“I like to pleasure you, Thayer, yet ’tis hard for you tell me naught.”
“You are a high-born lady.”
“And thus must be denied the joy of pleasuring her husband?”
“It brings you joy to pleasure me?”
Briefly she returned her caresses to his inner thighs. “Does not my pleasure strengthen yours?”
“Aye, tenfold. Do you truly wish to learn what pleasures me?”
“Have I not just said so? Aye”—she kissed the stout proof of his arousal—“and shown you as best I can?”
“Then sheath me, dearling,” he whispered, braced to withdraw the request if she revealed any shock or distaste.
“Like so?” She obeyed his almost timid request without hesitation.
“Aye,” he cried out in a shaky voice, “just so. You have the way of it. ’Tis glorious. Glorious,” he whispered before falling into a passionate incoherency as he struggled to hold back and enjoy her attentions for as long as possible. “Ah, God help me, enough,” he finally moaned, grasping her beneath her arms and pulling her up his body to neatly join them.
“Ah, ’tis this again,” she managed to gasp out as she gripped his shoulders.
“Aye. Ride your man, my sweet wife. Aye, loving, aye. You do it so well ’tis like to drive me mad.”
She lost the control she had clung to in order to seduce him. That he had none as well added to her delight. When her release tore through her body, she felt Thayer buck upwards with the force of his own, and his cry of passion blended with hers. She collapsed into his arms, feeling him wrap them around her tightly. It was a while before she regained either her sanity or control over her breathing. She nestled against him as he made no move to end their union.
Thayer pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I can see I erred—aye, even deprived myself by bowing to your delicate nature. Well, such as I thought it was.”
“Is that what you were about then?” She leisurely kissed his throat.
“Aye, or mayhap I feared to offend your innocence. ’Tis often said a lady must be sheltered from acts that feed the baser passions. Since there is none alive who would call you other than a lady, the ones who say that must be wrong.”
“Very wrong, I think. And I like to think that what besets us is more than a baser passion.”
“Oh, aye, much more than that, little one.” He nuzzled her thick hair. “Are you sure I have not hurt you?”
“Very sure.”
“You are so tiny,” he murmured.
“So was my mother, but she bore healthy babes with little trouble. You must not fret over me.”
Finally easing the rich intimacy of their embrace, he muttered, “’Tis a thing easier said than done.”
She unsuccessfully smothered a yawn. “When I am not so tired, I shall give you a stern lecture on such foolishness.”
“Will you now?” He chuckled when she gave a firm if sleepy nod. “I await the event all atremble.”
“I have no doubt of that,” she murmured as she closed her eyes.
“And shall you call me stupid again?”
Slowly opening one eye, she peeked at him. “Thayer, I would never call you stupid. Why, that would be very disrespectful.”
“Aye, it would be.” He grinned at her. “So I must have dreamt it.”
“That must be it.” She closed her eyes again. “I will be fine, Thayer. We shall have a strong, lovely baby.”
“Go to sleep, Gytha. Whatever else you tell me, I know it cannot be good for you to grow too tired.”
