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That stopped abruptly, and her mouth and eyes opened in shock. “Wait!” She groaned. “My monthlies!”
When he only continued toward the door, her hand squeezed his shoulder. “Nicholas! It’s…it’s…”
“It’s you.”
She gasped. “Are you certain?”
He paused before opening the door. “Nothing on this earth can stop me from taking you upstairs and removing this gown to cherish you—except you saying no. I don’t wish to wait a week, as I waited over thirty years to find you in the first place, but I’d endure. Just don’t send me away because you’re worried about what I’ll think.”
“To my chamber then, lustful one.”
They made it upstairs with nary a servant in sight, and as soon as he set her on her feet, he reached in the dark for the prepared match set out on the bedside table. After striking it against the candlestick, he lit the candle.
Focusing on that task drained the last of his restraint, for Helen had approached him from behind and molded her hands appreciatively over his rear. They continued around his hips to his front just as he blew out the match, at which point he would have lost all the air in his lungs, anyway.
She explored every bit of his hardened length through his trousers, her avid fingertips tracing the ridge of his thick head. Her quiet moans blended with his.
Her enjoyment of this is no excuse to tarry in lavishing attention on her!
As soon as he turned around, their hands were on each other, but soon, they both disrobed. Her maid had folded back the counterpane and placed a large, thick square of flannel in the center of her bed.
“There is your altar, goddess. Settle upon it and let me worship you.”
Her quiet laughter stilled when she saw his fierce and serious expression. She breathed faster, her succulent apricot-tipped nipples rising and falling under his gaze. After giving his veined cock a final desirous look, she climbed onto the bed and did as he asked, reclining back against a stack of pillows, her hips in place atop the flannel.
Nostrils flaring as he gazed upon her perfection, he first arranged her hair, smoothing it away from her face, then trailed a collection of kisses across her cheekbone. She sighed, content to accept his measured start—but then her wicked hands cupped his heavy balls, again eliciting earthy moans from them both.
He was half-tempted to pin her hands above her head, but he opted for distracting her before he spent himself on her thigh. Dropping his head, he placed his mouth in the gentle dip above her collarbone and worked his way to a begging nipple.
She reacted more strongly than usual to his touch; her monthlies had rendered her even more sensitive, prompting him to love her with extra care. She writhed under him with all the restless energy of the ocean, and her hands moved on him fitfully, alternating between exploring his body and urging him to give more.
When he could no longer withstand her pleading, guttural noises, his mouth released the breast he suckled. He spread her pale thighs and moved between them. She lifted her knees up around his hips, the provocative movement coupled with such a primal sound of desire that it took every shred of control he possessed not to push her knees to her chest and enter her then and there.
It was torture and heaven in one to watch as he ran a hand along the underside of one of her thighs and lifted her leg. The moist curls covering her mons swirled like flames in a painting, and he pushed his middle finger slowly into her heat. She cried out piercingly when his careful fingertip beckoned against her clitoris.
Within a few strokes, he had to close his eyes against the beauty of the picture she made lest he lose concentration completely. Here, too, she seemed extraordinarily responsive, her peak swelling under his touch.
One day. One day when we’re well and married, I’ll watch myself sink into that pretty quim.It was a dream—the day she’d have no fear of becoming with child; when, in fact, they both would want him to fill her belly.
His free hand caressed her soft abdomen, imagining it round. She reached for him blindly, her cries plaintive. She was close but not yet there. For now, his fingers would have to suffice. He was just about to pair two fingers and penetrate her when the realization struck.
“What?” she asked in a low voice after his ragged groan.
“Helen,” he gasped, pulling his finger from her.
She voiced an incoherent protest.
He gathered all the strength he could to utter a cogent sentence. “Procreation is highly improbable during your monthlies.”
Her hand froze in the task of trying to return his fingers to her cleft, and her brow furrowed. Her passion-clouded gaze met his, and her mouth parted on a whimper. Then her eyes followed her hand, which closed around his cock. “Yes,” she moaned, her knees lifting.
He blinked, trying to clear the haze that overtook his vision for a moment. He let her guide him toward her, but took himself in hand before his tip pushed past her moist labia. This was a moment to be savored—and he had to be sure he wasn’t hurting her.
After working his fat tip into her, he’d intended to proceed slowly, but her slick heat and eager sounds urged him to slide deep.
He swore in Greek as she swallowed him to the hilt.
Her hands pulled him closer, and he settled over her, aligning their mouths while he admonished his hips to wait. But their tongues soon inspired their loins, and he set about moving within her, watching her face turn side to side.
Gripping his shoulders, she encouraged him wordlessly until her fingers pressed ever deeper into his muscle. Her breath hitched, then stopped, her face contorting, and her knees lifted higher. She came around him in full glory, squeezing his cock and gasping for air, arching back into the mattress.
Thank youwas his last thought before following her into ecstasy, knowing he’d taken care of her first. Then there was only sensation; pleasure arcing up his spine, his testicles tight and drawn up to his body as he spurted his seed inside her blessed vessel.
Taking care to remain over the flannel, he rolled them both until she was on top and he held her. Gathering her tresses away from her face, he kissed along her hairline, imparting with each fervent caress the love that he dared not utter aloud, believing the words would drive her away.
Her hands tightened on his biceps, and when he heard her first choked sob, he cradled the back of her head, pressing her into the crook of his shoulder.
Not once was he tempted to hush her. The rush of her tears onto his neck anointed him. She was trusting him, and he welcomed the depth of her response. They were cleansing tears, emotional tears, lacking sadness entirely.
When she rose up to look upon him, her lashes were wet and her eyes crystalline blue—and her smile was utterly sated and happy.
