Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
Jessamine watched Andrew as, in the guttering firelight, he removed his coat. Every movement he made was methodical, done in a specific order. That was the way he liked things—for them all to be done exactly as he believed they ought.
At the beginning of their marriage, she had seen that inflexibility as an impediment. A problem. Now, she understood him better. That inflexibility, adhering to his morals and beliefs, had both kept him alive and hindered his growth.
He had needed to hold tight to the things that mattered. Survival in the war had been about doing things precisely right all of the time. If he didn’t, people died. Discipline, for him, was the backbone of life and society.
But she wanted to introduce a little flexibility into his life. Especially when it came to William. And her.
His gaze rose slowly to hers, the heat inside it setting fire to her own nerves. How sweet it was to burn. She would never have known if she had not cracked Andrew’s icy shell.
“I have been waiting for this for longer than you could ever know,” he said gruffly, his voice sending shivers through her. Such need—she didn’t know how she could ever have incited it in him.
She never wanted to lose it.
“Tell me,” she said.
He hesitated. This never came easily to him, opening himself up like a clam for her to harvest. The only time he felt safe was when he kept everything vulnerable tucked away. But for them to have a future, he would have to open himself up to her, if no one else.
“Since before we kissed,” he said gruffly, folding his coat carefully and placing it on a chair. He turned his attention to his waistcoat. A now-familiar bulge decorated his breeches. “Since our wedding night, truth be told. I never thought…”
“You never expected to want me?” Jessamine asked, toying with the ribbons at the bodice of her nightgown.
“Precisely.” His nostrils flared as he watched her.
Time to put on a show.
Forgiving him had been easy. She’d forgiven him the moment he had taken her into his arms and carried her into her bedroom. As soon as he admitted his wrongdoing and that he wanted to pursue a life with her, she had completely and utterly forgiven him.
But she could not forget.
One did not simply forget. His dismissal of her had hurt, and she did not want to repay pain with pain—that was one of the first issues that came from warmongering—but she was more than happy to make him suffer in other ways.
Leaving the nightgown where it was, she drew her fingers up her thighs, sliding the skirts up to reveal bare skin. His gaze locked on it immediately, fingers stilling on his buttons.
“I am a novice,” she said, unable to help the breathiness in her voice. “Explain to me precisely how this shall go. What will you do to me once you have the opportunity?”
His hands went to his breeches, and she shook her head, even as she spread her legs as though readying herself for him. Instead, she dipped a finger between her thighs. The wetness she found there astounded even herself, and she bit back a sigh of pleasure.
Andrew let out a strained groan that sounded almost like pain.
“Explain it to me,” she said, finding her entrance and circling her middle finger there before dipping it in.
Every muscle in her body tightened at the intrusion, but it wasn’t right. It wasn’t enough. She didn’t merely want her own unpracticed fingers, but his. She wanted all of him, the way she knew she could have him.
She wanted him to stretch her fully.
Oh, all the things she wanted.
His throat worked as he watched her with a feral intensity, but he brought his hands back to his waistcoat buttons.
“When I’m naked,” he said, fumbling with the buttons, “I will touch you. Finally.” His voice rasped the word. “And bring you to your peak.”
“And then?”
“I will guide you to touching me.” He brought his hand to the bulge in his breeches and palmed himself as though unable to stop himself. “And when you are good and ready, I will lie you on your back and lie over you and we will take it slowly as I…”
He released a shuddering breath and hurried through the remaining buttons.
“As you what?” she prompted, dipping her finger inside herself. Her back arched in pleasure, and she bit back a gasp.
Andrew released a growl. “And I will take you as my wife.”
He removed his waistcoat, folding it hurriedly, and removed his shirt. That received the same treatment, and then he finally turned his attention to his breeches. A few moments later, his length sprang free, almost purple with need.
Jessamine looked at it greedily, drinking in the sight, her hand working more quickly between her thighs. His desire made her own more potent. This was enjoyable in and of itself, but it was rendered far more enjoyable by the way he watched her.
As she watched, he took himself in his hand and pumped once.
“Then I will thrust inside you,” he said, his voice dark with promise. “And you will like it, Mina. I will work you until you come apart around me, and when I’m done, I will give you my seed.”
