The Matchmaker (21 page)

Staring up at his taut face, she flinched slightly at the
twinge of pain when something in her body suddenly resisted his possession. She felt a tremendous pressure, catching at her breath and sending hot shivers rippling
through her. Part of her wanted to push him away, to
resist the intrusion, yet another part of her welcomed it
with desperate longing.

"Easy, love," he murmured in a voice thick with
strain. He was braced on his elbows, liquid black eyes
holding hers as his body slowly bore down.

It wasn't what she had expected. There was pain, but the burning pressure was worse, and she felt smothered.
At the same time, she was acutely aware of the aching
emptiness deep inside her, waiting just beyond her
body's stubborn barrier. She whimpered as the pressure
increased, then cried out when a sharp pain jolted
through her.

Astonishingly, the pain was brief, and when the moment of shock passed, she could feel his hard,
throbbing flesh sinking into her body. The pressure was
still there, but different, all internal now as her narrow
passage struggled to accommodate him. She felt more of
his weight settle onto her, her aching nipples nestling
into the thick hair on his chest, and then he was fully
inside her, his loins cradled by hers.

She hadn't realized she was crying until he kissed the tears away and groaned her name softly.

"It's all right," he whispered, kissing her with fierce tenderness as his arms went under her shoulders to hold
her even closer. His fingers were tangled in her hair,
moving caressingly, and he held himself still inside her.
"No more pain, sweetheart, I promise. I'll never hurt
you again."

She wondered vaguely why she didn't feel crushed,
but somehow her body seemed designed to bear his
weight with no discomfort at all. The pressure inside her
eased; she could feel her flesh adjust to the foreign
presence as it gripped him snugly. The sensation was so
intimate it shocked her mind, but her body was heating again, trembling, and her hips rose a little in an instinct
older than the caves.

Cyrus groaned, her tiny movement nearly snapping the last thread of his control. She was so tight around
him, it was almost painful, her silky heat caressing his
flesh in soft pulsations like nothing he'd ever felt before.
It was something beyond pleasure, a sweet torment he
could hardly bear. He thought the strain of holding
himself back for so long would tear him apart, and his
body demanded an end to the torture.

He moved as slowly and carefully as his screaming
instincts would allow, and the restraint provided a whole
new world of sensation for him. It was as if her passage
closed up when he withdrew so that every lingering inward thrust felt like the first. The pleasure was so
intense he wanted it to last forever, but the quickening
inside him refused him the luxury of time.

Julia hadn't believed he could make her feel even
more than he had already, but this was so powerful it was
almost frightening. She was being carried wildly on a rising wave of pure excitement, her body striving frantically for a release from the spiraling tension. Her legs
rose to wrap around him, and she was moving with him
instinctively, matching his hastening rhythm.

She didn't know if the thunder she heard was from the
storm outside or the one raging in
herself
. That inner
storm was surging and churning, buffeting her senses
until she was writhing and whimpering, until she
thought it would shatter her into a million pieces. Then,
finally, she was hurled over the brink, and nearly
screamed as overwhelming pleasure jolted through her.
It seemed to go on forever, wave after throbbing wave of
it, until she went limp, dazed, and almost boneless. She
barely heard Cyrus's hoarse groan, and held him with
what strength was left to her as his powerful body
shuddered in completion.

Julia didn't know how much time passed before she became aware of her surroundings again. It could have been hours for all she knew.
Or cared.
A wonderfully cool, rain-damp breeze brushed her skin, and she could hear grumblings of thunder, but the storm seemed to be dying. Cyrus held her securely, his forearms underneath
her shoulders and his cheek pressed to hers, his body
still covering hers heavily.

The only emotion she was aware of was utter astonishment. If anyone had tried to tell her that such things were possible between a man and woman, she wouldn't
have believed it. She wasn't entirely certain she believed
it even now. And he'd been right in saying she would
want him to take her; there had come a point when she
had been more than ready for him, when her body had
needed his so desperately she hadn't thought of pain or
anything else except satisfying her overwhelming desire.

Cyrus lifted his head and kissed her lingeringly, then
smiled down at her. "I'm sorry I hurt you, sweetheart,"
he told her softly.

She touched his face with wondering fingers, and felt
her own lips curve in a smile. "It wasn't bad," she
murmured.
"The pain.
And after.
..
I didn't know I could feel that way."

"No regrets?" he asked.

Julia shook her head without hesitation. She didn't
regret this, couldn't regret it. Something inside her, perhaps all that was left of her pride, quailed at the prospect of becoming his mistress in the condemning eyes of society, but she didn't regret her decision. She
thought he would be kind, even though her mind told
her not to set her hopes too high; he seemed certain he
could protect her from Adrian; and the pleasure she'd
found in his arms was something she didn't want to lose.

Shyly, she asked, "Is that—the way it's supposed to
be?
Every time?"

"Except for the pain.
I'll always try to please you,
love." He saw a momentary uncertainty cloud her eyes,
and asked, "What is it?" very gently.

Julia hesitated,
then
said with some difficulty, "Adrian
only tried.
..
a few times." She looked up at him helplessly, not sure how to phrase the question and dreadfully embarrassed by her shameless hunger to
experience more of these astonishing feelings he'd
shown her.

