“Your housekeeper informed me that the neighbors were hosting a breakfast for all of the servants this morning. I understand it is a tradition to abandon a new bride and bridegroom to their own devices the morning after…” She looked anywhere but at him. “There was a tray of food left outside my door, however. I believe it is so that the two of us can break our fast.” And then she bit her lip.
As long as he’d known her, she’d always been confident and managing. It was… satisfying to see her a little off balance.
Hewashungry.
He’d not eaten anything last night. And he’d exercised plenty to build up an appetite.
At his hesitation, Penelope opened the door wider. “Do you want to share it with me, or…?” She gestured for him to come back into her room. “Or would you prefer to find something alone?”
He nodded, slipped his shirt over his head, and then followed her back into her chamber. She’d set the tray on a conveniently placed table and poured him some tea. Her hair fell over her face as she did so, making her look more like a lost waif than the bittersweet lover she’d become.
Careful not to spill, she added a spoonful of sugar and then handed him the cup. She did know him rather well, for all the turmoil they’d been through. Her hand shook slightly but he did not comment.
She did not pour herself a cup but tore off a piece of bread and nibbled at it.
“Are you sick in the mornings?” He didn’t want to know about these babies and what they were doing to her body, to her life,to his life; but some part of him was strangely curious.
“I was at first, but I’ve learned if I eat something right away, it isn’t as bad.” She flushed slightly. This was the woman he’d had moaning and writhing last night?
As though she could read his mind, she looked up at him from beneath her lashes. Her tongue peeked out to catch a wayward flake of bread crust and then dipped back behind her lips.
Had she done that on purpose?
Did it matter?
“Are you ill now?” he asked.
She shook her head. A long lock of hair fell forward as she did so.
He wanted her again. He hated a part of her, he admired a part of her, he pitied a part of her but mostly, he just wanted her. He reached out and took hold of the collar of her nightgown in one fist. It must be a favorite of hers. The material was well worn.
With a sudden jerk, he tore it down the front of her body. She jumped as though scalded and then covered herself with the torn material and her hands. Her eyes were wide with uncertainty, but she did not chastise him as he’d suspected she might. And she did not push him away nor order him to leave.
And so, Hugh reached up and pushed the material off of her shoulder. As it dropped into the crook of her arms, he used his thumb to massage the pulse near her neck. It raced. By God, she was as aroused as he was.
This time would be quick. This time, she had nowhere to hide. Would he be repulsed by the sight of another man’s babies growing inside of her womb?
He jerked the gown off her arms, out of her hands, and tossed it to the floor.
She was round all over. If anything, he grew even harder.
Deliberately, he turned her so that they both looked into the mirror. There, she met his eyes fearlessly. He stood clothed, while she was completely nude. His eyes swept over her form, taking in her pale white skin and the red thatch of hair between her thighs. The curve of her stomach was firm, but the babies within caused the skin to stretch and her navel to appear somewhat flattened.
Her breasts were full, and his eyes were drawn to the rosy tips, resting, it seemed, upon the mounds of flesh and pointed upward. A ferociousness grew inside of him. He would take her as he pleased. Hugh covered her breast with one hand, flicked the tip with his thumb, pinched, and then slid his hand down and over her stomach.
Sunlight poured through the window, casting her female form in light. She arched her back and pressed her head into his chest. So responsive, she wanted this.
Nudging her feet wide with his still dusty boots, he spread her legs apart. He then hastily unbuttoned his falls and pushed her forward so that she braced herself on the vanity table. Impatiently, he located her opening and slid into her heat with one forceful shove.
A few glass jars and tiny brushes crashed to the floor with his first thrust. Less so, with his second, but he barely noticed. Her eyes met his in the mirror, half closed in a haze of lust. As he grasped her by the waist, he didn’t pretend this was affection. It was a storm that needed to exert itself before the sun could come out again.
He did not spend himself quickly. Although his thighs began to burn and his heart raced, he buried himself inside of her again and again. Her bottom was flushed red from where his groin slapped and ground against her.
Was he punishing her?
Was that what this was?
He felt her climax first and, as a flush crept over her body, he quickened his own movements. It did not take long thereafter for him to find his own completion.
