Chapter 15
MARA
Mrs. Shay.
The name belongs to him and marks me as his, but it’s also a promise of protection and love for me and Emmaline. A promise that winds itself through my ribs and around my heart as Warren introduces me to the house I’ve lived in now for close to three months.
From the parlor where he rocked me to sleep that terrible night of the storm, then into the kitchen where he cooks us breakfast every morning with a song. Rooms familiar and comforting to me now. So different from the overwhelming wariness from my first arrival.
The muted thuds of our footsteps follow us down the hallway, and sweat blooms on my palm the nearer the bedroom looms. This time, though, the tightening of my stomach is for an entirely different reason than from the first time I entered the foreboding doorway.
A quick glance towards the corner where Emmaline lies bundled up in her cradle, all cozy and safe and warm, puts me slightly more at ease, especially when I catch Warren doing the same.
One corner of his mouth tips up in a slight smile, then his chin jerks toward the bed. “And this here’s our room.”
“It’s quite spacious.” The tousled sheets bring to mind flashes of the past, but the hand that deftly slides around my waist steals my attention.
“Yep.” Warren pulls me close and walks me backward, just like before.
“Cleared out half the wardrobe to make way for your dresses and things. Might have to build a bigger one once I buy you some more.” The edge of the mattress bumps the backs of my thighs in a silent invitation to sit, for which my shaky legs are grateful.
“Don’t have to fret about the bed, though.
There’s plenty enough room in it for the both of us. ”
Now his hips are directly in front of my face, the bulge between them straining against the front of his trousers.
My fingers twitch. Am I really fighting the urge to reach out and grip his thickness?
The sheets crumpled in my fists might be an answer of yes.
“It’s been a long day. Are we”—oh, the size of the knot that constricts my throat as I swallow—“going to sleep now?”
“Oh, Mara.” The slow, deep promise in his words coats my insides with a delicious thrill as he plays with the end of my braid. “Not yet.” The taut lines of his bare stomach lift in shallow breaths that belie his confident tone.
I strangle the sheets so tightly a cramp threatens my fingers. “What are we going to do then?”
“Remember the night I told you I loved you?” he asks huskily.
My heart skips a beat.
Or three.
“Yes,” I answer honestly, if a bit hoarsely.
“Mmm,” he murmurs as he unwinds the coils of my braid with a care more tender than I’d expect with his big fingers. “There we go. I know sleeping with it braided helps with tangles, but I love your hair loose like this.”
I close my eyes, basking in the gentle tugging sensations as my stomach drops and my heart soars.
But then a rush of air kisses my face, and my lashes fly open to find him kneeling before me with an expression so intense and full of hunger.
Now the woman in me is keenly aware of how much of a man he is—and how much she likes it. “What are you doing on the floor?”
I’ve been between the legs of enough men to guess the answer, but doubt pours in even as his hands come to rest on either side of my hips. Surely he doesn’t mean to put his mouth on me.
Not there.
Prickles break out over my arms and neck at the possibility, but I need to be logical. Maybe he just wants to rest his head on my lap and—the kiss that burns my stomach through my nightgown completely halts any further logic.
“Remember what else I said that night?” he asks, looking up at me.
“I…no.” Not with the shirtless, broad shoulders of my husband between my thighs making me think of forbidden things.
“Come on, wife,” he cajoles. “You can do it. Think back to when I laid over you in this very bed and made myself at home between these thighs.”
It’s all I can do to remind myself to breathe and swallow without choking as another heated kiss drags across my belly, but somehow my mind digs through a pile of memories until it finds the one from weeks before.
From when he carefully pressed me into the mattress with the weight of his body and murmured hot words of desire.
Do you want that, wife? Want me to make sweet love to your mouth to apologize for not kissing you on our wedding night?
“Kissing,” I answer faintly. But he’s already kissed me so much that my lips are swollen and tender. Does he mean to do more?
“That’s right.” A lazy smile forms as he slides his hands down my thighs and then beneath my nightgown. “But I recollect two different kinds of kissing.” Warmth wraps around my ankles.
Then up my legs.
How far will he go? His palms glide halfway up my thighs, and I lose all ability to form words when his thumbs begin to stroke back and forth. “Don’t you?”
