Page 45 of The Winter Husband
“Yes.”
“Soon enough, we’ll be bound forever.” He kissed the tip of her nose, seized the hem of her shift, and slid it out from beneath her bottom. “But this love between us cannot wait another moment.”
Warnings tickled her mind. The nuns would not approve, but they’d also taught her all men were sinners, and the body was weak, and forgiveness always came with God’s mercy.
Though she hadn’t realized how weak a body could be until François pulled away the last of her clothing.
“Ah, Marie,” he gasped, “your body is art come to life.”
She crossed her arms as his gaze feasted on her. In the orphanage, they didn’t even bathe naked.
“Don’t be shy, my sweet darling.” He nudged her arms away. “How I’ve dreamed of seeing you, of touching you like this!”
François ran his hand over her breasts. Her unease was swamped by other, more powerful feelings. He stoked those feelings as he trailed his fingers down her abdomen and then sank them deep between her legs. The intimate touch made her pulse leap.
When he pulled his fingers away, she cried out in protest until she saw he’d paused just to wrestle out of his clothes. Pulling off his shirt, he revealed a lean chest sprinkled with dark hair, so curiously different from her own. He shoved down his breeches and small clothes, and his man’s part leapt into view, taut and straining against his abdomen. She bit her lower lip, shocked by how reckless this was. Shocked, too, at how her woman’s parts tingled in anticipation. François was right—this lovecouldn’twait. Why taint their first moment together with talk of impropriety, when they would be married for a lifetime?
With a smile and murmured words, François urged her to scoot back, lie flat on the bed, and open her legs so he could see her treasure. Her inner muscles throbbed as he climbed over her and positioned his swollen member against the place his fingers had once been.
“Ah, my sweet virgin,” he whispered. “You are mine now, forever.”
He thrust himself between her legs. She startled at a pinch, wincing as he pulled his sex out of her and then thrust in again.
She gripped his arms. “François, that h—”
“Wait, my love,” he said, his voice strained as he continued moving. “The pain will pass in a moment, I promise.”
She caught her breath at the thrusting soreness, her whole body rocking with the movement of his pumping hips. But he was right, so right, as new feelings rose, and the soreness ebbed. The pleasant anticipation she’d experienced before, when he’d first touched her with his fingers, returned with rising pleasure. Pushed by stronger and stronger ripples of sensation, she felt a moan rising to her throat. Then François suddenly shouted, arched up, and pulled his member out of her.
She stilled, not sure what was happening. François squeezed his eyes shut as if in pain, gripping his male part against her belly. Not long after, he rolled off her, breathing hard, leaving moisture by her navel. Embarrassed, she patted the mattress to find a corner of the linen sheets so she could wipe it off.
“François.” She folded the linen edge away and turned toward where he lay, an arm thrown across his brow. “We’re lovers now, aren’t we?”
“Lovers indeed.” He turned his head, black eyes twinkling under half-closed lids. “Did I make your body sing, my darling?”
She ducked to hide a smile. She’d never felt as alive as she did right now, though it came with a strange jitteriness. “So this is the pleasure of the flesh that all married people enjoy?”
“Yes, but there’s one difference.” He flattened a hand on her belly where she’d wiped away the moisture. “Did you see how I finished outside your body?”
She nodded, though she didn’t really understand. Shyness and curiosity warred within her at this frank talk.
“I did that,” he said, “so I wouldn’t fill your womb with child.” He touched the tip of her nose. “I would not leave you in such a condition, my darling.”
“Not until we’re married,” she added.
“Oh, my darling, we’re married as of tonight, in my mind.” His grin rivaled the shining of the moon through the window. “And this is only one of many pleasures we can share with our bodies until that happy day.”
“Are there others?”
“Yes.” He slid down the bed, raising her knee so he could duck his head under it. “I shall teach you every single one of them,ma belle innocente, that I promise.”
François kissed her again, but not on the lips. She arched up against the pillow at the graze of his tongue, wondering if there was anything more glorious than love.
***
Weeks passed by in a haze of warmth and satisfaction. She hardly left the room except to use the privy. With her body adjusting to new pleasures and heart cradled in François’s affection, she dozed and napped through the days. Occasionally, he left the inn for an hour or so, but he always returned with knitted silk stockings, or ribbons she saved for her wedding bouquet, or feathers for the veil she might wear, all of which he taught her to play with in inventive ways. He encouraged her explorations, told her anything she demanded to know, and praised her eagerness to learn a wife’s duties in the bedchamber. She adored the sight of his face when it squeezed with pleasure. One day, his friends banged on the door, demanding his presence downstairs for their amusement, but he shouted them off, saying he wanted only to be with his darling fiancée.
Until, one day, he didn’t.
