Another one of those heart-stopping grins. “Ah, the pleasures awaiting you.”
Just my thought. Along with the nerves.
“I have been attempting to discern the position least likely to cause you pain.”
Something I had not considered. Of course, until this moment, I had not really thought about having intercourse with Percy at all.
Making love. Whatever else this might be, it is far more than the mere coming together of body parts.
Which brought on an entire pile of thoughts I was unable to decipher at the moment. I cleared my throat. “And your thoughts?”
“If you lay on the uninjured side, and it bears your weight, I might enter you from behind.”
“Is that not how it is always done?” Although I imagined being on my knees and penetrated from—
“Other ways exist, my lord.” He grinned even as he raised an eyebrow. “I intend to demonstrate all the permutations. Trust me—there are many.”
“I trust you.” Words I might have found almost impossible mere moments ago. Before I had let my mind travel the trail of optimism. Of seeing what was possible, rather than what could not be done.
“Then let me assist you.” Percy grasped my hip and gently encouraged me to roll onto my side.
My injured leg curled slightly as it touched the mattress. No pain, thank Christ. Just a twinge of discomfort that quickly passed.
Percy pressed himself against me, with his hard cock at the small of my back. He trailed his fingers along my flank to my hip, then along my thigh until he reached the hem of my nightshirt. He rucked it up until his fingers were able to trail along my exposed buttocks. “I need to get you ready for me.”
I swallowed. “Yes.” The word came out scratchy. “Yes, Percy. I trust you.” And I did—without a shadow of a doubt. Somehow, knowing he had felt something for me all along brought warmth to my chest instead of dread to my heart.
His fingers disappeared for a moment.
Then something cool pressed against my entrance.
I sucked in a breath.
“It will warm, Henry. Be patient.” He chuckled. “Patience never was your strong suit.”
He spoke the absolute truth.
My broken arm at age seven had been because I did not want to wait for the groomsman to saddle my horse at the time. The twisted ankle at eleven occurred when I jumped from the barn roof—which I absolutely should not have been on.
After a moment, he pressed a finger inside me.
I tensed.
He brushed a kiss against the back of my neck.
A shiver ran through me.
He slid his finger in farther.
I breathed through the strange sensation.
Again, after some time, he added a second finger, “This is smaller than my cock, but I promise I will be gentle.”
“I do not want gentle, Percy. I need you. More than I would have thought possible.”
He chuckled. Then he withdrew his fingers.
I felt oddly empty.