Cyrus understood, and was delighted. He brushed a strand of hair away from her face, his fingers stroking her soft skin. "How often will I want you? I have a strong feeling it'll be often, love.
Very often."
Still smiling, he moved his lower body slightly.

Her eyes widened. She could feel him inside her, feel
the slow, swelling renewal of desire, and her body responded with an instant surge of heat. "Oh," she
murmured, hoping she didn't look as brazenly pleased
about that as she felt.

He chuckled and kissed her. "I seem to want you again now, in fact." Then, his black eyes growing intent, he
said, "I'll stop if you're too sore, sweetheart."

Julia was aware of a number of sensations, but none was painful. She moved tentatively beneath him, lifting
her hips, and caught her breath as the heat intensified
wildly. "I don't feel any pain," she whispered.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asked huskily.

"No." She raised her lips eagerly to meet his, and thought dissolved in a fierce, heated surge of pleasure.

"The storm's over," she said a long time later as she reached for her corset. He was dressing as well, and though she didn't feel uncomfortable or self-conscious with him, she'd been careful not to turn her back to him. He hadn't seen her naked back, and she didn't want him
to. Not yet, at least. She didn't want the peaceful,
curiously sweet mood between them to be damaged.

But now he eyed her corset with a frown as he was
buttoning his shirt, and she went still, waiting.

"We're going to have to talk about that thing," he said
matter-of-factly.

Julia didn't move, and her voice was soft. "All my clothes are designed for it, and they don't fit without it. Adrian insisted."

Cyrus looked at her for a long moment, then stepped closer and turned her face up gently as he bent to kiss
her. Smiling a little, he said quietly, "If you're deter
mined to be fashionable, I won't protest too much-—but aside from the fact you don't need any artificial device to
look beautiful, that style of corset is too rigid and too
tight to be anything but dangerous. There are less
drastic designs available, and I hope you'll agree to
choose one of them. Your clothes can be altered."

She drew a short breath, a flicker of relief showing in
her eyes. "I—I hate this thing," she said. "I hate the fashion, too, when it's taken to extremes."

"Good, then we agree. Don't tighten your stays any
more than necessary for now, and we'll see about making
a few changes first thing tomorrow.
All right?"

Julia nodded, realizing only then that she'd been
unnerved because he had frowned. It had been an automatic reaction, and even though she despised her
own timidity, she knew it would take time—as well as a
better understanding of Cyrus and trust in his
rationality—before she could stop fearing punishment
for the slightest mistake or problem. He seemed to
realize that too.

"Julia my sweet, never
feel
you have to do anything
just to please me." His low voice was very gentle. "You
have an intelligent mind and will of your own, as much
a part of you as those beautiful green eyes. If you don't
like what I say, tell me so; if you don't agree with
anything I ask of you, tell me. Don't be afraid to be
honest with me. No matter what you said or did, I could
never hurt you."

She almost believed him. Nodding again, she began
fastening her stays, eyeing him uncertainly as he
stepped away and continued dressing. It would have
been very easy for her to believe what he said, but she
didn't dare. Not yet. Shattered illusions hurt too much to
be risked.

"What time is it?" she asked as he opened his pocket watch and studied it.

"After six.
We'd better start back."

Julia was both surprised it was so late and surprised so
much had happened in a few short hours. The rain had
stopped only minutes before, and since there was no
break in the clouds to the west, the sun hadn't made an appearance; it was still like twilight outside, and could have been any hour before nightfall.

Cyrus waited until she put on her blouse so he could fasten the buttons for her,
then
went to get the horses. While he was gone, she got into her skirt and collected as many hairpins as she could find on the floor. It was a struggle to get her hair into some kind of order without a brush or comb, but she managed to wrestle the heavy mass into a reasonably neat knot and secure it with the
pins.

There were, she thought with an unexpected spurt of amusement, definite drawbacks to taking a lover in a partially completed house with few amenities. Not that she minded.

Cyrus had left his coat. She picked it up, cast a last
look around at what had been a haven from more than a sudden storm, then blew out the lamp and made her way
through the house. Oddly enough, she wasn't worried about the turmoil ahead when Adrian discovered she'd
left him. Whatever happened, she had burned her
bridges and there was no going back.

Physically, she felt better than she had in a long time.
She was relaxed, yet she'd never been so alive, as if all
her senses had been heightened by the joining with
Cyrus. There was a faint soreness in her thighs, and
a
tenderness
deep in her body, but what she felt was more awareness than discomfort or pain. She was different.

It was a difference she liked. She stood at the top of
the steps leading outside and waited for Cyrus, smiling as she smoothed his coat over her arm. The storm had dropped the temperature considerably so that it felt
almost like autumn, and the air had a fresh-scrubbed
smell. Gray clouds still lay heavily overhead, but they
didn't look particularly threatening now, and it was
obvious the storm was over.

It was a few minutes before she heard the sounds of the buggy, and she looked up to see Cyrus driving it around the corner of the house. He'd tied his horse to the back of the buggy. Neither animal was wet, so she assumed there was an old barn or some other shelter she
hadn't seen. It didn't seem important.

She went down the steps to meet him, and held his
coat up as he got out of the buggy. "You forgot this." She
had to stand on tiptoe to hold it for him as he shrugged
into it, and thought again how big he was.