coals, pushing them to the back of the andirons so the room was cast in deep shadow. Della nonetheless noted a sheath soaking in a glass of water on the bedside table.
“I won’t conceive,” she said, “not this close to my menses. We need not use the sheath tonight.”
Ash ambled over to the bed, draped his dressing gown atop Della’s, and paused. “You’re sure?”
“I’m as sure as a midwife’s wisdom can be. Sheaths aren’t foolproof either, you know.” And good God, her husband was a magnificent specimen.
Della had enough light to know that Ash was aroused, well endowed, and happy to let her see that. He put a knee on the mattress and situated himself on all fours over her.
“You are not to be stalwart and composed with me in this bed, Della. You will tell me when I’m blundering, or when I could pleasure you better by slowing down, speeding up, or going about matters differently.”
He hung over her, out of kissing range, and the covers came between them. “And will you be as forthcoming, Ash? Will you tell me what you like and how to go on as your lover?”
He laced his arms behind her neck. “God, yes. Kiss me.”
Della obliged, her hands skating over Ash’s chest and arms, until she was concocting vile curses aimed at the bedcovers.
“Damn you and your noble self-restraint,” she panted. “Please get under the covers with me.”
Ash sat back on his heels. “The covers are the only reason I have restraint, you daft woman. If you knew where I want to put my hands, my mouth, my cock…”
You daft woman. Even as a near endearment, the term stung. “And what about where I want your hands, your mouth, and your cock? What about my hands and my mouth?”
Ash flipped the covers off of her. “And your honeypot?” He stroked the curls between her legs, and the humor left his gaze. “Are you sure, Della?”
He brushed his thumb over a part of Della’s body that Freddy Throckmorton had had a dozen names for, and no clue how to touch. Quim, muff, cunny…
“Do that again, please.” Not that he’d stopped.
The mood shifted from playful to focused, with Della intimately exposed to her husband and racked by more desire than she’d thought possible. This was different from the interlude in the conservatory, because they were naked, on a bed, with all the time in the world.
And because this was merely a prelude to greater intimacies.
“You are so lovely,” Ash said, applying a bit more pressure. “I could look at you all night.” He used his free hand to caress her breasts, until Della caught him by the wrist.
“I want you inside me, Ash.”
“Then you shall have me.” He braced himself over her on his forearms and knees, but rather than join their bodies, he resumed leisurely kisses and slow caresses to Della’s breasts.
“You are driving me mad,” she whispered. “I vow I will seek revenge.”
“Hence the term marital bliss. I want this to be perfect for you, Della.” He raised up enough to peer down at her by the last of the fire’s embers. “I have this idea, which I know to be foolish, that if I can get this right, then our marriage will be safe.”
She brushed his hair back from his forehead. “I have the same idea. If I can get this right, our marriage will be safe. Maybe that means our marriage is already safe.”
Ash kissed her again, nothing leisurely about it. As his tongue teased at her mouth, he teased at her sex with his cock, until by slow degrees, he thrust, she rocked, and they joined their bodies.
“You are delicious,” Della said, locking her ankles at the small of his back. “Scrumptious and…”
He shifted up over her, changing the angle from scrumptious to whatever transcended scrumptious.
“You were saying?”
“Harder,” Della said, gripping him with her legs. “Harder, please.”
He laughed and, without speeding up, obliged her. Della felt as if he’d lit a Catherine wheel inside her, each thrust adding to the fire until every star in the night sky illuminated her from within.
When she would have screamed, Ash covered her mouth with his own. She lashed her arms around his neck and clung as the pleasure washed through her like a scouring storm. When the gale ebbed, she clung even more tightly.
Ash eased up enough that she could breathe and limited his movements to lazy, shallow thrusts. “Say something,” he murmured. “I am in torments of uncertainty. Did you find satis—?”