Chapter Thirteen #2
He did press his hard cock against her now, unable to keep himself from the indulgence.
He wanted to bury himself in her so badly.
But he also wanted to see her head thrown back in pleasure.
Unable to withstand the demands of his lust any longer, he hauled her up, and she instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist. His cock strained upwards, where the crux of her heat beckoned him.
Instead of giving in to that urge, he carried her to the bed, setting her down on the edge. She moved to scoot backwards, but he grabbed her arms. “No,” he said. “Stay right here.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“It’s your first time. I need to make sure you are ready for me.” He knelt in front of her, letting his hands rove across her breasts as he did so. He could not stop touching her.
“I read some books about it,” she said.
That was interesting. “I’d like to hear about that. But not just now.”
“No?” she asked, her voice breathy. Good.
“I’m trying very hard not to spend in my trousers, Nell. Hearing about your latest interest would make this task much more difficult.”
“Later then,” she agreed, sighing.
He put one hand on her ankle, lifting it to his mouth and kissing the talus bone.
Her legs were strong and supple from the long walks in Hyde Park.
He ran his tongue along the groove of her calf.
He gently pushed her legs away, splaying them open to make room for him.
He worked his way up from her calves to her knees to her thighs, trying to go slow.
But by then the smell of her arousal, the wetness beckoned him.
He followed his nose, nudging her thigh out of the way with a nibble.
Her sweet core lay bare in front of him.
Not wanting to shock her too much, he massaged the space between her leg and her sex.
She flexed her bum, bringing her core closer to his mouth.
Oh, was she as impatient as he was? He flicked his tongue lightly against the engorged pearl of her clitoris and she gasped.
Feeling supremely satisfied, he applied himself to the job in front of him, teasing her with light brushes of his fingers and firm pressure from his tongue. Her thighs twitched and flexed as he worked. She panted his name.
He was rock hard and wanted nothing more than to sheath himself in her as deep as he could go, but he was determined that her first experience be a good one. He was convinced it would set the tone for their marriage bed, and he wanted her as eager as him to enter it.
Suddenly, her fingers tangled in his hair and she pulled him hard against her core, almost smothering him. It was a good way to die.
She came hard, her body rigid, her voice crying out, though it was muffled from her thighs around his ears.
Job well done, his cock congratulated, our turn.
And he wiped his mouth on her flimsy night dress, not caring if he ripped it.
If he was quick enough, he would feel her clenching around him.
But he wanted it to be right. He wanted it to be good.
So he looked in her eyes as he planted himself between her slickness and asked.
She nodded, and he slid inside her tightness, and she cried out again.
It almost made him spend. But he gritted his teeth against the powerful wave as she clenched around him and held him in place.
They were together. This was what it meant to love someone so completely.
To be undone by their every gesture, every word.
To live every day with the knife’s edge of their regard, trusting them to never hurt you.
And each thrust felt less like he was alone in the act, and far more like they moved together, as one. There was no moment where he alone was in charge, that it was solely him that drove them both to crisis. She reached up and gripped his head, bringing him down to her.
Through her own gritted teeth, she whispered, “I love you for always.” And she came again, and the second her body clenched around his, he was lost. He came harder than he ever had in his life, pushing into her, feeling full as he emptied.
Nothing made sense and neither up nor down mattered. Together mattered. And they were.
Married life was impossible, Nell decided.
There were not enough hours in the day. Her inner thighs chafed, and she didn’t think she’d ever be able to ride a horse again.
Between the lazy mornings spent in bed with Beckett, exploring their newly wedded state before a walk in Hyde Park, the post-midday “nap” where dozing only occurred thoroughly undressed and debauched, and the attempts to remain as fully clothed for as long as possible after dinner (the longest had been not quite an hour, and that was only accomplished because of the amount of over the clothes teasing), there was no time left for Nell’s usual correspondences.
Even still, she did swat away his amorous hands long enough to pen a decent letter to Mrs. Dove-Lyon.
A proper lady should always acknowledge and express appreciation for a gift, after all.
Was the letter one of her well-worded, clear correspondences with beautiful penmanship and absolutely no ink droplets in the margins?
Sadly, no. But Nell wasn’t sure when she would find time to create one of those for Mrs. Dove-Lyon, and she did not want the gambling proprietress to think her ungrateful.
Dear Mrs. Dove-Lyon
No doubt word has reached you that the courtship between Lord Beckett and me has ended in matrimony.
Whether you are gifted by God in your matchmaking skills or simply have luck on your side, I thank you.
Words cannot express my gratitude for all that you have done for me.
Life is unpredictable, people even more so.
Should you ever have need of our help or goodwill, please call upon us.
There is no favor big enough we could repay.
Yours,
Nell neé Reid
Countess Beckett
Once her gratitude to Mrs. Dove-Lyon had been properly expressed, Beckett snatched the lap desk from her and demanded her attentions again.
While she enjoyed the activity, she worried that the rest of her lengthy correspondences would feel hurt about her lack of responses.
Beckett assured her that Timothy, as she now was asked to call him, would forgive the absence of her often thrice-weekly chess letters since they could now match wits in person.
And everyone else would understand that there were certain weeks of a person’s life when a community forgave selfishness. One of those was just after marriage.
Not that she would ever complain of marital attentions.
The books she had read were informative, and when describing them to Beckett, he demonstrated the suggestions accordingly, which was very edifying.
For herself, she had found favorites, and preferred sequences, but was happy to acknowledge her neophyte’s understanding.
Beckett assured her that he was happy to obtain as many “marital manuals” as he called them, to help further her education.
It was a month before either of them could snatch even an hour of constructive time.
Still, they both lounged in Beckett’s study.
She dandled her stocking feet in his lap, her mind occupied by news sheets, pamphlets, or novels, his on letters from other members of Parliament.
She would often interrupt his concentration, peering over her own material to share an idea or philosophy, or make a prediction about the stock market or a foreign war.
Beckett always lowered his papers, listened, and they would launch into the real-world consequences of her ideas, turning and examining to see if the idea had merit.
Indeed, when Beckett listened to her analysis, they found that his investments improved by four percent.
And while his broker didn’t appreciate the interference at first, after seeing the results, he seemed pleased by these sudden insights.
They blended themselves so completely together that Nell could no longer recall her life without his influence, and he hers.
She consulted him about the menu for her upcoming tea with her friends.
He ran through proposal language, parsing every preposition with her to make sure the wording was as clear and concise as he could make it.
They both knew dark times would still lie ahead, as was inevitable for all creatures, them included.
He knew of her fits, and she knew of his depressive states.
But what they could promise was a pledge to help the other one as best they knew how.
To learn and improve, to pay attention and listen, to hold nothing back, even if reticence was both of their natural inclinations.
If all their time making love produced an heir, so be it.
Beckett no longer wanted to erase himself from history, nor did he need to have a legacy.
Nell had no current interest in children, and the years where she could safely carry a child were not as long as they had once been.
But for now, they were content to be at peace.
For while they had previously thought they were happy with their solid, perfectly adequate existences, they had now discovered the magic to live a life more extraordinary.
For aside from love, what else would be worth her time?
The End