Page 8 of A Very Surrey SFS Christmas

“Not sure what you mean,” Ethan replied, his brow furrowing.

“You’re a new father.”

“The hardest parts were, and are, yours.”

She grinned. “Tis true, I would happily have swapped places and paced the hallway while you labored. But now Jessica is here. You have a daughter to provide for as well as a wife, and a good portion of the money from the books is going toward settling the estate debts your father incurred with his ridiculous spending. You wake with me when she feeds, so have equally disrupted sleep. That is a great deal to bear. I understand from Susanna that Clay hasn’t touched his paintbrushes in weeks, and you know how much art means to him. Creativity is hard at the best of times, let alone when under time and financial pressure.”

Ethan blinked. How foolish that he hadn’t thought to approach Irving and Fenton for advice on being a new father. David had been born two weeks before Jessica, so they had a little more experience than him. Perhaps their great joy was also tinged a little with fears for the future and a sense of flailing confusion. Perhaps all first-time fathers experienced such emotions.

The thought was so startling he nearly tumbled off the chair. “I should speak to them both. Irving and Fenton, I mean. Investigate this further.”

“Yes you should. Especially Clay. You are both men who like to be in command of a situation, and this is so new, and quite frankly bloody bewildering, for all of us. But for now…” Madeline’s voice trailed off as she slid a hand under his robe and stroked his chest.

“For now, madam?” he echoed, as his cock began to throb.

“For now I think you should bed me.”

“Are you ready for that? My hand sufficed before I met you, it will suffice again until you are.”

Madeline laughed. “I am quite recovered, thank you. Although one thing, er…my breasts are very, very sensitive at the moment, and as I cannot construct a stone wall and crocodile-filled moat around them, I’d rather they be left alone. Also…good grief this is mortifying…even when I touch myself I find I don’t get as wet as I used to. Would you mind if we used a little oil?”

“Sweetheart,” he said patiently, “of course I don’t mind. If it doesn’t feel good for you, then I am failing in my duty. But you must tell me, and we’ll stop or try something else.”

“Well, my lord,” said Madeline in a sultry voice that wrapped around his cock and squeezed hard, “then I insist you fuck me. At once.”

“Oh, you insist, do you?”

At his stern tone, a needy whimper escaped her lips. “Please, Ethan?”

By the gods, the way she said his name. Slowly and carefully he cradled Madeline in his arms, and rose to his feet. Then he carried her across the bedchamber and set her on her feet just beside the washstand, before removing her gown, petticoat, stays, chemise, and shoes and stockings. Just for a moment he allowed himself the pleasure of observing her naked form, the lush curve of breast and hip, the still-rounded belly that had carried their precious daughter.

When he smoothed the damp cloth across her shoulders and back, she moaned.

“You’re going to make me beg and beg, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

It took no time at all to sponge her arms, legs, and backside, but when he reached her mound and trailed the cloth further down to circle her clitoris, Madeline began to pant.

“Ethan,” she wailed.

Sympathetic to her need, and acknowledging his own burning desire to fuck his beloved wife, he took her hand and led her over to the bed.

“Prepare yourself, sweetheart. I’m about to undertake a thorough scholarly study.”

* * *

Ethan would indeed make her beg and beg. And she couldn’t wait.

Well supported by several pillows, Madeline arched in anticipation of his touch. While she’d always enjoyed bedsport back when she’d been the notorious Wicked Widow, it felt different now. To be pleasured by someone you loved and who loved you in return, someone you trusted absolutely and could indulge all your wickedest fantasies with…well.

The marriage, the partnership she’d always dreamed of.

“I’m going to oil you now, Madeline,” he rasped.

She shuddered. Even the sound of a bottle clinking and a cork being removed almost made her orgasm, and she squirmed on the bed. Her husband was deliberately making her wait, the wretch. But she wasn’t cold. The well-stoked fire provided plenty of heat and light, and there were two fully lit candelabras as well.

Expecting, yearning for his skilled hand between her legs, instead Ethan tormented with gentle strokes along her spine, then across her lower back and right hip, before rubbing his oil-slick hands over her backside. Madeline groaned, attempting to spread her thighs so he might attend to her throbbing clitoris. But no, her dominant lord was in control. He decided the timing of her climax, and knowing he would make her scream with pleasure, that all she had to do was experience each sensation rather than instruct or remind, was heady indeed.