His-Yankee-Bride--Rose-Gordon Page 15

  He broke eye contact with her, his eyes sweeping her naked body once again. Abandoning all shame, she did the same, taking note of the rigid planes of his chest and the large, rounded muscles of his shoulders and arms. His stomach was flat with twin ripples of muscles that started just below his ribs and stopped at his waist. Between his two muscled thighs, rested a large patch of brown, curly hair that surrounded his long, thick erection. She swallowed past the lump of unease that formed in her throat. She'd grown up on a plantation seeing plenty of farm animals procreate, so she knew what it was for. She just didn't believe for one second that it would fit where he was intending to put it.

  The thought was pushed from her mind a moment later when his warm hands found that sensitive dip just above her hips and applied the slightest amount of pressure before slowly moving up her sides to skate over her ribs. He stilled his hands and brushed both of her hardened nipples with the callused pads of his thumbs. She gasped at the sweet torment. A wolfish smile took his lips; then he did it again, harder and with a longer stroke this time. She was prepared for it this time and bit her lip to keep from calling out, but it mattered naught for her body jerked on its own accord, revealing to him just how much she enjoyed his touch.

  Would he enjoy hers just as much? Moistening her lips, she reached her hand forward and trailed her fingertips down the front of his body, loving the way his body tensed and his muscles leapt under her touch. She made ten slow paths all the way down to his waist, taking her time to feel every edge, plane, and dip of his chest and abdomen along the way. She had no idea who this excited more: him or her. The fact that she could hear his ragged, uneven breathing over the sound of her blood pounding a loud, steady tattoo in her ears might suggest it was him; but only marginally.

  He lowered his head, his eyes fastened on where her fingers had stopped just above his waist, and he moved his hands to gently grip her hips, keeping her from moving away from him.

  With a deliberate slowness that went against every ounce of curiosity she possessed, she moved her right hand down and wrapped it snugly around his erection.

  His loud groan and tightened grip on her hips emboldened her more. Keeping her firm hold on him, she glided her hand up and down his length. Another groan passed his lips, and his shaft grew thicker—if such a thing were possible.

  She slowed her movements, taking her time to go all the way down to the base, then up to the tip where a little pearl of moisture formed at the slit when her fingers reached the tip. She brushed her thumb over the drop of fluid and watched it dissolve on the velvet-soft skin at the tip of his erection, barely registering the hitch in his breath as her thumb moved across his swollen flesh. She moved to do it again; even slower this time.

  His hand suddenly encircled her wrist. “Stop.”

  Carolina's body soared at the sound of the ragged command torn from his chest.

  “Why don't you lie down,” he encouraged in a voice she hardly recognized—one raw and filled with naked emotion. Without waiting for her to move, he helped her up, then joined her.

  Carolina looped her arms around his neck, drawing him as close to her as she could. His large right hand caressed up and down her thigh, easing her legs apart. He positioned himself between her parted thighs and, without so much as a muttered word of warning, pushed his length fully inside her.

  ~Chapter Twenty-Three~

  Carolina's high-pitched shriek was the equivalent of an ice bath, jerking John straight from a lusty haze and extinguishing his ardor.

  “Did I hurt you?” he asked, his face heating in embarrassment at such a stupid question. Of course, he'd hurt her. The tears coursing down her cheeks weren't put there by feelings of joy, of that, he was quite certain; but why? Though not something he'd like to admit to anyone, he'd once witnessed a couple engaged in coitus, and she hadn't reacted this way when her partner had entered her in such a manner. In fact, she'd acted just the opposite, shrieking in what John assumed to be pleasure, not pain.

  “I'm sorry,” she said on a sob.

  John wiped away the tears from her cheek. “You have no need to be sorry. I do. I should have...” He had no idea what he should have done differently, and perhaps that was the bigger problem. He separated their bodies, and instantly his eyes widened and his arms trembled in time with Carolina's lower lip as he caught sight of the blood. It wasn't a lot, thank heavens, but there was clearly a little puddle of it on the sheets that hadn't been there before.

