Chapter Thirty-Four

B ella clung to her husband’s arm as they returned home. The moon hung heavy in the sky, casting a cold blue light across the landscape and throwing sharp shadows across the path, where the first signs of frost glistened on the ground, tiny pinpricks of light.

The port, courtesy of Mrs. Colt’s generosity, had warmed her blood when they set off from the inn, but now the chill of the night air penetrated her bones.

They rounded a corner, and the cottage came into view, its whitewashed walls illuminated by the moonlight, stark against the backdrop of the garden. A low, flickering light danced in the parlor window to welcome them home.

Lawrence pushed the door open and led her into the parlor, where the embers of the fire cast a dull orange light across the room. He placed a log on the fire, poking it until sparks ignited at the base.

“Come here.” He pulled her close. “You’re as cold as ice, love. Let me warm you up.”

She relaxed in his arms, drinking in the scent of wood, earth, and smoke on his clothes.

“Better?” he whispered, his breath a warm caress on her forehead.

“Mmm…” She placed her head on his shoulder and sighed. “If only I could stay here forever—in your arms.”

“We’d get nothin’ done if we stood here all day, Bella.”

Didn’t he want to hold her? Why was he such a contradiction—one moment melting her heart with tales of traveling miles to bring her ribbons as a token of his love, and the next rejecting her carefully worded plea to be loved?

If only she could be bold and ask him outright—even if she feared his response.

She withdrew from his embrace and approached the fire, holding out her hands to the warmth.

“Is anything the matter?” he asked.

“I’m tired, that’s all,” she said. “I’ve never eaten that late before—at least, not that I can recall.”

“Then perhaps you should retire.”

“To a cold bed.”

“It’ll soon warm up with an extra blanket or two, Bella—it’s not bothered you before.”

“No,” she said flatly. “According to you, nothing’s bothered me before.”

“If it’s warmth you’re wantin’, I can take the bed upstairs,” he said, reaching for one of the blankets on the sofa. “I’ll give you what you want.”

“Oh, will you?

“Here.” He handed the blanket to her, but she swept it aside.

“I don’t want a blanket!”

“Then what do you want?”

“Can’t you tell?”

He stepped toward her, a flicker of desire in his eyes. Then he hesitated.

“A good night’s sleep will see you right,” he said. “I knew you shouldn’t have taken that port.”

“Sweet heaven!” she cried. “Have you always found me repulsive—or is it only since my accident?”

“Repulsive?” He shook his head. “What nonsense you speak!”

“Then why won’t you touch me as a man touches his wife? That story you told me—of the ribbons, and owning your heart—was it a lie?”

He faltered and lowered his gaze, sending a spike of pain through her heart.

“I’m right,” she whispered. “You don’t want me—you feel nothing, while I—”

She broke off, unwilling to voice her need in the face of his indifference.

He shook his head. “No.”

Her gut contorted with pain, and she stepped back, her eyes stinging with tears. “N-no?”

He drew in a deep breath, then spoke, his voice a hoarse rasp. “No, Bella, you’re wrong— so wrong.”

Then he looked up and she caught her breath. His eyes glowered with a base, raw hunger, reflecting the primal need that throbbed deep inside her—his desire calling to hers.

“I want you, woman,” he said. “Don’t say I feel nothin’ when, from the moment I saw you, my whole body’s been burnin’ with want.”

“Then why won’t you touch me?”

She stepped toward him, and the pain in his eyes intensified. Hands fisted at his sides, he stood stiff, trembling as if he fought to control a madness.

“Don’t come any closer,” he rasped. “I’ll not be able to control what happens if you do.”

She reached toward him.

“Sweet heaven!” he said. “I cannot… I will not ruin…”

“Where’s the ruination in an act between a man and his wife?”

He shook his head. “Bella, you know not what you offer.”

“I do,” she said, “and I offer it freely, willingly, and gladly.” She took his hand, curling her fingers around his fist. “An offering of love.”