It takes a moment for me to remember what he asked. Two kinds of kissing. “Yes,” I garble.
Warren doesn’t go any further but maintains his steady caress. “You’ve given me your lips, but tell me where else I promised you.”
My numb mouth dries further when I recall him talking about my legs being over his shoulders.
Blood rushes into my cheeks in response to his intimate tone and the damned touch of his thumbs.
They’re so close to the place throbbing with unfulfilled need.
To the small spot ignored by the men in my past and known only by my own fingers when I gave myself what small comfort I could find during a rare lonely night.
At my empty silence, Warren hooks my leg over his left shoulder, massaging the tensed muscles and watching with satisfaction as the hem of my nightgown slips down a few inches.
“It’s all right, Mara. Just relax because we’re gonna take this nice and easy.
You can show me if you don’t want to say the words. ”
“Here.” My voice is scarcely audible as I shakily maneuver his wrist until his thumb is exactly where I need it to be.
Warren’s eyes flare at the contact, the pulse in his neck fluttering almost as quickly as mine. “Here?” he asks with a hesitant stroke over the fabric.
“Yes,” I manage to gasp through a shudder of pleasure.
My own touch never felt this good. Light circles grow firmer, and I fall back in tense surrender against the bedding as I try to hold back the noises that so desperately want to escape.
Nothing like the fake sounds I was forced to do for other men to stroke their egos as much as their cocks.
No…the heavy groans bubbling up inside of me would be guttural and real if I released them.
It scares me how easily this man breaks down my barriers and coaxes me to willingly give him the vulnerability I hide from everyone.
Everyone but him.
Another stroke has my teeth tormenting my lip for restraint.
The next, not so much because now his hand is in a different spot. Just a bit to the left, but enough that it’s noticeably different in the sensation. My heel digs into his back, but he doesn’t understand my silent request for him to move. Is he doing this on purpose?
I don’t think so. Not with how utterly transfixed his stare is.
But I’m not sure.
“What’s wrong?”
I close my eyes in embarrassed frustration. Of course Warren would notice my reaction. He notices everything. “Nothing.”
He immediately stills. “Am I too rough?”
“No, Christ no.”
But he’s not satisfied. “Not hard enough?”
“It’s just…” My lips tighten indecisively. Experience swiftly taught me that questioning or correcting a man wounds their pride.
Talk to me. I need your words.
This is Warren, the man who saved me. The least I can do is give him this. Scraping together every ounce of courage I can muster, I try not to hesitate when I ask, “Can you…go back to where you were before?”
He acquiesces. “Here?”
“Not quite.” I subtly shift my hips to guide him. “A little more this way.” He tries, but the satisfaction from before is nowhere to be found. I hold in a sigh of disappointment before I guiltily swallow it down. If this is the best he can give me, it’s still worlds better than what I’ve had.
But the rueful apology shining in his eyes as he presses a soft kiss to my thigh seems genuine. “I’m sorry, Mara. I want to make this good for you. If I get it wrong, I need you to teach me. This is the beginning of us, but I need you to show me, wife. Show me where it feels good.”
For a moment that feels like eternity, our gazes lock together as his breath heats my skin.
Nothing is hidden behind his dark pupils as I stare into his soul.
He sees me for who I am—more than any other man has—and who I am is all he wants.
Along with learning what brings me pleasure.
It’s only a look, but one that has all the feelings from before rushing back.
“Okay,” I breathe out with a small nod.
The muscles in his jaw clench as my hands exchange the sheets for my nightgown and begin to tug upwards. It’s just my knee, but the lift of his chest stutters at the exposed skin as if all of me were bare. Inch by painstakingly slow inch, I reveal myself to my husband for the first time.
When the excess cotton fabric bunches at my hips, he swallows hard and looks between my legs. Is that low noise coming from my throat or his? I can’t tell. But the way he stares at me with such reverence…
“Hellfire, Mara.” The rough fingers flex on my thigh as if they yearn to explore. “Should have known you’d be just as pretty here, too.”
A blush scorches me from the inside out even as my first thought is to deny his words.
“You really think I’m pretty? Both my face and…
and there?” Christ, my cheeks burn with nervous embarrassment as I chance a peek down at him.
I don’t know what drove me to ask him that while I’m so lewdly open before him.