Chapter 13 #2
His breathing slowed as his gaze held hers, dark with desire. “If I come back to that bed, I willnae be able to stop.”
She swallowed. “I daenae want ye to.”
Oscar climbed back onto the bed and kissed her again. His fingers found her still wet and stroked her slowly until her hips bucked.
“Still ready for me?” he murmured.
“Aye.” Ceana opened her legs further and guided him closer.
He braced himself above her on one forearm, the blunt head of his manhood pressing against her entrance. He paused for a moment and searched her face. She wrapped one leg around his hip and pulled him closer. Then he pushed the head inside her.
The pressure stretched into a sharp pain that made her tense around him.
“Wait.”
Oscar stopped. His muscles shook with the effort of holding still, but he gave her no further inch. He kissed her mouth, then her cheek, keeping his weight off her while his free hand moved between them.
“Look at me,” he said. “Tell me what ye need.”
“I want ye… to take yer time.”
His thumb circled her sensitive bud, sending a bolt of pleasure through her. He watched her face and adjusted the pressure when she moaned.
Ceana tried a small lift of her hips. The movement stung, though less sharply than before. Oscar remained still inside her while she tried again, finding an angle that let her body receive him.
“Now,” she whispered.
He slid in a fraction deeper and waited for her breath to settle. The first strokes were easy. Ceana kept her leg around his hip and followed each withdrawal, learning his rhythm and the pull of her own body. The pain eventually ebbed, leaving delicious friction in its wake.
Her grip loosened on his shoulder. She drew him down for a kiss, and when he moved again, her hips rose to meet him. Oscar made a rough sound into her mouth.
“More,” she moaned.
His next thrust was harder. Ceana caught his lower lip between hers, then released it with a broken breath. His pace quickened each time she met him, while his hand continued stroking her bud.
“That’s it, wife,” he rasped. “Look at me.”
Ceana held his gaze as he drove into her. The pleasure that his thumb had stirred spread through her belly, growing with every stroke. She shifted her hips, and the new angle tore a cry from her.
Oscar slowed his pace at once.
“Again,” she begged. “Like that. Please.”
He gave her the same deep stroke, and she pulled him down until his chest was flush against hers.
“Ye are holdin’ back,” she said against his mouth.
“I am tryin’ to spare ye.”
“I will tell ye if ye hurt me.” She tightened her legs around his hips. “Ye have made me ask long enough.”
His expression shifted, and his hand tightened on the blanket near her head. “Ye have tested me long enough,” he growled.
His thrusts quickened after that, and she met each one, pulling him closer whenever he withdrew. His thumb pressed on her bud with each deep stroke until pleasure gathered too quickly for her to catch her breath.
“Oscar.” She caught his face and made him look at her. “Daenae stop.”
He kept thrusting into her until her body clenched around him in quick pulses, each one spreading through her limbs. His name escaped her lips in a cry, louder this time. He kissed her through the aftershocks, his thrusts becoming erratic.
He tried to lift off her, but she wound her arms around his shoulders. “Stay with me.”
Oscar went still, still buried deep inside her. His eyes found hers, the warning plain in them.
“Ceana,” he groaned.
“Please.”
He shuddered as he spilled inside her. One breath passed, then another. The hand on her waist tightened until his fingers pressed into her skin. Every trace of pleasure had vanished from his face. He stared at a point above her head, breathing through parted lips.
Ceana touched his cheek. “Oscar?”
His gaze returned to her, and his grip on her waist loosened at once. “Did I hurt ye?”
“Just a little at first.” She brushed her thumb across the scar near his jaw. “I am sore now, though I can bear it.”
He withdrew ever so slowly. The movement stirred a tender ache, and Ceana flinched before she could conceal it. Oscar, however, saw it.
He climbed off the bed and crossed to the washbasin. There, he grabbed a cloth and dipped it in the water. Ceana pushed herself upright and reached for it when he returned.
He kept hold of the cloth. “Let me.”
She looked at his face, then lay back and opened her legs again. “All right.”
Oscar tested the damp cloth against the inside of his wrist. His touch was practical as he cleaned her, each pass gentle over the tender skin. When her left thigh tensed, he stopped and moved the cloth to a less sensitive spot.
“There?” he asked.
“A little sore.”
He reduced the pressure.
Those same hands could draw a sword, bind a wound, or wash dirt from Tommy’s scraped knee without making the boy feel helpless. He worked quietly, watching her response more closely than his hand.
When he finished, he rinsed the cloth and then grabbed a fresh nightgown from the chest.
“Can ye stand?”
“Aye, though I willnae do it gracefully.”
Oscar offered her his arm. The first step pulled at tender muscles, and his grip shifted beneath her elbow until she could stand straight.
He gathered the nightgown and guided her arms through the sleeves, then drew the linen down her body.
Her hair caught beneath the collar, and he freed it strand by strand before smoothing it over her shoulders.
Before returning her to bed, he pressed a cup into her hands. “Drink.”
Ceana drank.
When she finished, he took the empty cup, helped her back to bed, and pulled the blanket over her.
He restored order to the room in silence.
He covered her wedding gown where it lay on the chair, leaving Paisley’s embroidered ribbon visible on top.
His sword remained on the chest. After pulling off the stockings he had left on in his haste, he extinguished all but one candle and came back to bed.
He lay on his back beside her. Ceana waited for his arm, then understood from the rigid line of his shoulders that he had no embrace to give. Still, he remained. He reached across once to free a lock of hair trapped beneath her cheek and raised the blanket under her chin.
The space between their bodies troubled her more after his care. She knew now what those hands could offer when he allowed them to work. She also knew just how far he could close himself off if determined.
“Good night, wife.”
Oscar laid his hand on the blanket between them and slowly curled it into a fist. He did not sleep.