Raising up, he got to his knees and moved on the bed, placing her feet flat upon the mattress, alongside his thighs. Reaching beneath her, he lifted her hips and positioned himself there, just at her curls. Jane was beautiful, everywhere. He drew his gaze up and met her eyes. She was still afraid, but willing to brave it out. “You will tell me to stop if you’re in discomfort.”
Her eyes widened. “You can do that?”
His smile was wry. “I can do whatever you wish.” With his eyes remaining on hers, he pushed inside of her with a languid stroke, without hesitation, but also without hurry.
Her eyes widened further and her pretty lips formed a round ‘O’ of surprise. “I’d not thought it possible.”
He moved his hand to where they were joined and pressed firm, rhythmic strokes against her soft, wet heat as he slowly withdrew and returned as gently as he began. He shook with need, with the insistent, instinctive urge to plunder her with abandon, but he determinedly shoved it aside and continued to make slow love to her, in and out, easily, unhurriedly, watching her face, fascinated by her constantly changing expressions; surprised, anxious, relieved, surprised again, concentrating, puzzled, and then she looked . . . pleased. Her lips curved into a slow, seductive smile.
“Oh, my,” she murmured, watching him.
“Yes.” He was strangely unwilling to finish, to interrupt the moment. He felt as though he knew her thoughts, was inside of her in more ways than one. His fingers remained within her softness, constantly stroking, and he knew she was close to release, could feel her muscles working around his shaft with every slow thrust.
“I wonder . . . ” She began, blushing before she finished the thought.
“What do you wonder, Jane?”
“Am I to . . . wait? It’s becoming difficult to do so, but I’m not sure what you want.”
The need inside of him increased exponentially and threatened to take him over. Exultant, as pleased for Jane as he was for himself, he moved his hand away and shifted position, stretching above her without withdrawing, resting his weight along his forearms until his body was flush with hers. “Do not wait,” he whispered as he kissed her. “Give over, Jane. Let yourself go.”
Her legs wrapped around his hips and he allowed the beast to consume him, increasing the speed of his thrusts until she panted short, gasping breaths, her body shook beneath him, and her muscles contracted around him. Scarce moments later, he shuddered and poured into her, ending with a glad sigh.
He’d barely caught his breath before she was raining sweet kisses across his face. “Thank you . . . oh, thank you! What a remarkable man you are, and how fortunate I am.”
“Ah, Jane, you’re not nearly so fortunate as I.” He returned her kisses, well aware his weight must be pressing the air from her lungs but not ready to move away. Not yet.
“Is this something we’ll do again soon?”
He listened for a strain of fear, for any sign of hesitation or dread. He didn’t hear it. All he heard was curiosity, perhaps tinged with a certain eagerness. He wanted to laugh and shout his satisfaction. Instead, he kissed her again before he rolled off of her, dragging her with him to tuck next to his side, throwing a possessive leg across hers. “I daresay we’ll most definitely do this again, very soon.”
She yawned and settled against him, mumbling something about waking her when he was ready before she drifted off to sleep. He recalled she’d said she had a fairly sleepless night, fretting about whether to tell him her secret. How much it must have taken for her to meet him this morning and reveal something that clearly caused her great grief and consternation.
Not for a moment had he considered withdrawing. He was set on marrying her, and by God, it was done. She was his wife now, as she should have been four years ago.
Lying there, holding her soft body close to his, listening to her deep, rhythmic breaths, he was well aware the danger of falling in love with her was as great, if not perhaps greater, than it had been four years ago. All the reasons he’d had then for resisting her were alive and well.
He would resist. He would not contemplate otherwise. He didn’t doubt he would grieve if she died, but he would soldier on. Without love, he could bury her and retain his peace of mind.
Without love, he could calmly, rationally bear witness to the attentions of other men, which was inevitable because where there was a woman of Jane’s beauty and vitality, there were men who paid homage. He would not allow himself to feel threatened. She pledged to be faithful and he had no reason to disbelieve her.
He gathered her closer. She stirred and tightened her arm about his middle. “So drowsy . . . so sorry. Perhaps you might catch a wink yourself?”