  His heart ached with guilt for the pain he'd caused her. “That bath will be here shortly,” he whispered, pulling her onto his lap.

  “John, we can continue, if you'd like.”

  He let out a harsh bark of laughter. There was no way that would be possible now. “That's not necessary.”

  “Isn't it though?”

  John brushed a kiss on her brow and pulled the sheet up over them. “No.”

  “But isn't that what has to happen for us to have children?”

  A hard knot formed in his stomach. She was right, of course. They'd have to try again if they wanted children. “That's not important tonight, Carolina. We still have plenty of time to worry about having children.”

  She shifted in his hold, which would have sent him into a state of need in a second only a few minutes ago, but now only served to make him loosen his hold on her until she was more comfortable. “Of course, we have plenty of time; but how much time did you plan to wait?”

  “Enough,” he bit off. Before he'd left for America, Edward had initiated yet another conversation with him about what he should expect to encounter on his wedding night. And just like all the other times Edward had tried to have this discussion with him, he'd declared there was no need for Edward to explain anything to him—he knew all he needed to know already—and left before Edward could ruin John's good image of Regina. Now, he wished he'd listened rather than relied on the memory of what he'd witnessed that dreadful night long ago.

  “The bath is here.” Carolina's murmured words brought John from his thoughts.

  John called for the servant to enter and simultaneously held the sheet over Carolina as tightly as he could so not an inch of skin beneath her chin could be seen.

  As soon as the bath was filled and the servant was gone, John released the sheet and stood up. He carried her to the copper tub that had been placed in the middle of the room and set her down next to it.

  He held her hand as she stepped into the steaming tub, then dropped to his knees beside the tub. He lifted her leg closest to him and propped it up so her ankle rested on the far rim of the tub. Not yet able to meet her eyes, he picked up the cake of soap that had been left with the tub, dunked it under the water, and spun it around in his hand until he'd worked up thick, creamy lather, then set the soap down and ran his sudsy hand up her exposed calf.

  “I didn't mean to hurt you,” he said as much for his benefit as for hers. “I'd never intentionally do anything to bring you pain.”

  She placed her hand on top of his, stilling his movements. “I know that. It truly wasn't that bad, John. We could have continued.”

  He brushed his lips across her row of knuckles. “You don't have to say that to make me feel better. I saw your tears, Carolina. I know it hurt. We can wait for another time.”

  Carolina pulled her hand from his and dropped it back into the tub. “I don't know what waiting will accomplish. Surely, now that I know what to expect, I can prepare myself for it and it won't feel so much like a battering ram.”

  John choked. Then coughed. “Carolina, while I am flattered you'd compare my rod to such a large and powerful piece of military equipment, you shouldn't have to prepare yourself so it won't hurt. It shouldn't have hurt the first time.”

  “And you'd know this based on your vast experience?” she asked, lifting her brows.

  He turned his attention back to her leg. “I'm physically no more experienced than you,” he said unevenly. He forced himself to meet her eyes again. “But like other boys, I did ha
ve my curiosities, which I fulfilled. Or at least I thought I did,” he added, mumbling.

  “I'm getting the impression this is another one of those topics about which I don't want the details,” she said, her face turning a pale pink.

  “I'd say it fits firmly in that category,” he agreed, relief flooding him at her easy dismissal of the topic. He would tell her, just not tonight. For as bold and carefree as she seemed to be, this was not something any new bride wanted to hear on her wedding night.

  Carolina shifted in the tub, splashing a bit of water over the edge and onto him. Her far leg relaxed and fell open, revealing herself completely to him. He tried not to stare, but that was like asking a man dying of thirst to wait an hour longer for a glass of water.

  Moving slow so not to startle or hurt her more than he already had, he ran his hand behind her knee and then along the inside of her calf.

