Chapter 22 #2
“Andrew,” she whispered. “Don’t stop.”
“I won’t,” he said, and he kissed her fiercely.
She lost herself to the demands of his tongue and the slow rock of his body against hers.
Distantly, she understood that they were still too clothed—she might have pulled her skirts up around her hips, but he still wore his breeches.
And yet, even despite that, this was just as good as their previous encounter, albeit in a different way.
Before, she had been splayed out before him, and he had feasted on her.
The pleasure had been meltingly good, but there hadn’t been the intimacy that came from his mouth as his body worked them both.
She heard his pleasure in the rasped quality of his breath, could feel the tension in his body.
She let her hands explore his shoulder, putting all the pieces of him together. Every line, every curve, every muscle. Everything that made him who he was—she explored it all. And all the while, he wound her tighter and tighter. It wouldn’t take her long now, she knew.
His fingers found her throat, squeezing lightly. The possessive gesture, though in reality his hand did not obstruct her breathing in any respect, was enough to tip her over the edge. Her peak crashed over her, sending her world white, overwhelming her with heat and pleasure.
When she finally came back into herself, Andrew was still lying on top of her, his chest heaving, his length still hot and hard against her core.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice strained.
She thought again of the last time they had come together, and how then he had not found satisfaction, either. And so she gestured for him to get off her, which he did immediately.
“What is it?” he asked.
Slowly, gaining in confidence, Jessamine ran her hand down his body.
He wanted her, she reminded herself—and he would want this, too.
All she had to do was discover exactly what he liked.
His length was so different from anything she had experienced herself, but that was all right—she would discover the differences, and then she would be able to learn him the way he had learned her.
Step by step. Touch by touch.
His fingers closed around her wrist as she reached the button of his fall. “Jessamine, you don’t have to.” His voice was hoarse.
A rush of affection cascaded over her, in part because of the warmth still in her veins, but in part because he seemed so implacable, so stern on the outside, but when it came to her, he always put her first.
How had she never seen it before?
“Let me do this for you,” she murmured. “I very much want to bring you pleasure the way you did so for me.”
His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, and his fingers loosened around her wrist, giving her leave to move.
She found his length, running her fingers along its girth, feeling him for the first time.
He felt as though he swelled under her hand.
A pinprick of moisture bloomed on his breeches at his head, and she smiled to herself.
“What do you want?” she asked.
His hand came to her hair, caressing gently.
His fingers tangled in the tresses, scraping her scalp.
She shivered at the affectionate gesture.
His other hand unbuttoned his fall, releasing his member, which sprang free as though it had longed for her touch all this time.
She took it eagerly, holding it with both hands.
“Gently,” he instructed her, and took her hand with his, guiding it up and down the shaft.
He hissed a breath and closed his eyes once more.
Jessamine watched his face, greedy for every sign of pleasure, every indication that he was enjoying this.
His hips bucked, almost helplessly, and she pressed a kiss to his shoulder.
Almost impossibly, he swelled still more, and a few seconds later, he groaned, and white spurted across his stomach and his shirt.
She kept going until he gripped her hand, bidding her to stop, and they lay quietly.
“That was not the thank you I was expecting,” he said, a wry note in his voice.
He sat up and pulled out his handkerchief, wiping himself down.
Jessamine also sat up, wrapping her arms around herself. In his ardor, it was as though he wanted nothing more than to be close to her, with her, holding her, but now, like this, when they had both taken their pleasure, it was as though he took a step back from her.
“Do you… regret it?” she asked, hating how small her voice sounded.
He glanced up, looking at her and frowning.
“Regret it? Oh no, Mina.” The nickname fell from his tongue as though he had always said it.
He leaned in and kissed her gently on the lips.
“How could I regret that? I just don’t want…
” He looked away as he searched for the words.
“I don’t want you to feel as though you must do anything out of gratitude. ”
“That wasn’t gratitude, Andrew.”
“Good.” He hesitated, then shrugged off his coat, then his waistcoat. “You should sleep. For as long as you can. I will check in on William.”
“You will?”
“And stay with him to soothe him if he’s crying. But don’t forget that Lucy will be there, too.”
“Lucy should also have some time to sleep,” Jessamine said.
“Then I will give her that time. Now sleep.” He kissed her again, then guided her down with her head on the pillows. “You must be exhausted after such a long day,” he murmured, brushing her hair back from her face. “So sleep, and tomorrow we will take William out somewhere. Does that sound good?”
He was right: she was exhausted. “Yes,” she whispered. “That does sound good. Where will we go?”
“On a walk through Hyde Park?” he suggested. “We can wheel William along with us. He’ll enjoy the fresh air. You said he enjoyed the picnic.”
The picnic, which she had taken the day after they had last been intimate. This felt like a step in the right direction; he was not walking away from her just because they had engaged in… whatever it was they had engaged in.
“All right.” She gripped his hand. “Wake me if there’s any trouble.”
“I will,” he promised, and when she closed her eyes, he was walking to the door and closing it softly behind him.
Dressed in his nightclothes, Andrew sat in the small nursery with William, watching as the sky lightened toward dawn.
As predicted, Lucy required a rest, and so he had said he would sit in with the boy.
He shouldn’t have given in to temptation.
Desire was too strong with Jessamine, but if he wasn’t careful, he risked upsetting the perfect balance they had established.
Far easier to be parents than to be lovers and parents.
Far harder to maintain their good relations with the complication that was lust.
Every time he replayed her small hand traveling down his body in order to give him some relief, he felt another surge of protective affection.
She deserved so much more from him than she was getting. She deserved affection that was not contingent on her performance in the bedroom, and that did not rely on intimacy.
She deserved a man who did not share her nightmares, but could carry her through them.
In other words, she deserved an entirely better husband. But she had him, and he was damn well determined to make her as happy as he possibly could.
No matter what it took.