Chapter Sixteen
It had almost undone him when Abigail had lifted her hips, pressing herself up against him.
She had rather a way of making him lose control, Robert thought wryly.
After all, it had happened just this morning.
Losing himself like that was what a wayward schoolboy did, not a man of thirty, but that was what she reduced him to.
Perhaps that was his saving grace, but he would at least manage this act without embarrassing himself.
He untangled his hand from her coiling mass of brown hair, so sweetly smelling of her—sea salt, sugar and the fresh air—before maneuvering further down her delightful body, until his hand was cupping her hip, propping her at a better angle to slide inside her.
“I’ve heard that it can hurt,” she said. Robert had been thinking the exact same thing and wondering precisely how to say this as a warning.
“I will be as slow as I can, and if you wish to stop, just say so.” His voice was husky, rich and pained with want, but if she told him to, he’d back away and spill himself outside her again.
Abigail pressed her hips up again, the warm wetness of her sex catching at the end of his cock. Robert gasped at the tempting pleasure of it.
“I want you.” Abigail squirmed up against him, and Robert knew the pair of them were done with waiting, no matter if there was a spasm of pain, no matter if he might one day feel regret for the lies, he had spun to reach this point, they had reached a point of no return.
His hand returned to hold at her hip, to sink his greedy fingers into the curve of her behind, as with as much deft skill as he could manage, he sank himself deep within her.
For a fraction of a second, he thought he felt a barrier, the old-fashioned, overly valued maidenhead given away, and then all he felt was the sweet clenching answer of Abigail.
His mouth moved from her breast up her throat and toward her mouth, capturing her gasp, tasting sweat and pleasure on her lips, and tentatively started to move his hips in a slow rocking motion, testing and teasing her for a response.
It came with all speed and with a ferocity that made Robert grin as Abigail’s nail sank in his shoulders, holding him to her, her breath and gabbled words in his ear, urging him on. Faster. Stronger. Deeper.
The motions were as controlled, as patient as he could manage.
Robert was keen not to overwhelm her. In the darkness with just the shallow light from the candle and the flicker of stars from the window, he could only see snatches or a dim reflection of her.
It was enough to inflame. After all, he had been fascinated about this for weeks.
And besides, he could feel her well enough, every naked, absorbing inch of her beneath him, clinging to his shoulders as if her life depended on it.
One of his hands kept them steady on the narrow bed, the other stole down her body, parting their desperate limbs, seeking out the little pearl of her sex, eager in himself to find her release so he could let himself find his own. When his fingers dove between her curls, Abigail cried out.
“Please, I can’t…” The murmurs, the entries were half whispered, half cried, and Robert kissed her where he could reach, including her forehead and strands of her wayward hair.
“I’ve got you, my girl…” He stopped himself from going further, as his fingertips stroked and teased, delighting in the noise he could hear which was coming from the back of her throat as Abigail stretched and arched against him.
He drove down deeper into her, marveling at the waves of pleasure echoed through his body, the movements of the pair of them neither elegant yet somehow linking up with each other.
His right hand which was his balling up the white sheet above her head as an anchor to hold the pair of them steady, meant he leaned forward until his elbow sank down too, all the while his hips levered down into her, and Abigail withered up to meet him.
She was straining against the movements combining alongside the play of his fingertips, the joy of watching her making him lose whatever grip he had on his control, until suddenly he felt her shudder, the tension loosen from her body with a cry, and then he released his fingers both coming up to nestle in her hair, as his hips bounded into her, claiming as much of Abigail as he could.
When his own release came, it was both heaven-sent, and almost tortuous as it meant he had to slip out of the tight, sweet hold she had on him, and spill over her thighs.
“What are you doing?” Her question was laden with sleep, as Robert slipped from the bed, and went to the water ewer nearby to help clean them both up.
“Being neater than you,” he teased. With a soft and gentle touch, he wiped at her legs, cleaning away any signs of their lovemaking.