Then he shuddered and let out a low cry. “May God forgive me.”

He pulled her close and claimed her mouth, plunging inside as if he were a man dying of thirst. He swept his tongue through her with hungry strokes, deepening the kiss as he shifted against her, igniting a flame of desire. She shifted her thighs apart where the flame swelled and roared, and he let out a primal growl—the call of a beast ready to claim his mate.

He arched his back, and she felt him against her thigh, a delicious hardness moving closer to the center of her need.

He slipped a hand below her neckline, and her senses came alive as his calloused fingers claimed her breast, sweeping across her sensitized skin until they found what they sought—the hardened bud at the center. Then he flicked the nub, and she cried out as a fizz of pleasure shot through her body.

Then he grasped her gown, fisting his hand around the material, and lifted her skirts. Her skin tightened at the rush of cool air, and she shifted her legs further apart.

“Please…” she said. “I need…something… I know not what… No! ” she cried out in frustration as he grasped her wrists and pushed her back. “Lawrence…” Tears splashed onto her cheeks at his rejection. “Please—don’t stop!”

“Oh, Bella,” he said. “I want to bury myself inside you so bad, but I’ve no wish to hurt you.”

“You’re hurting me now ,” she said. “Must you always push me away?”

“I’m not pushing you away, love, but it’s your first…” He stopped and shook his head. “ Damn. ”

“My first what?”

“I want you to feel only pleasure, Bella, but I fear it will hurt.”

“I want this,” she said. “I want you .” She reached up and placed her hand on his cheek. “I trust you, Lawrence—my body and my heart are yours.”

“Then your pleasure awaits.”

He picked up the blanket, then spread it on the floor in front of the fire.

“Aren’t we going to your bedchamber?”

“No, love,” he said. “I fear we’d wake the children.”

“Why?”

“Bloody hell,” he muttered. Then he took her hand. “I’ve no wish for them to hear you screaming my name as you come undone.”

“C-come undone?” Though his words were meaningless, a wicked pulse rippled through her.

He took her shoulders in his hands, and a small sigh escaped her lips as he caressed her throat with the tips of his thumbs. Then he lowered her neckline to reveal her breasts.

“Oh, Bella,” he whispered. “You don’t know how much I’ve been wantin’ to do this.”

The tip of his tongue flicked out to moisten his lips.

“We ate well tonight,” he said, “but I find myself ready for another meal.”

“Another… Oh!”

She cried out as he took her breast into his mouth and flicked her already beaded nipple with his tongue. His hot breath caressed her skin, and she arched her back.

He lifted his lips in a lazy smile. “Ah, there’s nothin’ as delectable to a man as his woman offering herself for him to feast on. But I mustn’t spoil my appetite for the feast to come.”

With a deftness that belied his huge, rough hands, he peeled off her gown. Then he removed her undergarments until she stood before him, naked save for her stockings.

She lifted her hands to shield herself from his gaze, and he caught her wrists.

“No,” he said. “There’s much pleasure to be had in lookin’ at you—and there’s pleasure to be had in being looked at, when it’s your man doin’ the looking.”

His hungry gaze traveled across her body, lingering at the apex of her thighs and its thatch of curls where her flesh had grown hot and damp.

Sweet heaven , he was right. How could there be so much pleasure from merely being looked at ? Or was it the way he looked at her, as if he needed her not just for pleasure, but because he couldn’t exist without her?

Then he kneeled on the blanket, pulling her down with him. He cupped her breasts, and his eyes closed as he held them tenderly, as if he feared she’d shatter at his touch. For a moment, he grew still, a slow smile curving his mouth.

“What sweet, sweet breasts,” he whispered. “Made to fit my hands—how I’ve longed to hold them, to worship them, and to taste them.”

He opened his eyes, which shimmered silver in the firelight.

“I want to worship all of you,” he said. “ Taste all of you.”

