the building’s front door, listening for when the carriage left. It was a small gesture, but the driver waited until she stepped into the tenement house before departing. That tiny kindness had made her feel cherished as never before.