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—Samuel Richardson, History of Sir Charles Grandison (1754)
Three days abed and Jeremy still relished the simple pleasures of life, only now he did have his wife in the bed next to him. His discharge from hospital had come with some strict directives though. For both of them. His old school friend, and now physician, Nathaniel Cameron, had ordered Jeremy unfit to travel for at least a month, so they wouldn’t be returning to Hallborough before the New Year, at least.
The good doctor had also been very firm about Gina, declaring her worn out to the point of collapse and in much need of restorative rest. It was still too early to confirm a pregnancy, he’d said, but quite likely for she’d not had her courses since they’d married.
For himself, Jeremy was positive his seed had taken root. He couldn’t say how he knew, but he believed it true and for the first time in his life felt as if he had accomplished something worthwhile. Honorable. And he liked feeling that way.
Watching her sleep was something he could do for hours. And as he was confined to bed with Gina stretched out next to him, he could indulge himself. He propped on his good
side and tucked his hand under his cheek and just focused on her features.
The dark of her lashes lay on her cheeks, her hair spilled over the pillow. She wore a scant green gown of silk that gave him a cockstand at first sight, even though he was in no shape to act on it. It was sleeveless in the way of a shift and clung to her body like paint. The flow of her breasts under the silk called to him. The impulse to bury his face between the swells before feasting on them got him painfully blue-veined.
Her soft snore punctured the silence of the dawn. Breathing in, he could smell roses blended with her feminine scent, and a small satisfied moan escaped from his throat at the thought of getting his nose right up against her skin.
It was very early in the morning, the quiet time right before the bustling activity of the day began. His woman was safe next to him and he was alive, and Jeremy couldn’t resist reaching out to touch…
* * * *
Georgina woke to warmth radiating into her body and hands on her skin. Jeremy’s lips, firm but gentle, kissed her shoulder. She felt the rasp of his whiskers as he swept them across her neck to the valley between her breasts.
She’d missed this—her Jeremy reaching for her, needing her. His mouth burrowed on below the neckline of her gown, closed over a nipple, and sucked the areola far up into a hot, wet, seeking mouth. Divine.
She moaned and arched at the shot of pure pleasure that ratcheted all the way down between her legs. He grunted when she thrust up against him, and she realized why.
“Sorry! Oh, dear God, Jeremy, did I hurt you just now?”
“I don’t mind. You’re very worth it,” he mumbled, still suckling, seemingly undeterred by the pain she’d inflicted.
“But I hurt you!”
“Not quite in top form yet, m’dear, but I’ll get there, I promise you.” His words muffled by the fact his lips were busy with her breasts.
“Jeremy,” she admonished, “I can’t be bumping into your wounds and risk hurting you. We shouldn’t—you can’t—”
“Waste another moment talking about tiresome subjects like wounds when we could be doing other, more tempting things,” he interrupted, still laving his tongue over aching nipples that she wanted to push up hard against his mouth, but didn’t dare for fear of jolting his injuries more.
“You taste so good I don’t think I can stop. I don’t want to ever stop, my Gina.” He kept his mouth sucking, but his hand had worked its way up her gown and between her legs. “I need to feel you. Inside here. I need this with you right now.”
“Ahhh, and the way you touch me.” She rotated her hips in rhythm with his finger’s very pointed rubbing at her core, trying to be mindful of his wounds but unable to be still. When he did this to her, she couldn’t think or do anything but submit to the enslavement of the passion.
“Mmmmm, yesss. It’s all for you right now. Come for me. I want to watch you come. Please, Gina. I want to see it happen,” he begged, pressing a little harder on her clitoris with his thumb and sinking two fingers up inside. “You’re wet and so soft. I love that you’re so wet for me.”
Sweet Christ, the things he says!
His fingers slipped in and out of her slickness, working her into a frenzy of sensation she couldn’t escape. She arched toward his hand. Each thrust into her drenched depths was countered by a pass of his thumb over her pearl.
It wouldn’t be long now. She recognized a clicking sound was the friction of her wetness spilling out around his fingers, and she didn’t care, had no modesty or consciousness other than getting to the glorious end.
He would get her there, as he always had. In this she had complete trust, and her love for him just exploded around her whole body. It pushed the orgasm suddenly up from the depths, boiling over and hurtling her body into ecstasy.
“Look at me, love. Let me see your golden eyes on me when you find heaven.”
She did as he asked and shattered apart, crying out her love and her thankfulness for him. Real tears and true sobs. It was the only thing she could do. The fear of losing him, the relief that he had not died, that they were together now, was too much emotion to hold in for a second longer. The last thing she remembered was crying underneath his hands, his gentle voice soothing her with words of love and security so precious she hoped she could keep the memory of it forever in her soul.
When she woke later, he was staring, his eyes alighting on her with a smile. “You drifted back, sweetheart. Finally.”
Remembering how she’d cried in her climax, embarrassment flooded through her and she lowered her eyes.