He drew in a labored breath, as if fighting to control himself. Then he pushed her back until she lay on the blanket before him.

She reached for the top of her stockings, running her fingertips across the scarred flesh at the top of her thigh.

“No,” he said. “Leave them on.”

Tears pricked at her eyes. Did he find her scars so repulsive that he wanted them to remain covered? She turned her head aside, but he caught her chin and coaxed her back.

“Bella—there’s no shame in revealing your body to me.”

“B-but my scars…”

Recognition rippled across his gaze, and he sighed.

“Sweet Bella, I’ve no wish for you to cover up your scars. They’re part of you, and every piece of you is beautiful.” He leaned forward and brushed his lips against the top of her stocking, peppering her puckered flesh with tiny, open-mouthed kisses. “Beautiful.”

His voice was a low rumble reverberating through her body, and the moisture swelled between her thighs. But when she tried to squeeze them together, to ease the ache, he caught her legs.

“Oh no, love,” he said. “Let me look. I like lookin’ at your stockings—their softness over those lush thighs. And I like nothin’ more than to look at you —my woman—all pink and sweet, when I’ve parted them thighs.” His nostrils flared as he inhaled. “A man could go mad for wantin’ with that scent of yours. All woman, you are, my Bella.”

He flicked his tongue against her flesh.

“Oh!” she cried. “That tickles.”

He kissed her thigh. “Does that tickle?”

“No.”

“How does it feel?”

“Hot,” she said, as the heat inside her center swelled, “a-and wet.”

“Are you wet for me, woman?”

“I-I don’t know…” Her breath caught in her throat as he nudged her thighs further apart, moving the trail of kisses further up her leg.

Her body jerked with the need to ease the ache, but he held her firm, his huge hands grasping her thighs, while he moved closer to the source of her need.

“I believe my woman is ready for me.”

His voice whispered through her curls, and she lifted her head to see him kneeling before her splayed legs, his head of dirty blond hair between her thighs. Never before had she seen anything so wicked, so wanton.

So debauched .

“Lawrence…”

Overcome by shame, she whispered his name in a soft plea, and her voice caught in her throat. Then he looked up and met her gaze, his eyes filled with raw hunger.

The hunger of a beast ready to take his female.

Her shame at her nudity warred with the baser instinct to submit, and for a moment, they stared at each other. Then, at length, she caught a flicker of something else in his gaze, a spark of tenderness.

And love.

Closing her eyes, she lay back, yielding to him.

“Good lass.”

She let out a whimper at the pulse of need elicited by his gentle praise. Then he dipped his head once more, and her skin burned where his tongue flicked out against her flesh.

“What a sweet scent,” he said, his breath hot against her curls. “They say the enjoyment of a meal comes first from the lookin’, then from the scent. Until there’s only one pleasure to be had.”

“Wh-what is that?” she panted.

“The tastin’.”

He dipped his tongue into her curls and probed her flesh with the tip of his tongue, the soft, silken weapon moving slickly along the folds.

Sensations flooded her body—the heat radiating through her blood, the ache pulsing in her flesh, and the sharp waves of pure pleasure where he dipped in and out, murmuring his delight as he savored her. A great wave swelled in her mind—moving back and forth, each peak higher than the last, rising toward a crest…

“Mmm…” he rumbled, sending shock waves through her. “Delicious—the finest taste a man can devour is his woman, when she’s ready.”

“R-ready?” she said, her breath coming in shallow gasps.

“Oh yes,” he said. “I could smell your need from the moment I parted them pretty thighs—and I can taste it now. It’s when a man knows she’s ready to take him inside her.”

He dipped his tongue again, this time more insistently. The wave swelled toward the crest, and with it, a madness began to form—a craving that begged to be eased, intensifying until her whole body yearned for release…

Then he withdrew, and she let out a scream of frustration.

“No!” She reached out and fisted her hands in his hair, pulling him against her flesh. “Lawrence—don’t stop, I beg you!”