She throbbed with need, aching and empty in a way she was entirely unfamiliar with. “Do you want me?”
“More than you will ever know.” His gaze was fixed on the movement of her hand. “May I touch you?”
She considered, putting her desire to one side for a moment. He had not taken her consent for granted, holding himself back and asking, and there was a lot to be said for that.
But he had not waited for her long enough. Not nearly long enough.
“This is your punishment,” she told him, eyeing the bead of eager moisture at the end of his member. “Sit down on a chair and watch me. Guide me toward my first peak. You may not touch yourself.”
He sucked in a breath through his teeth, and she wondered if he would submit to her. A man like Andrew submitted to no one. That was the way of things. The way he had built his world.
This was not merely about punishment, but about how much he was willing to offer her.
She wanted everything; she would not settle for less.
If he refused her now, she would still move forward in the marriage with him, would still accept his offer of a family and of love, but she would hold a piece of herself back.
Protecting herself against the potential of being hurt again.
But Andrew moved back and sat himself in the armchair by the fire, turning so he might see her. He placed both hands on the arms of the chair and directed his burning gaze back at her.
“Does this satisfy you, my love?”
My love. She thrilled at the endearment. “It does. Tell me what to do next?”
He closed his eyes briefly, inhaling through his nose, then opened them again, turning his attention once more to her hand between her legs.
“Your instinct has guided you well. But you may benefit from both hands. Don’t be afraid, Jessamine.
Spread yourself for me. One finger inside, and the other hand above. ”
She felt down herself with her other hand, dragging it slowly down her stomach until finally she reached her damp curls. “Here? Like this?”
He made a sound that might have been agreement, or might have been torment. “Like that. Find your bud. There will be a place that is especially sensitive. You will want to touch that. Rub it gently. Find what feels best. Listen to your body.”
Her body was clamoring for his input, but she tried to pay attention to the sensation of her fingers, the sparks of pleasure that came from the contact. She was so very wet, almost slippery, but that merely aided her movements.
There, that must be her bud. A place where sensation seemed to stem. When she ran her fingers over it, her body jerked entirely out of her control.
In the end, as Andrew watched, she almost stilled the hand inside herself—it was so much less than she felt she wanted—and concentrated on the fingers sliding through her folds.
As the pleasure grew even greater, drawing her toward her peak, she felt her own coordination lessen even as the sensation grew almost too overwhelming.
She pressed her knees together, trapping her hand.
“Andrew,” she moaned.
The leather creaked as he sat on the very edge of the chair. “Open your legs, my love,” he said, or rather, begged.
Her Andrew, begging her.
She would never have enough of that.
“You’re close,” he told her. “Open your legs and keep going. That will get you there. Please.”
She did as he commanded, opening her legs and pressing right against her bud, right where she needed it the most.
And after an excruciating few seconds as she felt her climax building, she finally exploded.
It did not quite feel like the same climaxes she’d had with Andrew before. Then, he’d been holding the reins, and he’d been able to continue touching her the way she needed the most. This time, her own fingers held her in place, and she was unable to maintain the pressure she needed.
When she opened her eyes again, once the final flutterings had passed, she opened her eyes to find Andrew on the very edge of his chair, his fingers white-knuckled on the arms.
“Jessamine,” he said.
She could wait no longer; she wanted to wait no longer. She opened her arms to him. “Come.”
He didn’t need to be asked twice. In a heartbeat, he was across the room and crawling over her, pressing her back into the bed.
“You do not know what waiting did to me,” he said against her neck. His length twitched against her, hot and demanding.
Jessamine smiled at the ceiling. “I can guess.”
“Will you do that to me often?”
“As often as I please. Will you do as I request often?”
“As often as you request it,” he said, and he kissed her, pressing her back against the pillows. “Though it may kill me.”
“I hope it doesn’t.” She tilted his face to hers. “I hope it is the sweetest torment.”
“It is that.” He kissed her back, deeply, claiming her mouth with more desperation than usual.
As though he felt the need to prove to the world—to himself, to her—that she belonged to him.
And Jessamine, no longer wishing to be held apart, yielded to him entirely.