He dropped his forehead to hers. “It is not that kind of pain.”
“Your injuries?”
“No. It is that I feel as you did before you reached fulfillment, but I can’t.” He lifted his head and looked into her concerned green eyes and wanted her more than air.
“You did not feel what I felt because you were clothed.”
At her naïve conclusion, his dark thoughts dropped away. “Yes. I would need to be naked.”
“Then you must undress immediately.”
He barely kept his smile from appearing. “Must I, now?”
“Absolutely. I want to see you like you have seen me.”
At her words all humor vanished and his body reminded him that it wanted release. If he did as she demanded and attempted intercourse, he would fail miserably. The thought of her seeing him unable to please her had his ardor cooling considerably.
But that might be what needed to happen for her to let him go.
Straightening, he carefully removed himself from the bed, wishing there was a bottle of whisky in the room. This would be the hardest thing he’d ever done in his life, except possibly living after being shot.
He turned to face her to find she’d grabbed up her shift and used it as a blanket. Her innocence made it a bit easier to do what must be done. Looking down, he unbuttoned the front of his pantaloons, but didn’t let the material fall. He was no longer as hard as before, but he also wasn’t small.
“Now don’t play shy, Marcus. I know what men look like.”
He doubted that very much. “Men, as in more than one?”
She cocked her head and raised her brows. “As a matter of fact, I’ve seen sketches and even a half-naked male model.”
He had no doubt which half that would be, but would still insist on knowing how that had come about, though his guess would be it had something to do with her sister, the artist. “Very well. If you insist.” He kept his gaze on her face as he let go of the material.
Her eyes rounded in appreciation before her brows knit. “I’m not sure we will fit.”
His heart lurched at the thought of actually sinking into her and his body responded. Quickly, he pushed down the tight pantaloons, and stepped from them, purposefully turning his back on her as he bent to the floor to lift them. At her intake of breath, he grinned. At least she liked that side of him.
Finally, he faced her completely naked and allowed her to view his scarred body. The courtesans he’d attempted to bed in France had been well practiced in hiding their true reaction to him, but Mariel would be honest.
Her gaze turned from delighted to concerned in seconds. “Do your scars hurt now?”
He rubbed the one on his thigh out of habit. “My leg can sometimes pain me in the winter, but it is nothing. If anything, it reminds me that I survived a great war.”
She rose onto her knees still holding her shift before her, her hair now free of its loose tie. She was a mixture of seductress and innocent. “May I touch you?”
Her request humbled him, so he moved toward the bed.
“Tell me if I hurt you.”
He bit down his smile as she almost echoed his own words to her. What a pair they made.
With one hand, she held her shift while she used the other to lightly touch his scar. He hadn’t expected that. Then she leaned forward and kissed it. As she did so, her loose hair fell against his erection and he hardened.
When she pulled back, she hesitated, obviously noticing the change. But she didn’t stop. Instead, she ran her fingers down his shaft before enfolding it in her hand. Bloody hell, where had she learned that?
He swelled within her grasp and it was all he could do not to moan. He didn’t wish to scare her, but he didn’t wish to spill his seed in her hand. He covered her hand with his own.
Her gaze flew to his. “Does it hurt?”
How could he explain the kind of pain he was in to a woman who’d only reached fulfillment for the first time mere minutes earlier? He let go of her hand, and she pulled it to her, grasping her shift tightly. “It is only the pain of wanting you.”