“You pulled back…” She continued, eyes watching him as he discarded the rag on the side table. Once done, he climbed back in next to her, pulling Abigail next to him. She nestled close and yawned sleepily, her breath warm on his chest. “It means I can’t fall pregnant.”
Of course, his Abigail had read of such things, “It reduces our chances that you might.”
She gave another yawn as her hand snaked out and pulled some of the forgotten covers over the pair of them, creating a little cocoon of tangled limbs, deep breaths and on his part unspoken honesty.
Minutes ticked past whilst Robert waited for her to ask more.
To say something, to question him on why he wouldn’t want children with her, or to point out that he should have proposed by now.
But she didn’t. Instead into the darkness the only sound that Abigail made was a gentle rhythmic breathing. She had fallen asleep.
“I love you.” Having said it before to an empty workshop.
Now it was a step closer to admitting it to her, although Robert had his doubts that he would ever be able to tell Abigail when she was awake and aware.
If he did then he’d have to admit all of the lies and then her very life would be in danger.
So, he made himself be content with whispering his endearments into her sprawling cascade of hair, the whispered admittance rather like a prayer, and in a way, Robert was praying, desperate for someone to hear him.
He didn’t care if it was his mother’s Catholic priest, or his father’s protestant vicar, perhaps it was in fact directed toward his own false idol, that of Montacute and the navy, but he hoped almost against reason it would fall on the ears of someone out there, if only for his own selfish relief.
*
When Robert woke it was to the soft but insistent touch of feminine fingers, boldly exploring his chest with increasing interest, Abigail’s kisses stirring him awake as he lay beneath her exploration.
With great affection, and a teasing grin on her face, Abigail sprawled across him, before snatching a more than willing kiss from his lips.
Hastily his own hands closed around holding her against him, as he righted himself and pulled her more securely around him—her breasts flattening against his chest, her legs wrapping themselves around his waist, and once more her hands and nails sinking into the tops of his shoulders.
This is where she should always be. It was precisely where he wished to find her each morning.
His hand reached up and held her face, his left thumb coming to rest on the cleft in her chin, pressing against it lovingly. “God, I think this might be my favorite part of you. Sometimes I think it haunts me.”
Abigail just laughed at that.
They kissed leisurely, enjoying the sensation of warmth, and touch, of the heady wonder of long luxurious kisses and quick pecks, before their hunger grew again, and Robert’s cock nudged against her sex once more.
“Do you wish to stay atop me?” Robert asked into Abigail’s neck, as he kissed a pathway over her skin, enjoying the noises she made as his stubble rubbed on her skin.
“Is that the best way?” Her question was all eagerness, and when Robert eased her more fully over him, he was pleased to feel her welcoming wetness. With as much skill as he could muster, he guided her down so that she teasingly mounted him.
“Now you can control the movement.” His hands slide to her waist, one cupping the shape of her backside to encourage her to move.
With a tilt of her hips and then a shift backwards, sensation pounded through him, and he leaned back to watch a growing smile spread over Abigail’s mouth as she practiced the movements again and again, growing in both skill and confidence as her breath began more ragged.
He lifted his hands to mold to the shape of her breasts, pleased when Abigail gave into the sensation, tilting her head back, her motions growing increasingly wild as she set her own pace.
When his hand dropped from her breast, tracing down her stomach and to the small peak amongst her curls, it was their mutual delight as her eyes shot open and she let a strange half cry of pleasure.
“Robert.” His name was thicker, more desperate as Abigail’s arms and legs tightened, her torso shook, and she flung herself down onto him, utterly gone on wildness as her mouth found his lips, kissing him and leaving him to continue the driving rocking movement, until he felt her finish against him.
As painful as it was for himself, he rolled her speedily off his cock, his hand coming up to finish the job. Abigail rolled down next to him, her hand joining his, to help, her tentative touch enough to mean he was soon spending across her trembling hand.