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“Please…what are you doing to me?” she whispered.
“Pleasuring you, darling.”
It was not a fit enough word. It was more than pleasure she felt, more than mere enjoyment. He teased her nipples until her legs tensed and her hips started to move of their own accord. She wanted to tell him to stop but at the same time she never wanted him to stop. Her gasps turned to groans, wordless pleas for more. Through all of this he watched her with intense concentration. In some way, she knew she pleased him with her reactions, even though his face was rigid with control.
When she thought she couldn’t bear another moment of his teasing caresses, his fingers left her breasts and traced lower, warmly, inexorably toward the place he made her throb. She drew her legs together out of some sense of decorum, but he would not allow that. He eased her thighs apart, stroking her, murmuring soft and reassuring words. She forced herself to open to him. He will not hurt me. I know he will not hurt me. He slid her nightgown out of the way, then pulled it up over her head and off to join their dressing gowns on the floor. He turned his attention back to her, cupping her breasts, bringing them to his mouth. When his lips closed over them her pelvis arched in response, and she felt some hot, thick hardness against her front.
She forgot all about the heady sensation of his mouth in the shock of discovery. It was him, his male organ, but swollen to grotesque proportions. She didn’t want to be afraid, to be some silly, shrinking miss, but she felt a moment of pure terror. He paused and took her face in his hands.
“You mustn’t fret,” he said. “It is my body’s natural response to you. Touch me if you like. Explore how I feel.”
He pressed her hands down so she didn’t have a choice. He felt…large. Unyielding and stiff and…very hard. He will not hurt me. He wouldn’t. But what if it couldn’t be helped? One of the few things she knew about the marital act was that he had to go inside her, and that it hurt to accomplish it the first time. Her husband was larger in stature than most men. Perhaps that meant he was larger…all over. Why hadn’t anyone warned her of this before?
“What if it doesn’t fit?” she whispered, circling his width with her fingers.
He drew in a halting breath. “It will fit.”
She wasn’t sure she believed him. She moved her hand in a tentative way, up and down his length. He gasped and she let go.
“Did I hurt you?”
He shook his head. “Not in the way you think.”
She tried to figure that out but she couldn’t, not when he resumed kissing and suckling her breasts. He stroked a hand up her thigh, gripping her sore buttocks and kneading them. He set that spot throbbing harder, that tightening, tingling place between her thighs, and then he moved his hand right to the veriest point of the sensation. He parted her and placed the tip of a finger just over that apex. Harmony grasped at his shoulders as he pressed it gently. “Oh, no. Oh, no.”
“No?” He chuckled, stroking the delicate place again.
She didn’t mean no, she only meant that it felt too wicked, too deliciously wonderful and frightening to be borne. Now she felt sensation all over her body, in her lips, her breasts, her bottom, and deep within herself, in places she didn’t even think about before now. She tightened her fingers against his skin as he persisted in tormenting her with her body’s reactions. She watched his face, still tight in concentration, then stared at the mat of hair covering his chest. His body was so unlike hers, and yet the things he knew about her… The things he knew to do to her with those agile hands…
“Is this very proper?” she whispered, clinging to him.
“It is proper enough between husband and wife.” He studied her with curiosity. “Have you never touched yourself here? Never in your life?”
She shook her head, letting out another gasp. “No. But I would…I would have…if I had only known what it felt like.”
“You may touch yourself now,” he said against her lips. “Whenever you like, as long as you are in a private place. As long as you think of me while you do it.”
Harmony didn’t think she could touch herself and make it feel the way he did. He amazed her. Could all gentlemen perform this magic? But of course, she realized in a moment of clarity. This was why young ladies were warned not to be alone with a man, ever. Because of this.
“All gentlemen can do this,” she said aloud with a kind of shock.
Her husband stiffened above her. “What?”
“This is why…this is why ladies must have a chaperone. Why they must not be alone with men.” Her eyes flew to his. “This is what they all believed we did, at the inn in Newcastle.” She understood now why they had to marry. Once you did this with a person, how could you do any other thing than spend your life together? “It’s amazing that gentlemen can do this thing,” she said.
“For your purposes, only one gentleman can ‘do this thing.’ That gentleman is me.”
She smiled up at him. “Yes, sir.”
“I am serious, Harmony. You will take no other lovers.”
She felt confusion. “Why would I want other lovers? You are exceedingly good at this.”
He made a strangled kind of sound and she began to regret bringing it up in the first place. She wanted him to touch her again, touch her forever. She felt a most pressing need for more. “There is more, isn’t there?” she whispered as he teased her nipples again.
“Yes, there is more.” He seemed agitated and pleased at the same time. “This next part is the best part.”
“It cannot possibly be better than this.”
He came over her then, the full, tall bulk of him, and settled between her thighs. He drove her legs wider, sliding his knees between them. His warmth assailed her. His whole body covered her and bore her down, the heavy evidence of his arousal nestling just below her aching, needy spot. There was a humid wetness there that came from her body. She knew what would happen next, that he would drive into her there, where she was hot and wet. She felt another fluttering of fear. He will not hurt me. He would never hurt me.
“This may hurt a little at first,” he said against her ear. “Hold onto me.”
She put her hands on his shoulders as he nuzzled kisses upon her neck. He moved over her, positioning himself against her down there, and it felt pleasant, not painful. But there was more… He reared back and moved forward in a convulsive movement.
Harmony stiffened as he drove deep, too deep. There was sharp pain and uncomfortable pressure. He held her still and trapped, and she felt panic.
“Please,” she gasped. “You do not fit me.”
He stopped, bracing his elbows on either side of her. His whole body tensed, his face a tormented mask.
“It is hurting you too,” she said. “Please stop.”
He let out a harsh breath. “It is not hurting me, dearest. It is only that— If you will be still—”
She wriggled to evade him. “This is not the best part at all!”
“Harmony!” His sharp tone stilled her. She lay beneath him, panting as quietly as she could.
“Please,” she said. “Please, you must get out of me before I’m injured.”
He took another deep breath and trapped her chin between his fingers. He kissed her, tenderly, slowly, as if he did not still hold her full and impaled. “Give me a chance,” he whispered against her mouth. “You’ll get used to it.”
She imagined weeks, months, before she could adjust to such discomfort. “Must we…must we do this part?”
“Yes.”
“I liked the other part better.”
“You will come to like this part very much too.”
“When?” she asked with great skepticism.
“About five minutes from now.” He bared his teeth and withdrew from her. She felt some relief, but it was erased by the sensation of him sliding right back in.
“Oh!” she protested—but it didn’t hurt as much this time. He held her hips and did it again, and yet again, a slow withdrawal and another press
