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“We must be patient, darling,” he whispered, his voice catching as her fingers moved to the fastenings of his trousers, pulling them loose.
“I spoke to the doctor this morning.” Marion looked up into his face, her smile reaching all the way up to her eyes in a way he didn’t think he had seen before. “He thinks that there should be no problem now. He thinks that I’m quite ready to resume my wifely duties.”
Simon’s breath caught in his throat. She had a playful twinkle in her eyes, as if she knew that her words were driving him mad with desire. How did she manage to make him lose his mind with a few short words? He tried to rally, took a deep breath and began, “That doesn’t mean we should—”
Simon’s words disappeared. Marion had ignored him completely and begun to undress. His wife stepped back from him, holding his gaze as she reached up and undid the buttons of her pelisse, letting it fall recklessly to the floor as she revealed the soft skin of her chest and her arms against the pale green gown she had borrowed from Eleanor. The colour made him think of springtime, but the way Marion looked at him with the sultry gaze of a sultan’s courtesan. It made him feel the innocence of the colour was almost deliciously conflicting with the look in her eye.
“But we should practise, should we not?” Marion murmured, her voice filled with sultry lust. “Child making can be…playful…can it not?” She stepped a little closer, but still out of arm’s reach.
“We’ve been playful in the past, have we not?” Her voice was low but her eyes sparkled with mischief and Simon was filled with a combination of excitement and frustration. God, how he wanted her! But how much he loved to be teased by her!
Simon nodded, swallowing hard, not trusting himself to speak as his wife reached to her side and unpicked the buttons of her gown, bending down to catch the hem and lift it over her head to reveal the pale pink shift and stays underneath. Simon’s heart was hammering. He had seen Marion this way many times over the last few days—he had barely left her for a moment and slept beside her night after night with her warm body pressed against him. It had taken all of his strength not to get swept along in his feelings then, but now, seeing Marion undressing for him with deliberate slowness in order to titillate him was something else entirely.
God, she’s beautiful.Simon barely had time to think it, because then she was slipping out of her slippers, untying her stays, pulling the great coil of her dark, rippling hair down from its pins, and standing before him. She was beautiful and raw, delicate and ravaged, bruised and soft, her burgundy nipples peeking at him from underneath the shift. She reached down to untie her blue stockings, but Simon suddenly found his voice.
“Leave them,” he said, his voice rasping.
She looked up at him, her eye burning with such fire and intensity it took his breath away.
“Well then,” she said, slowly running her fingers through her long hair teasingly, knowing as she did how much he loved to play with her hair. “I think it must be your turn.”
Simon’s chest tightened with desire, but he nodded dumbly. God, how he loved her with every part of his being. He wanted nothing more than to please her.
“Take your boots off,” she whispered, holding the hem of her shift teasingly in her hand, revealing the blue of her stockings. Simon stumbled to obey, hurriedly pulling his shirt out of his trousers and ripping it off over his head, as eager as a callow youth on his wedding night.
Despite their previous intimacy, he was anxious to be perused by her so blatantly. He couldn’t deny, however, that it was undeniably erotic for him. He felt, unlike their previous intimacies, that he was completely at her mercy. It was intoxicating, and his body responded immediately, watching her face and body for her reactions. He enjoyed the way her eyes widened at his muscles and the prominence of his manhood, and then saw the way her eyes softened at the sight of the bruises he bore from the attack. She reached out a finger to stroke a particularly dark one across the bottom of his stomach muscles, next to the top of his trousers.
“I am sorry, my love,” she whispered, her eyes filled with sadness. He knew she was blaming herself for what had happened. He couldn’t allow her to dwell. They had discussed it in detail, many times, but they both knew the truth: she had been victimised and she had survived. They had both suffered, and they were gloriously alive. Simon caught her fingers and brought them to his lips, kissing them briefly.
“We both bear the marks of the past,” he whispered, holding her gaze, wanting her to remember these words. “Now we only need think of the future.”
“The future…” Marion murmured, putting her hands on her hips and tugging him back towards the bed until the back of her knees met the mattress. “And the present…”
“Yes,” he murmured, unable to stop his fingers from stroking the perfect line of her naked collarbone. Marion reached up to catch his fingers and Simon immediately withdrew, worried that the intimate touch was too much, too quickly. After all, the gun had been held at her shoulder and neck, and he was concerned it might be a sensitive area for her now. He badly didn’t want to cause his wife to revisit traumatic memories and feelings from her attack, so he tried to control his passion.
“I’m sorry, my love,” he said hoarsely. “I didn’t mean to—”
“That’s not what I mean.” Marion held onto his fingers gently, her warm, dark eyes filled with desire. “Don’t touch me there...kiss me.”
Simon couldn’t help but take a gasping breath at her words. For a moment, he didn’t know how to respond and simply held his breath tightly in his chest, watching her helplessly. She gathered up her dark hair in her hand and pushed it back over her shoulder, tilting her neck towards him, offering up the bare, luminous flesh he had just touched to his lips.
“Kiss me there,” Marion whispered.
Swallowing hard, Simon nodded. He bent his head and pressed a reverential kiss to her golden skin, reminded suddenly of the evening they had returned to Eleanor and Nathan’s house. She had been so hurt he had been afraid to touch her anywhere. He had found a bare spot and kissed her, and even at that tragic, exhausting moment he had felt that unquenchable flicker of desire. How he had wanted her just as she was then, fragile yet strong—his warrior wife. Just thinking of it made him begin to pant against her skin, his tender kiss becoming passionate, almost vicious as he bit her gently, licked and lapped as if his life depended on it.
“Simon,” Marion whispered, her hands resting on his shoulders.
“Yes, my love?” Simon looked at his wife, forcing himself to slow down. “Am I going too fast?”
Marion smiled, stroking his hair. “No,mon coeur,”Simon’s whole body tingled as her lustrous voice slipped into French. Everything she did made him wild with passion.
“It is only...I wish that you would kiss me more.”
He thought he knew his wife inside and out, but then she said something like that, and he realised he would spend the rest of his life being constantly surprised by her.
God,Simon wondered,has any man ever been so helpless before a woman?
“Oh?” Simon swallowed hard, trying to control his desire and maintain a level of dignity, even though his instinct was to ravage her like an animal. “That is what you wish, is it?”
