Page 69 of Maggie and the Pirate’s Son

“Should I fetch O’Riordan?” he asked, and he really must be worried to suggest such a thing and use the barber-surgeon’s proper name.

“No,” she gasped. “I’ll be fine. It’s only…”

“Only what?”

Maggie studied his face. His intense brows were packed with years of dread, his dark amber eyes swirling with both anguish and innocence. He would either empathize with a pain he couldn’t quite fathom or he’d shy away in disgust and revile her for the sin of being a woman. She couldn’t bear the latter, though it might ease their inevitable parting, the one she refused to contemplate. Either way, he had trusted her with his ear. It was time she trusted him with this.

“Only my monthly courses,” she whispered.

“The blood of Eve?” he asked, and when she nodded, “Do you need to sit down?”

“No.” Curious concern was not the response she’d expected, but perhaps it should have been.

He rubbed her back. “It hurts a great deal?”

“Sometimes more than others.”

“Will anything ease it?”

“No. At home I might brew a cup of willow bark or raspberry tea and warm a stone on the hearth to wrap in a blanket and hold against my belly, but as I’m not home and have no stove or hearth or willow bark…”

“My hands are warm,” he said, low in her ear, and her breath sped up for a different reason.

Bash moved behind her, almost shy despite the intimacies they’d shared thus far. Slowly, he ran his large hand up under her shirt to cradle her stomach.

His hand was warm, and she nudged it just a bit lower to span from hip bone to hip bone. The cozy pressure helped her relax muscles she hadn’t realized she was clenching.

They stood that way for a long time, as Maggie absorbed the relief his warmth provided. His breath tickled her cheek but he held himself impossibly still, even while growing hard against her.

“I apologize,” he finally whispered.

It was one of the things she loved most about him, his inclination to address any awkwardness rather than pretending it away while it festered into rot.

“Don’t,” she said, and he seemed to hesitate, to draw back, so she put her hand over his, holding him in place, and repeated, “Don’t… apologize.”

Then he drew her closer and nuzzled into her neck, and she wished she wasn’t menstruating because she’d never longed to be as close to another human being as she did right then with him.

“Is it true,” he began tentatively, “an orgasm can alleviate the pain? Or is that just tales men tell?”

Maggie didn’t know the word, though she felt an inkling of what it meant. When she didn’t answer he mumbled, “Forgive me, I⁠—”

“What is orgasm?” she blurted out.

“Oh. Er—climax. During relations.”

So her inkling had been correct, and that indefinable moment of bliss had a name.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I only ever felt it with you.”

For a moment she could sense him swell with pride, and then he kissed her neck, making her shiver.

“Would you like to try?” he asked.

Maggie froze, momentarily unable to breathe.

Responding to her rigid posture, Bash froze too.

She braced herself for the next part. He was Bash, he wouldn’t shove her away or shout at her. He wouldn’t demand to know why she was such a cocktease.