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His gaze sharpened and glittered with fierce triumph, and the fingers untying his neckcloth paused briefly. How silly it all sounded considering she had birthed a child. Now she wished she had told him the details of how she had lost her virtue. But she had been too grateful he hadn’t demanded a great explanation. But what if he now had expectations of her experience as a lover? Phoebe felt woefully unprepared for this level of intimacy and boldness.
She cast her mind to the past and recalled that before she had even dared to kiss George that night, she had consumed at least five glasses of sherry, and everything had been hazy and warm. Though she did not think she needed the liquid courage to be warm, for she was already burning with a frightful heat.
“Have you…have you done this before?”
A crooked half smile curved his lips, and he nodded once.
The neckcloth dropped to the floor, and his shirt was dragged from his trousers, the buttons undone. How fiercely her heart shook, and a sweet, mystifying ache trembled low in her belly when he pushed the shirt from his body.
Oh! The body he was revealing was lithe and beautifully muscled, showing not an ounce of fat. His hands went to his trousers, and she couldn’t bear to look anymore. She heard when they fell to the floor, imagined she heard when he removed his stockings from his feet. Phoebe could feel his stare on her face and fighting the blush, she faced him. He was…splendidly formed, corded with smooth muscle, full of power and elegance. Tight buttocks flowed into lean, strong legs.
She colored fiercely as she glanced at his manhood. He jutted proudly, and to her mind he seemed significantly larger than all the wicked paintings and sculptures she had seen. He padded over to her, and his male beauty stole her breath. Her heart pounded, and her hands trembled as she reached out and touched him, trailing her fingertips over his chest.
He was so beautiful.
The stark lines of his face were heightened by desire. Hugh cupped her cheek and took her mouth with his. Phoebe clutched at his arms and tipped slightly onto her toes. His kiss offered no mercy, but she didn’t want that tender consideration, responding to the ravishing force of his kiss with artless wonder.
It was over too soon, and a soft sigh of need escaped from her. In complete silence, he removed her chemise and stays, stockings, and drawers. Phoebe stood naked before her husband, the curtain of her hair covering her breasts and shoulders. A wave of shyness engulfed her, but she lifted her chin and returned his stare. He seemed awe-struck, and the awareness of it filled her with a sense of wonder. His regard was slow and pointedly bold as he perused her body. Desire lit the beautiful depths of his eyes as they moved over her face and then down the length of her.
“You are stunning, my wife.”
The warm admiration in his eyes as they stroked over her was pleasing.
She closed the distance between them by taking two small tentative steps toward him. His thumb brushed her cheek tenderly before he signed. “Are you scared?”
Unexpected yearning rose to choke her like thick smoke. “I want you too much to be afraid,” she whispered.
His mouth was hot and sweet as it ghosted over her lips, down to the hollow of her throat. Soft, fiery kisses drifted over her shoulders. The mass of hair was lifted from her nape, and kisses littered across to her shoulders. Hugh shifted the heaviness of her hair to her front where the long, thick tresses cascaded over her body to cover her breasts and most of her belly. Acutely conscious of the nakedness of her back, Phoebe trembled. The powerful heat behind her was at once arousing and intimidating. She could feel the press of his manhood against her backside, eliciting a most tender ache between her thighs. That reaction surprised and captivated her in equal measure.
He kissed her neck, and she jolted when his hands came around her from behind and cupped her breasts. The touch of his fingertips on her nipples was a delicious sensation. Gently he shaped her breasts into his arm, while he nuzzled the side of her neck. A low moan broke from her throat. Suddenly Phoebe could no longer be certain of who she was and what her reaction would be to her husband. She felt taken over…altered in a way she had yet to understand.
He coasted his hands down her body, spread his hands over her stomach, beginning a slow descent to the secret heart of her. Phoebe gasped and trembled in his embrace. Once he was there, he simply rested his hands above her mons. There was a wicked ripple of response between her thighs from such a simple action. Her heart pounded, and she swallowed tightly.
The anticipation made her squirm, and she moved her hands that had been passively resting at her sides, lifted them above her head, and twined them around his neck, inadvertently thrusting her breasts out more. He twisted her body, and she gasped when he dipped his head and took her hardened nipple into his mouth. Phoebe’s entire body surged under the flash of heat.
“Hugh!”
He lavished the same attention on her other breast, the sensations wreaking havoc with her sensibilities and sense of control. Her chest lifted on shuddering gasps. He delved through the soft hair between her thighs, until he found her slit, pressing firmly over her most tender flesh, stroking. She turned her face into his throat, gasping as sensations built.
He swept her, weightless, into his arms and made his way over to the large bed. She was deposited into the center, and his frame blanketed hers. He used his tongue to trace the fullness of her mouth before taking her lips in another ravishing kiss. His mouth moved down her neck, her breasts, and his h
ands seemed to be everywhere, sliding and molding and shaping and stroking to a fever pitch of arousal.
Then he was there again, rubbing along the soft folds of her sex. He nudged her legs open wider with his and settled into the welcoming cradle of her thighs. She lifted her leg and rubbed it along his shin.
“I ache, Hugh,” she gasped. “I hunger, but I do not know what I need.”
Two of his fingers slid deep inside her body, and she gasped at the full feeling. Phoebe gripped his shoulders and clasped him to her. The awareness he could not say to her how he felt…only intensified the painful sense of unfulfilled ache, the desperate need to hold him to her, to take him into her body. She wanted to crawl into his skin. The shock of how much she wanted him scared her. It felt too consuming.
His fingers disappeared, and a hard, blunt pressure was pressed against her soft opening. She felt the heady sensation of his lips against the soft hollow of her throat, the bite of his fingers at her hips as he anchored her for his penetration. His hips flexed, and then he drove his length to the hilt inside her welcoming body.
A cry of shock tore from Phoebe, and she froze, gripping his shoulders so tightly, she would leave impressions on his skin. The pressure stretching her felt too much. She tried to recall if her first time had felt anything like this, but the scent, feel, and taste of her husband had obliterated that last vestige of memories. All she would feel, smell, was him.
“Hugh?” she asked tremulously, shifting slightly then gasping at the tight painful stretch.
He kissed the corner of her mouth, then her nose, and then her eyelids. His touch meant to soothe, but her anxiety climbed.
“I do not think you should move,” she whispered.
