Then he pushed her back upon the bed and repositioned her so she was lying with her legs parted, allowing him to kneel between them, with that thrusting flesh of his veering dangerously close to her privates.
Perhaps that was on purpose. “Oh!” Was he intending to push his hard flesh inside her? That reminded her. . . . “Mama did tell me one thing—that my deflowering would hurt.”
“Not if I’m careful,” he choked out. “And I promise I will be. You’re safe in my hands, sweetheart.”
“If you say so.” Meanwhile, her mind did calculations that seemed to protest he was much too large to fit inside her. But how could that be? Women did these sorts of things all the time. Would they do it if it hurt every time?
Possibly. Lord knew women did other things for men that hurt. Like having children.
He must have seen her wariness because he leaned down to kiss her, his rigid thing trapped between her belly and his. She relaxed at once. She liked kissing him. Every time he drove his tongue into her mouth, he sent her senses reeling.
After a bit, he moved down to suck her breasts, which was even more exciting. She gripped his upper arms to keep him there, to keep feeling so unexpectedly delicious. She wanted him closer, needed to experience more of the sensations he was rousing, not only in her breasts but in places he wasn’t even touching, like her belly and between her legs.
This bedding business clearly had advantages. No wonder there were women who did it for pay—they got pleasure and money out of it.
Next thing she knew, Sheridan had his hand between her legs, fondling her very privates. Her privates! She barely touched them herself, and to have him stroking and teasing them . . .
Good Lord in heaven, how wonderful! He stared knowingly at her, though his breath was coming in staccato gasps that excited her almost as much as his fondling. Because it meant he craved the touch of her, hungered for her attentions, perhaps even needed her for more than just this.
She could only hope so. She needed him, too. Desperately. She didn’t want to, but apparently she couldn’t stop. So she’d best be careful. Otherwise, she’d be precisely where she’d sworn never to be—at the mercy of a person who didn’t love her.
Although he certainly seemed to enjoy inflaming her desires. “You like that, do you?” he asked, a hint of triumph in his tone.
“Yes.” She squirmed a bit as he continued rubbing her in the most amazing way.
His own breath grew labored. He slid one finger inside of her, and she nearly came up off the bed in her eagerness to have him caress her there.
“You’re so wet for me, my sweet wife. Hot and damp and wonderful.” He bent close to whisper, “I love watching you fall apart in my hands.”
“Is that what I’m doing? Is that how it’s done?”
He frowned. “How what’s done?”
Now he had two fingers inside her, and it was quite glorious. “You know. The deflowering.” Because if that was it, it hadn’t hurt at all, which was a relief. Perhaps she’d been wrong about what he intended to do with his aroused “cock.”
He managed a chuckle. “Oh, no, minx. We’ve only just begun. There’s more. A great deal more.” A muscle worked in his jaw, as if he were restraining himself from . . . something. “Let me show you.”
Oh, dear. That sounded worrisome.
When she tensed, he said, “Trust me. I swear I will make this as easy for you as I can, all right?”
She nodded, though she didn’t like the “as I can” part.
“If you want to pause or stop at any moment, say the word.” He hovered over her, somehow both a delightful and an alarming presence. “I don’t relish beginning this marriage with you afraid of me.” He forced a smile. “And I’m not so terrifying as all that, am I?”
She stared into his eyes. “I never thought you so before.” She tipped up her chin. “But appearances can be deceiving.”
For some reason, that made him laugh, although it sounded forced. “Give me a chance, Vanessa,” he murmured. “You’ll find that appearances are indeed deceiving. But not in the way you think. Just hold on to me.”
She did, looping her arms about his neck.
He moved his hand from between her legs so he could grab his thing and guide it into the same place he’d been putting his fingers. And as he inched his thick flesh into her, she found it wasn’t as fearsome as she’d expected.
Judging from his strained expression, he found it more fearsome than she did.
Then he started moving. In and out in slow, silken thrusts meant to seduce. His eyes were closed, so she closed hers. That made everything better. Instead of growing anxious over what was to come, she relaxed and let the motion he’d begun take her along, like a leaf floating down a river.
Being joined to him this way felt odd—and entirely unexpected—but it was also a pleasure all its own. It made them one. Husband and wife. The fulfillment of everything she’d hoped to have from him.
Well, not quite everything, but she wouldn’t think about that now.
“Better?” His voice was rough and thick, as if he fought to keep going.
Or perhaps to keep going slow? She wasn’t sure. “Yes.” She was growing warm down below and sort of tingly. It was rather pleasant. She even found the filled-up sensation enjoyable . . . when she wasn’t finding it uncomfortable. “Mostly better, anyway.”
“Put your legs around my waist and hook your ankles together,” he said.
Normally she would have balked at his commanding tone, but he was in charge of this since she had absolutely no idea what
