Chapter 5
Lucy had grown tired of waiting for her husband to visit her chambers. She’d always imagined that one of the chief benefits of marriage would be a way to — within the legal and moral confines of the day — test all of her book learning.
So when Peter had the temerity to look so handsome at their wedding and then each morning at breakfast…and only bow to her, she was hurt. Then insulted. And enraged.
But following an afternoon with her embroidery hoop before the fire, she realized: Peter hadn’t been unaffected by her at Curzon Street. He’d spent most efficiently despite her inexpert ministrations.
So efficiently that she wondered if she’d characterized him wrongly. Was it possible that the duke was no rake, and was, in fact, a gentleman? A gentle man?
In which case, Lucy thought she might that very day reassure him he needn’t be too gentle with her, given her many curiosities about what might happen between people when their clothes were removed.
Lucy moved her hands over the blankets of Peter’s bed, trying to find the place his cock was hiding. “Perhaps you’d like to remove your nightclothes as well?”
Her husband of three days merely nodded in agreement and set to work shimmying out of his nightshirt, all while keeping the bedclothes around his neck. Something near her breastbone squeezed.
And then he stopped moving. “Lucy, I must confess something.”
Oh dear. In the history of new marriages, had anything good followed such a statement? She catalogued the many things he could say to destroy the first blooms of happiness she felt about their union, then settled back against the pillow to hear what he needed to tell her.
“It’s just that…”
Her heart sank when she heard the regret in his voice.
“... well, I’ve not,” he said. “You know. I’ve not.”
“You’ve not?”
“Yes, precisely,” he said with a smile. “I knew you’d understand.”
Lucy most certainly did not understand, and she was growing frantic at the possibilities.
“I tried to visit an establishment once,” he said, his chin down as if he were shy. “But I collected my hat and cane rather quickly after seeing what went on there.”
He didn’t mean…
“And I have never been one to upset my mama, not with her health,” he continued. “So I didn’t keep a mistress. In fact, I was terrified after our scandal that she might take a turn, but she’s not looked so well this decade. I think she likes you.”
Goodness, was Peter saying what she thought he was saying?
“…so please forgive me if I’m lacking—”
“No!” she exclaimed.
“I beg your pardon?” he asked, looking stricken.
She settled the hand that had been feeling about for his cock on his chest to reassure him. “You needn’t worry about a lack of experience,” she said. “I, too, haven’t ever…”
“But you were so delightfully bold in that sitting room,” he said, gesturing towards Curzon Street.
“Oh, yes, well, I’ve studied,” she said with a laugh. “Books. I know they’re not suitable for young ladies, but I was so curious.”
She braced for him to erupt in disapproval, but he was looking at her as if she were a fine piece of tapestry ripe for drizzling. And then she recalled something.
“But what of you?” she asked. “You were a commanding fellow on the day we became entangled. Engaged. When my hair…”
Peter giggled. The duke actually giggled. Who was this man she’d married?
“I was attempting to end any talk of an engagement,” he admitted. “I hope you’re not too upset. It’s just that you seemed as shocked by the whole affair as I was! So I thought of stock dukes from the stage and books and, well, tried to…”
“Tried to send me from the room in tears?” She joined him in laughter. Lucy wiped her eyes.
“I’m afraid so.”
“And then I had the temerity to play along.”
“Did you ever,” he said, his voice suddenly sounding like that growly duke he’d been playing.
“If we’re making confessions,” she said, her eyes on the blanket. “I didn’t mind that commanding, rude duke.”
“Is that so?” Peter smirked.
“It might be a bit much to encounter him at the breakfast table each morning, but he made me feel things,” she said.
“Did he now?” asked Peter, working to remove his nightshirt again. Lucy followed, opening all the buttons down the front of her nightgown.
She looked to her new husband and took the risk of shamelessly drawing the whole gown from her body, pulling it over her head.
Peter drew in a breath, almost like a gasp. “Is the room too cold?” he asked. “I could have the servants put more logs on the fire. Or I could. It could be much warmer here—”
“It’s plenty warm,” said Lucy, aware that the blankets did not cover her breasts and liking that she was pouring oil on the fire kindling to life in their bed.
“It’s just that you look so cold,” said Peter, his eyes not straying from her hardened nipples.
“You’re welcome to warm me up.”
Peter’s hand was tentative, his fingers trembling slightly until they made contact with her skin. He settled his palm over her nipple and let it rest.
“You’re so lovely, Lucy,” he said, moving his hand to her other side.
“It feels good.”
“Warmer?”
“Yes, everywhere,” she said, wiggling beneath the bedclothes to slide closer to him.