  She sighed and lowered her lashes, her head falling back against the back of the tub. He moved his fingers closer to her body's core. With his free hand, he reached up and combed his fingers through the side of her long, silky hair that hung over the back of the tub while he brushed the fingertips of the hand still in the tub against the outer edge of her most intimate area. Her breath hitched, and consequently so did his.

  He did it again, applying more pressure this time. Her eyes remained closed, but her breath hitched again, accompanied by a quiet, suppressed groan.

  Blood fired in John's veins, and he became bolder in his touches, rubbing here and massaging there, with no set pattern or pace. He feasted on the sight of Carolina's budded, pink nipples rising in and out of the water each time her body bucked and arched in response to his touch. With a silent prayer he wouldn't ruin everything, he slid a finger inside of her. She stilled. He thought she might request he stop touching her and started to remove his hand on his own accord, but stopped only when she rasped, “Don't go.”

  “Never,” he whispered, not trusting his voice to speak louder. He pushed back in as far as he could, then slid out, imitating the movements he'd made earlier using another part of his anatomy. Her skin flushed and she bit her lip as he pushed forward again. “Do you like this?”

  “Yes.” Her response broken, ragged.

  He increased his rhythm and was rewarded with a sweet sigh in the midst of her labored breathing. Her left hand gripped the edge of the tub and her right found his shoulder to hold onto, as if without it, she'd fall into the tub a boneless heap and drown. Her nails bit into his skin, bringing him the most enjoyable pain he'd ever experienced. “That's it, Carolina,” he encouraged as her hips bucked wildly, matching his thrusts. He slipped his arm behind her neck to keep her from hitting her head on the edge of the tub as a result of her fevered movements. “Fall; I have you.”

  Just then, she did. Her nails dug even deeper into his skin, and her body tensed, then spasmed. He slowed his movements, but held his position until she opened her dazed eyes.

  “I—I— D-did you— Have you—”

  John kissed her parted lips to put an end to her incoherent stammering. When he pulled back, that faraway look was still in her velvet brown eyes and her face was still flushed with pleasure. Wordlessly, he lifted her from the tub and dried her off, then carried her to the bed.

  Carolina's breath caught as her husband covered her body with his own. He whispered soft words of love in her ear before his lips found hers again. He kissed the center of her lips, then the corner, and then made a path of kisses all the way down to her jaw; his hands skimmed up and down her sides, his fingers brushing every inch of her they could touch, from the bottom curve of her breasts to the dips just above her hips, searing her with each pass. His kisses became more urgent, as did his caresses. He reached his right hand up to cover as much of her breast as would fit in his palm, then squeezed. Sparks of desire fired through her, and she pressed her breast more firmly against him, silently praying he'd do it again and again.

  He shifted, releasing her breast as he repositioned himself. The arrogant man dared to smile when she whimpered at his absence.

  She placed her hands on his shoulders, bracing herself for his intrusion.

  This time, he pushed inside slowly taking great care to be gentle. Her muscles grew tense the further in he went and the more her body had to stretch to accommodate him. When at last she didn't think she could take anymore, he stopped moving and held still, holding her gaze.

  She refused to ruin everything again with another outburst, but she'd be lying if she didn't admit it was uncomfortable—but not nearly as painful as last time, to be sure.

  “I'm going to move now.”

  His strangled voice sent a surge of feminine pride like she'd never experienced before through her. She loved it that she could have this affect on him. That she, Carolina, could make his eyes take on this intense gleam of want, turn his body rigid with need, and cause his breath to become ragged with desire. More than that, she loved knowing she'd be the one to fulfill his wants, needs and desires for the rest of their lives.

  A moment later, her thoughts of love and his desire and fulfillment were gone, replaced instead with wonder at how his movements had gone from causing her discomfort to suddenly bringing her the same internal pressure she'd felt when he'd touched her in the tub. She squeezed his shoulders, a silent command for him to move faster, harder.

