Rakes and Radishes (28 page)

But as he spoke, he touched the small mound nestled between her feminine petals, and she shuddered. Again he brushed across her. She bit down on her lip, releasing a soft hum.

His finger began to circle faster, his gaze fixed on her face.

“What—” she cried, but couldn’t finish. Her body arched, and her legs shamelessly widened for him.

He circled and flicked his finger over her mound. Teasing her, making her quiver. She couldn’t form words, all she knew was to throw herself against her husband’s hand, demanding more pleasure. His tongue found her breasts again. She let out a high whimper and curved her body to his touch.

In one long lick, his lips moved down her, coming to rest in her curls. “Don’t fight, my love, let it come.”

Then the most extraordinary thing happened. He ran his tongue down the wet, swollen slit between her limbs. She instinctively flinched, but he held her tight, the back of his hand reassuringly caressing her thigh. “Let me,” he begged.

She bit the edge of her lip, unsure, but trusting her husband. He reached for her hand and laced their fingers together as his tongue lapped at her mound. The shudders returned, this time more powerful. She held her breath, her whole being attuned to the smallest motion of his tongue. The merest touch reverberated down her spine and exploded across her nerves.

He released her fingers, sliding his hand over her breasts, down her thighs, then slowly, slowly she felt his finger ease inside her, exploring her feminine secret. She groaned and instinctively thrust against him.

He moved his tongue, slightly. An intense pleasure shot through her. Her head fell back, her legs so taut they shook. She was on an edge of something. What? Everything was a brilliant white in her mind’s eye.

His fingers gently squeezed her nipple and she cried out. Her body seemed to burst under her, rocking, bucking against her husband. And he wouldn’t stop. With his fingers, his lips, he took her further into ecstasy.

***

His wife’s cry of pleasure resonated to his core. She was amazing beyond any dream he’d ever had. Now she lay against the pillow. Her breath rose and fell like the gentle lap of a calm beach.

He pulled himself onto her. Her limp legs easily gave way, letting him slide between her knees. Her perspiring face glowed in the firelight, those chocolate eyes shiny and slightly dazed. She was beautiful in her wantonness.

“I never knew…” she whispered.

Kesseley chuckled, his heart swollen with masculine pride.

“I didn’t mean to scream,” she said, worry creasing her brow. “Do you think the villagers heard?”

He couldn’t help himself. “Of course they did. And you know what they are saying, don’t you?” He leaned down until he was by her ear. “Kesseley made that beautiful wife of his climax.” Then he tossed his head back and howled like a wolf.

She gave his arm a small swat. “Well, it’s your fault. You told me to let it come.”

“And you surely came, my love,” he heartily agreed, knowing she was ignorant of his meaning.

“What’s so amusing?”

“Nothing’s amusing, my beautiful, dearest wife whom I desire more than life.”

He gave her a reassuring kiss. Her lips were gentle and languid, and he had a problem. He was between her legs and achingly aroused. Squeezing his eyes closed, he willed himself to be a patient husband. She was still a virgin, and they might not be able to consummate this marriage tonight, he reminded himself.

Then he felt her tentative fingers running along his cock as he had shown her.

“Yes, love,” he whispered, encouraging her confidence.

He could feel her eyes burning through the shadows. “I love you, Thomas.”

He clenched his teeth, fighting for the self-control to be gentle and not ram himself inside her. But she rested wantonly below him, open, the tips of her swollen breasts rubbing his chest, her heated cinnamon scent intoxicating him.

The light, fast movement of her hand crumpled his will. He thrust at her, desperate to discover the mystery waiting within her.

“Please let me inside of you.” His voice was as hard as his cock.

She reached up and held his cheek. “Yes,” she said quietly.

He turned his face and kissed her hand. Then he brought himself outside her swollen wet folds. Her eyes grew large. He could feel her nervousness.

Kesseley was breaking up inside with aching, consuming desire and the fear he would hurt his petite wife, that he couldn’t stop himself and would damage her burgeoning sensuality.

“I love you,” he said, almost as an apology, then covered her mouth with his.