“I’m glad something I do tonight might bring you pleasure,” said Peter, his face clouded with doubt. “I’ve heard the most terrible things about the wedding night.”
“For grooms?”
“For brides. Pain and…and…well.”
“I think you’ll find it in your heart to be gentle with your bride,” she said, casting him a sly look.
Far from the ducal persona he’d affected at balls or the facade of a libertine he’d worn in the sitting room where they’d been engaged, Peter in his home, in his bed, was just the considerate lover she’d longed for when reading the books that had so captured her imagination.
He brought his lips to her nipple and pressed them to it.
“Oh, Peter,” she sighed, her legs nearly kicking in pleasure.
“You like it?” he asked, giving her peak a lick.
“Do I…” Lucy grabbed his hand and pulled it below the blankets, right to the apex of her legs. She felt hot and soft for him, slick enough to ease the way for their consummation, but she wanted more before the inevitable end of this encounter. “Feel how much I like it.”
And Peter — dear, dear Peter — didn’t need further instruction before he slid his hand between her thighs and gently stroked her seam. Lucy couldn’t stand waiting, and she spread her legs, bringing them to her chest so she opened for him.
He stroked over the place where she was wet and swollen with desire, earning a keening cry.
“Like that?”
“Exactly like that,” she said, her breaths coming in pants. His fingers slid over her clitoris, that bump she’d explored so thoroughly on her own, but somehow his touch felt entirely different. His feathery touches had her twisting against the mattress.
“Feeling you has me fit to burst,” he murmured into her hair on the pillow they now shared. “I’m terrified to move.”
She blushed at his confession, relieved that he was just as overwhelmed by this interlude as she was.
“I’m so, I just, do you think you could—”
“Anything.”
“Could you put one finger inside?”
Peter’s face seemed to freeze momentarily, then his expression crumpled as if pained. “Oh, Lucy, you’ll kill me.”
And when he gently slid a digit into the place that was so ready for him — any part of him — Lucy bit her lips together to contain a wail. The pleasurable squeeze of her muscles almost painfully yanked her forward, sending her over waves of release from the barest of touches.
“Lucy, may I?” asked her husband, looking as though he was nearing his own crisis while still well outside of her body.
“Anything,” she responded, putting her arms about his neck as he gingerly came between her thighs, his cock in hand.
“It’s not the largest…”
Lucy regarded him in confusion. She’d seen his cock, had it within her mouth, and she’d found it a lovely specimen.
It was her only real specimen, to be sure, but she judged it a handsome and artistic staff of elegant proportions.
And somehow, he felt he needed to…apologize for it?
This wouldn’t do, not when she planned to repeat this exercise as often as their schedules would allow.
“I find your cock,” she said, taking him in hand and guiding him forward, “most excellent.”
“But it’s—”
He was over her now, his arms supporting himself as he pushed in and let her feel the warm heft she’d longed to experience since her first foray into pornographic literature. She couldn’t have her groom worrying about his manhood during their consummation!
She drew him down by the neck. Lucy was too quick for Peter to realize what she was doing, and she pressed a kiss to his lips.
It was a brief thing, not more than a peck, but the sweet pressure had the effect of surprising her new husband and pushing his cock into her, setting off a yowl of almost pained pleasure the likes of which would impress even a wild cat.
Peter’s hips bucked, and Lucy knew enough to recognize that he too had reached his crisis with remarkable speed.
“Lucy, oh, I didn’t even ask, forgot, didn’t ask if you wanted it—”
She ran a hand through his hair and helped him collapse into her arms after he’d thoroughly spent within her.
“I want it, Peter,” she said, a smile on her lips. “I want all of it.”
“Thank goodness, because I fear I’ve drained my sac within your lovely cunny,” he muttered, seemingly to himself.
Lucy moaned at his crude words and the feel of his seed. A little tremor brought forth a similar sound from her husband.
“You might just kill me, Lucy Sidwin,” he said, with an unmistakable note of fondness in his voice.
“And what of me?” she asked, making room for him as he removed his piece from her clasp and settled onto the pillow beside her.
Peter found a stray golden curl and wrapped it around his finger. “You’ve been most industrious with your studies, while I fear I’ve been remiss.”
“A girl can never be too prepared,” she whispered.
“I wondered if you might share your love of literature with me,” he said, drawing her closer so he could wrap her in his arms.
It was awkward, as so many things are at first, but they soon learned how they fit together, their bodies meeting and sharing heat in that grand bed of Peter’s that had once seemed so chilly.
“I would like nothing more than to show you the books I prefer. But only if—”
“There are conditions?” he asked with an amused smile.
“Only if you teach me something, too.”