  He did, and her hips bucked on their own accord to meet his movement. A shower of hot sparks shot through her, followed only a split-second later by another round when he thrust again. Carolina groaned his name and tightened her grip on him until she was certain he'd have two hand-shaped bruises on his shoulders before the night was through.

  She matched his movements, thrust for thrust, passion for passion. The pressure in her midsection mounted more with each of his strokes until finally she couldn't contain it anymore, and with a muffled cry against his shoulder, the most delicious pleasure swept over her, taking her—and him—into that delirious state of completion.

  Breathless, they both fell to the pillows in a sweaty, tangled heap.

  “I do believe I shall enjoy this aspect of marriage more than I originally thought,” Carolina said between deep breaths.

  “Comparing my tool to a battering ram and complimenting my prowess in bed, you certainly know a thing or two about flattery, m'dear,” he said, rolling off to the side and propping himself up on his elbow.

  “No, not flattery, just practicing your near honesty,” she said with a wink.

  Something unnameable flashed in John's eyes. “'Near honesty', you say? Perhaps now would be a good time to perfect my deficiencies.”

  Carolina ran the back of her index finger along the edge of his stubble-covered jaw. “Promise?”

  “That, and more,” he said with a savage growl before proceeding to show her he was the sort of man who made good on his promises—no matter how deliciously wicked they were.

  ~Chapter Twenty-Four~

  If Carolina didn't have a spawn in nine months, John would need no further proof to convince himself that she was barren.

  “Will clothes be optional for breakfast again this morning?” she asked when he rounded the dressing screen after his bath wearing precisely the same thing he'd been wearing before his bath: nothing. Come to think of it, for the entire week they'd been married, neither of them had worn anything, except when he'd gone downstairs to request their meals be sent up and when a modiste had come to visit four days ago to take Carolina's measurements.

  “Absolutely.” His grin at the sight of her lounging naked on the bed faded a hint. “But we'll have to be fully dressed for lunch, I'm afraid.”

  Carolina climbed out of bed and padded over to him. She skimmed her hands down his chest and stomach, then toward his waist. “Must we?”

  He lowered his lashes and swallowed but didn't move to stop her wandering fingertips. “I suppose you could dine naked for lunch, but I doubt you'll want to. Today we need to go see your father and collect your things.”


  Carolina dropped her hand and scowled. “Can't we stay here a few days longer?”

  John shook his head. It was only because Gabriel had given him half the price they'd agreed Hammond was worth that he'd had enough funds to pay for the hotel. He needed to deliver Hammond to Gabriel to complete the sale and collect the other half of the money so they'd have enough funds for passage to England, where a place to stay and a job waited for him. “No, I'm afraid not. Is something wrong?”

  The tip of her pink tongue darted out and licked her lips. “No. Not wrong. I just don't want to see them again, that's all.”

  “But you need your clothes, and I need to make good on a promise I made to Gabriel,” John pointed out. He stepped closer to her until there were only mere inches between them and brought his hands to her face, caressing her cheeks with his thumbs. “Besides, we're married now. Your mother has no control over you any longer. You're mine now, and if I haven't proven that to you already, I'd be glad to give you another demonstration.”

  She smiled and shook her head. “I think you've demonstrated that fact quite adequately already. It's just—” She shrugged. “They'll all know we've been alone together for the last week.”

  “Indeed.”

  Carolina pressed her forehead against his chest.

  “Surely you're not actually worried about that, are you?” He tipped her face up toward him, marveling at what a strange, complex creature she was. Before they'd married, he thought her incapable of being embarrassed or put off by anything. Apparently, she was a good actress. “Almost every new bride has to face her family, Carolina. Nobody will think poorly of you. We were married. That's all that matters.”

  A peal of her throaty laughter filled the room and sent a hot tendril of desire to coil in his gut. “I don't care about that. It's Bethel.”