But he withdrew and sat up. She lifted her knees and thrust her hips forward, no longer caring about the sinful wantonness with which she offered herself.

He reached for his shirt and began to unbutton it, his hands trembling. The first button came undone, but he struggled with the next.

“Oh, fuck it.” Abandoning his shirt, he fumbled at his breeches, pulling at the buttons until he sprang free—thick and jutting.

Sweet Lord —he was huge! Surely he wasn’t going to put that inside her?

He shifted toward her, his member bobbing as he moved until he’d climbed on top of her. He prodded the inside of her thigh, and she let out a whimper, her body tensing.

“You need to relax, love, when you take my cock,” he said. “Trust me.”

She nodded.

“No, Bella—you must say it.”

“I trust you.”

He slipped inside her curls to probe against her sensitized flesh. A flare of pleasure ignited, and she drew in a sharp breath, biting her lip, tasting blood.

“Woman, look at me.”

She lifted her gaze.

“Do you want me?”

“Y-yes…” she whispered, bracing herself for the onslaught.

He gritted his teeth, sliding against her, each movement growing slicker. “Say it.”

“I want you, Lawrence,” she said. “Please!”

He moved his hips forward, and she felt her flesh stretching as the tip of him pushed inside her.

A low cry escaped her lips.

“Shh… Relax, love. Look at me.”

She nodded and focused her gaze on him, willing her body to relax. Then she shifted her legs further apart, and he nodded his approval.

He leaned forward and brushed his lips against her mouth, coaxing her lips open with his tongue. She welcomed him in, and as his tongue slipped into her mouth, he thrust his hips forward.

She winced at the tight pinch, and he deepened the kiss, swallowing her whimper.

Pain throbbed deep inside her body—pain with the faint undertow of pleasure—until, at length, she felt her body stretch around him.

“That’s it, my brave love,” he whispered.

He withdrew, slowly, and she shuddered at the deep sensation. Then he eased himself back inside her. The sting lessened as pleasure overcame the pain, and she let out a long sigh as he sheathed himself in her once more.

“Do you my cock inside you, Bella?”

“Oh yes—it’s…” Her voice trailed away as he withdrew again, and the wave swelled once more, but this time deeper, the sensations sharper, more intense.

“It’s for you,” he murmured. “Only for you. Take me—take all of me.”

“Oh yes…” she breathed. “Please…”

He entered her again, and she let out a mewl of frustration as he withdrew once more.

“Does my Bella grow impatient?” he asked. “You must await your pleasure.”

“I can’t wait!”

He moved again, and she thrust her hips upward, taking him fully inside.

“Oh, sweet woman.” He lifted his head, as if pleading to the heavens for respite. “What you do to me!”

He withdrew once more, then thrust his hips forward in a swift, sharp movement, slamming his hipbone against hers.

“Do you feel it, love?” he asked, his thrusts forming a steady rhythm. “Do you feel the pleasure from my cock?”

“Yes!” she cried, lifting her hips to meet each thrust. Then her whole body tightened, and she reached out, fisting her hands in the blanket. “Lawrence, what’s… I don’t know… Oh! It’s coming—I can feel it. Lord save me, if we go together, I might die!”

He slammed into her once more, and the wave crested. Powerful surges tore through her senses, and she bucked against him, crashing against the wave again and again. She threw back her head and let out a long, low scream.

“Lawrence—oh, Lawrence !”

They continued to move their bodies in a frenzied, thrusting dance, while he roared out her name in deep, hoarse cries.

“Bella—my Bella!”

Then the wave receded, and she descended with it, the torturous pleasure receding, until a gentle pulsing remained while he continued to move inside her until, with a low cry, he collapsed on top of her. They lay together, entwined, the aftershocks of pleasure caressing her senses in soft ripples, until she drifted into a doze, his name on her lips.

“Oh, Lawrence—I love you.”