He pushed slowly, steadily, feeling her body resist, then give. She whimpered in his mouth, her legs tense around him.

He stopped, biting down on his lip. “I’m sorry. I tried to make it better for you. We don’t have to continue tonight.”

“No,” she said, pain tightening her voice. Then she rose under him and in a swift motion impaled herself on him.

“Oh God,” he cried, unprepared.

He felt her body trembling. Willing restraint with every ounce of energy he had, he lowered himself carefully onto her, chest to chest, belly to belly.

“I love my fearless wife,” he said, and with a tender hand, brushed her long curls from her face and kissed her temples, her cheek, her chin. Her body relaxed, and they lay together, silent, feeling their hearts beat together.

She entwined her fingers in his. “Thomas, we are one.”

A silent awe came over him, years of yearning finally realized. Henrietta was his wife. Her love was his completely. There would be no more separation between them. He knew this moment would linger in his heart until his death.

His lips brushed hers and he began slowly rocking his body. “Does that hurt you?”

“No,” she whispered. He licked the edge of her ear and whispered his love while he eased farther into her. She writhed under him, chafing against his leisurely rhythm. Her ragged breath and moans heightened his excitement.

Kesseley clung to the fragments of his vow to be gentle, but she lifted her knees to let him sink farther inside her, her hips urging him to go faster. When she sighed his name, he could no longer hold back.

Again and again, he thrust. Her face was tense with pleasure, her beautiful, heavy breasts shook, and her lovely, sweet whimpers rung in his ears. Her nails dug into his arms as she moved frantically under him. Kesseley peered down at his ravishing bride, her lips opened, body arched. For a moment she didn’t make a sound—then a guttural cry escaped her throat. She sank him deep into her dark softness, breaking his last bit of restraint. He could no longer hold himself back. The sensation overpowered him. He tossed his head back and cried out through clenched teeth as he released his seed into his wife.

For a moment, they didn’t say anything, their perspiring bodies united, their breath ragged in the stillness. Kesseley felt tears welling in his eyes, a fragile wonder trembling inside him. He fell beside her, and gathered her to him. “I meant to be gentle, but—oh, I love you. Please say I didn’t hurt you.”

“No, Thomas,” she said, letting her fingers run down his biceps. The fire had burned down to ash, and only the glow of the moon and stars lit the tent. He felt her smile and knew without even seeing them that her eyes were large and serene.

“Do you know what I loved most?” She kissed his shoulder. “Watching you. I could see the light in your eyes even in the dark, and I knew I was safe. In London, you lost that light. I was so afraid for you. Now sometimes when you’re holding me, I feel this sorrow, a grief for something that almost happened. I nearly lost you. It makes me scared and vulnerable knowing how tenuous the most important things and people in your life are, yet at the same time, the knowledge makes this moment so beautiful. That it almost didn’t happen…and yet it did. And here I am stronger and weaker for everything that happened and desperately grateful that this moment wasn’t taken away.”

“Come here, my lover who can see the light in the darkness,” Kesseley whispered, laying his wife’s head on his heart. “Let me feel you.”

***

Henrietta snuggled close to her husband, feeling so full of love she couldn’t imagine her heart could hold any more. Outside the tent she could hear a nightingale singing in a nearby tree, the low hushing sound of the flowing river and the rustling of leaves in the night wind. Things she had known her whole life, but tonight, she felt as if she were hearing them for the first time.

Susanna Ives chases after two wild children, eats a lot of chocolate, dreams up stories, writes, codes web pages, folds laundry and meets up with friends at assorted restaurants and tea houses around Atlanta. As a child, she fell in love with the movie
The Sound of Music
and started performing in musicals at her local theater in rural Georgia. She can sing (badly) almost every Rodgers and Hammerstein tune. After receiving a master’s degree in digital media, she worked in corporate land for a number of years before deciding to stay at home with her children. Aside from being a mother, writer and web developer, she and the kids sometimes follow her Viking husband on long trips to Europe. You can read about her travel misadventures on her blog: http://susannaives.com/wordpress/.

ISBN: 978-1-4268-9056-7

Copyright © 2010 by Susan Newman

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