Page 98 of A Portrait of Love

He moved with the same deep, slow rhythm as before, and she could feel the restraint he was exercising and knew it was for her. She wished she knew what to do to let him know she was no porcelain doll that would break.

“Am I hurting you?” he asked, his voice harsh beside her ear.

“No.” She hesitated, and then added, “I like it, Simon. You aren’t hurting me.”

Her words were like a match to a fuse and his next thrust went deeper, harder. “Like that?” he asked. “You like it hard? You want all of me?”

She shivered at his rough, crude demand.

“Yes,” she whispered.

He pummeled her, driving them both up the bed with his savage thrusts. Honey wrapped her legs around him and tilted her pelvis to take him deeper.

He groaned, his hand finding its way between them, his fingers stroking her core while his hips drummed a brutal tattoo.

When she neared the precipice, it was as if Simon knew—as if he could read her body. “Come with me, Honoria.”

And she hurled herself over the edge with him.

***

They stayed in Brighton for almost three weeks.

They made love every night—several times—and most days; her husband was not a man who paid any lip service to modesty.

He had no qualms about displaying any part of his body or inspecting every part of hers. He also approached what they did with an earthy enthusiasm that was nothing like what Freddie had warned her about.

“I want to do everything with you, Honey,” he’d whispered one night, after he’d finished loving her a second time.

“There are other things?” she’d gasped, her body soaked with sweat from the vigor of their actions.

That had made him laugh. “So many other things. But we will take it slowly. Perhaps one new thing a week. What do you say to that?”

She could only laugh foolishly.

“I shall take that for a yes,” he’d murmured, his mouth already moving toward her sex even though they had hardly finished their last bout. “I love to give you orgasms; it is an excellent pastime for a country gentleman.”

That was another thing she adored about him: their love-making was not only passionate, it was filled with silliness, smiles, and so much laughter.

He had taught her more new words in the past three weeks than she’d learned in years. And the words were all forbidden and fascinating and private: words they used only with each other.

Simon rode every morning, renting a hack from the hotel stable. He’d wanted Honey to join him, and she’d gone once or twice, but she knew she held him back, even though he denied it.

She could spend time in the saddle when they moved to Everley. It would be easier to become more comfortable without the confusion of the city to distract her.

During the days they roamed the city. Twice Simon paid a man for the use of his sailboat and took Honey out on beautiful, sunny days.

After their first visit to the local assembly room, they did not return.

“I shall go if you like it, Honey. But not to please anyone else,” he’d told her.

It was when he said words like that Honey knew she was in danger of falling back into love with her husband. He was not the man of his youth, he was something far more interesting, subtle, and complex than the fairy tale prince she’d loved as a girl.

Honey believed that the aloofness she often sensed in him was yet another scar from the war. His reserve was a constant in the background, waiting to drop like a barrier between them, but she learned to avoid the two topics that brought down the iron curtain: the war and his brother.

She was not offended; everyone had subjects they held close to their breast. Perhaps one day he might open to her, but if he did not? Well, the close, sensual friendship they shared, which strengthened with each day, was more than she’d ever hoped for.

During the day he was an entertaining, curious, and thoughtful companion.