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“I want to do more than kiss you, Hilla. That is what holds me back.”
If it is a sin to want to be with a man so soon after becoming a widow, then God may count me a sinner.
“I want more too, Aiken.”
27
Aiken
There are so many reasons this is a bad idea. The fact that her traitorous husband was just recently killed is not among them. But I can think of plenty of others.
But there’s also one good reason to pull Hilla into my arms.
And so, I do.
This time, tis not a kiss meant to deceive. Or one born out of desperation at the thought of never seeing her again. This kiss is one of pure desire. Of respect. Of reverence, even. Our tongues tangle, my hands wasting no time untying the laces of her overcoat, which I’ve been eyeing since she stepped on this ship. Because I’ve imagined my fingers doing this very thing, the ties come loose rather easily.
I press my lips harder, coaxing Hilla’s tongue into a rhythm neither of us will be able to stop. With every sweep, her gown loosens. Loath to pull away from her, but glad now I’ve done so as it affords my eyes a feast, I watch as Hilla assists me until she wears nothing but a shift and hose.
“I would make love to you, Hilla,” I tell her, loosening the leather belt at my waist. “I would bury myself so deep inside you,” I say, making quick work of my robes and linen shirt as Hilla stares, “as I’ve wanted to do from that first day.”
Hilla’s lips part as I rid myself of my boots after tossing my shirt on her bed. Now standing before her in nothing but breeches, I wait for her permission. And think to reassure her.
“I will not get you with child,” I promise, the muscles in my buttocks clenching at the thought of pulling out once inside her. How many nights did I lie beside Hilla thinking of this? Too many, and nothing but her words will stop it.
“You can assure such a thing?”
I pull her toward me again.
“Aye.”
With just a thin slip of material between us, her breasts pressing against my chest, I await her response by allowing my hands to roam.
And roam they do.
Down to the hem of her shift, where I grab the material in anticipation.
“I would make love to a man who does not despise me. One who treats me kindly.”
Her admission reminds me that, even if she’s not been physically abused, she has been so in every other way. Pulling upward, slowly with anticipation, I make a vow to her.
“I will revere you as you deserve, Hilla.”
Tis good the words have already left my mouth. Now that Hilla is completely nude, I’d not have been able to speak. Light from the sole lantern in her small cabin illuminates every curve. Grabbing her hands, I place them on my chest.
“The night I was in the tub,” I tell her, my thumbs reaching out and circling both nipples. “I saw you watching me.”
Finally, hesitantly at first, she begins her own exploration. The featherlight touch of her fingertips on my chest makes me wonder how long this could possibly last.
Go slowly with her, Aiken. She is a virgin in the ways that matter most.
“If you knew how badly I wanted to do this,” I say as my hand lowers, finally cupping her. “And this.”
Her expression when I slip inside tells me all I need to know of the bastard she’d been married to. Hilla’s hands freeze on my chest, her eyes wide. But I do not relent. Pushing inside, gliding and circling, I silently give thanks to my early instructors in this dance of desire.
“Aiken,” she breathes, “I did not know.”
I press first my palm, and then my body, against her, as closely as I’m able with my arm between us. Kissing her, I show Hilla all that is possible between a man and a woman that has naught to do with producing an heir.
