Page 29 of Surrender Your Grace
She choked with laughter at the same time her hands flew to cover her flaming face. They gripped his shoulders the next instant, squealing, when he flipped her onto her back and lay on top of her again.
“Up for another round?” he asked, eyes gleaming with heat.
“Again?” she asked, breathless at the notion.
“Indeed. I’m good for one more, but a woman… Ah, the blessing of a woman. You can climax over and over.” Abruptly, he eyed her with concern. “Unless you are too tender to try.”
“I don’t feel tender.”
“You might notice it tomorrow, when you move around—so I’m told.”
“I hope you were told wrong. I was hoping to go riding again.”
He rolled to the edge of the bed and got up. “I’ll ring for a bath. That will help.”
She sat up, holding the sheet to her chest. “Don’t wake the servants,” she pleaded. “It’s late, and they’ll guess the reason for it. I’m fine. I promise.”
As if he hadn’t heard her, he crossed the room but instead of summoning the staff, he disappeared behind the dressing screen. Shortly after, he reappeared, carrying a cloth.
“What are you doing?” she asked, clutching the covers as he tried to pull them away.
“I’m going to wash you. The cool water will soothe you.”
“No, thank you,” she squeaked. “I can do it myself.”
“Allow me,” he said. “I made the mess, after all.”
Another tug-of-war followed, ending with him winning once again.
“Are we to battle over the blankets every time?” Andrew inquired as he pushed her thighs apart and bathed her gently with the cool, damp cloth.
Her voice came out muffled from the arm covering her face. “I expect so. If I don’t perish from embarrassment, first.”
Once done, he discarded the cloth and climbed back into bed, pulling the covers over them both. “You’re going to have to get used to me seeing and touching you, Cici. To speed that along, we can share a tub tomorrow morning.”
“Dear heavens,” she whispered sure that would scandalize every one of the servants.
Chuckling softly, he took her in his arm and lay back on the pillows. With her head resting on her husband’s shoulder, listening to his breathing, the warmth of his big body pressed to every inch of her front, she closed her eyes and relaxed.
This part was nice. So was the other—the ending at least. She couldn’t help but be struck by the peculiarities of the marital act, with its heavy breathing, groaning, and interlocking parts.
Her first time wasn’t perfect—she’d been hesitant, unsure. But his warmth, his gentleness, turned uncertainty into wonder.And though he was a man of rules, she’d glimpsed the heart beneath them. Perhaps her marriage might hold more than duty. Perhaps it might bloom.
Chapter 8
Outside of fairy tales and daydreams, Cici never imagined such happiness. She and Andrew had become inseparable—strolling hand-in-hand, stealing kisses in sun-drenched corridors, whispering and laughing, which drew curious looks from the staff. They rarely rose before ten, earning raised brows from Mrs. Weatherford and knowing smiles from the maids—looks Cici tried (and failed) to ignore.
She shouldn’t care. Not when Andrew kissed her awake each morning, swept her into passionate embraces whenever the mood struck. He’d already tumbled her in a field of wildflowers, taken her against two sturdy oaks, and once, quite memorably, beneath the lilacs behind the garden wall.
Her kind, teasing husband bore little resemblance to the stern viscount she’d first met in her father’s study. In the two weeks since arriving at Arendale, she’d seen that version of him only once.
One afternoon during a walk, she’d said something—about the flowers, or perhaps the hills. She couldn’t even recall what, only that he seized her hand and led her into the shade of a nearby stand of trees.
“Is something wrong, my lord?”
He stopped short and turned. “How many times have I asked you to call me by my given name?”
“Didn’t I?”
