Page 30 of To Marry and to Meddle
Shelikedbeing looked at like this, she realized.
And, if his own physical reaction to the sight of her naked body was any indication—and, indeed, this reaction was impossible to ignore, given how closely they were pressed together—he liked doing the looking.
“Hello,” she said softly, gazing up at him and reaching a hand up to touch the lock of black hair that insistently fell onto his forehead.
“Hello,” he replied, his low murmur rich with promise.
And then he leaned down and kissed her.
It was a kiss that Emily felt with her entire body—her arms, seemingly of their own accord, reached up once more to twine around his neck, then begin a steady downward path along his back, feeling the muscles there, the warmth of his skin and the gooseflesh that arose in the wake of her trailing fingers.
His hands were busy, too, at her breasts, in her hair, and his mouth was on her neck and her legs were falling open seemingly of their own accord and all at once he wasthere, stiff and insistent, and his voice was in her ear murmuring, “Is this all right?” and her only reply was a breathless gasp of assent, and then he was pressing into her, and it didn’t hurt, it was just a sudden, overwhelming pressure, a tightness, and then he began to move, and the only coherent thoughts she was capable of mustering wereyesandmoreandplease.
At some point in the proceedings, Julian rolled onto his back, pulling Emily with him, and she found herself straddling him, gazing down at him with sudden uncertainty. His hands moved to her waist, pulling her back down onto him, and she gasped at the sudden friction of this new angle, her eyes fluttering shut. Her body began to move of its own accord—there were a couple of moments where it wasn’t quite right, but they soon found a rhythm, and she opened her eyes at onepoint to find him staring at her so intently that she felt herself blush once more.
He leaned forward to brush her hair back over her shoulder, exposing her more fully to his hungry gaze.
“God, I love looking at you,” he said, his voice low and rough-edged, his breathing uneven, and somehow, despite the fact that she’d spent her life entirely aware of the weight of men’s gazes on her, she’d never before felt sogladto be looked at—so powerful with the knowledge of a man’s attention.
She began to lose all track of time, and it was perhaps a minute or an hour later that his hand was between her legs again and he was murmuring, “Tell me where to touch you,” and she—who an hour earlier could never have imagined herself uttering these words—gasped, “There—now faster—” and she was climbing that peak once more and his thrusts, too, were becoming more erratic—
In the aftermath, collapsed atop him, trying to catch her breath, his own breath coming fast and heavy against her neck, the only thing she could think to say was:
“I still believe we could have dispensed with the unnecessary five-minute discussion about it hurting.”
At which—of course—he laughed.
Nine
Going to bed with avirgin was vastly more entertaining than advertised, Julian thought.
It was early the next morning; the sunlight peeking around the curtains had a soft rosy glow to it, and beside him Emily still slept. She was a remarkably heavy sleeper, he’d discovered; he, admittedly, was an unusually fitful one, but every time he’d awakened in the night, she’d been just as she was now: curled up on her side, all that glorious golden hair cascading over the bare shoulder visible above the sheets, one hand resting on the bedspread between them. She looked peaceful in slumber, her face relaxed into an expression of ease that made him realize how carefully she held herself during all of her waking hours.
Or, at least, all of her waking hours except her last one, last night.
He could not help a smile from creeping over his face at the memory, and he tucked an arm behind his head, reminiscing. He’d never, of course, believed all the rubbish men of his station liked to toss around, about wives not enjoying bedsport and thus necessitating the procurement of a mistress. As far as Julian was concerned, if a woman did not enjoy going to bed with her husband, that said more about her husband than it did about her.
However, he had approached the task before him with a slightamount of apprehension. He’d not the faintest clue what to expect from a gently bred virgin—it was, after all, a species that he had avoided like the plague from the time he was old enough to understand what went on between a man and a woman, and the fact that he’d very much like to enjoy said activities without getting leg-shackled himself—and he’d been terrified of somehow ruining the experience for her. As it turned out, he might have spared himself all that angst and simply gotten on with it.
He realized, for an absurd moment, that what he really wanted to do in that instant was wrap his arm around her, tug her close to him. It was such a strange impulse, so affectionate, so domestic, so…tender, that he nearly started with surprise. What on earth had possessed him?
As if summoned by his thoughts of her, she stirred beside him, and he glanced down, watching her face lose a fraction of its relaxed elasticity, even before she opened her eyes. He was surprised by the pang of sadness this caused him, and he sternly reminded himself that her ability to exert such forceful control over her facial expressions, and everything else about her behavior, was, in large part, the reason he’d married her. There was no room for sadness.
He could tell the moment she came fully awake, because she suddenly grew very still, and then reached with her hand to tug the blankets more firmly toward her neck, tragically hiding the enticing view Julian had been enjoying of the hollow above her clavicle.
She peeked one eye open, and Julian took great pleasure in the fact thathe, by contrast, had left the sheets draped around his waist—he always slept hot—and therefore was offering quite a fair bit of bare skin for her perusal.
Predictably, she blushed.
Perversely, he was delighted. He was growing concerned that hewas becoming bizarrely fixated on those blushes—especially now that he knew precisely how far down her neck and chest they extended.
“Good morning,” he said slowly, trying not to sound too pleased with himself.
She cleared her throat. “Um.” It came out as a squeak. She tried again. “Good morning.”
“Sleep well?” he asked, all polite inquisitiveness.
She nodded, managing as she did so to tug the sheet even higher—it was approaching her chin now.
