Black Richard's Heart (The MacCulloughs #1) - Suzan Tisdale Page 0,60
people caught in a frenzied moment of passion and desire.
As carefully as he was able under this most wild of circumstances, he guided himself to the precipice at the apex of her legs. He had thought to go slowly so that she could get used to him, but again, she’d not have it.
’Twas a most glorious and magnificent place to be.
She paused and held her breath.
“Are ye all right?” he asked as he held his own breath. She was an innocent, of that he had no doubt. Guilt filled his heart for not taking his time, of not explaining to her what would happen or what it might feel like.
“God, aye,” she moaned against his cheek. “That feels good.” Without encouragement, she began to slowly move her hips.
’Twas the most seductive, alluring encounter he’d ever had with a woman. As she rode him, he caressed her breasts, her stomach and hips. With her hands on his chest, she clung to his tunic as she took her pleasure.
There was no false pretense on her part. No pretending, no play acting. His wife, this wee woman, was filled with passion and not afraid to show that most intimate part of herself to him. She was a confusing, confounding, beautiful creature and for the life of him, he didn’t know what he should think about that.
Earlier, before Richard had come to their bed chamber, Aeschene was fighting an inner battle of sorts. More specifically, ’twas a battle between what her mother had told her about joining with a man and what Marisse had told her.
Elspeth was quite insistent that the entire matter of joining with one’s husband was simply one of a wife’s many duties. As long as ye lay still and quiet, ’twill all be over before ye even realize it, her mother had told her. Close yer eyes and try to think of somethin’ else.
What her mother had said of loving and joining was in stark contrast to everything Marisse had told her. Och! ’Tis a most wondrous, delightful thing that happens betwixt man and wife.
When Aeschene had shared with her friend the advice received from her mother, Marisse laughed until she had tears in her eyes. Och! Do not just lay there, Aeschene! She had exclaimed. Enjoy every moment of it, because ye do not ken how long ’twill last. She was, of course, referring to her husband who had died after only three weeks of marriage.
So back and forth her heart went, betwixt her mother’s advice and Marisse’s. Growing cold with waiting for her husband, she had climbed in under the furs. She could hear the sound of thunder in the distance, a soft rumbling sound which reminded her of Richard. She dozed off and on as she tried to picture what it would be like to finally become a woman.
Her heart nearly cleaved in twain when Richard appeared and said he would leave her to her sleep. From where she drew the courage to speak her mind, she couldn’t say, but draw upon it she did.
When he finally admitted he did not wish to cause her physical harm, she grew bloody furious with him. I be not a cripple! She repeated over and over in her mind. I can do anythin’ any other woman can do, including join with her husband. She wished she’d been a bit braver and put her protests to voice.
When Richard pulled her in for the kiss, her anger fell away in an instant and she decided to listen to Marisse’s good advice. She would savor and enjoy every moment of joining with her husband. For far too many years, she’d been alone and lonely. Too many years of wondering what could have been had she not lost her sight. Too many years spent trying to be the good and dutiful daughter, guilt ridden for not living up to her father’s high standards, and wasting away. ’Twas an awful existence and one she was quite happy to be away from.
There was a moment or two, when she was struggling to rid herself of her night dress, and again when she urged him to remove his clothing, that she wondered if she should not slow herself down. The last thing she wanted was for her husband to think her a harlot or a woman of questionable moral character. All she knew was she needed to be free of her nightclothes. More than anything, she wanted to feel her skin pressed against his.