cloistered life than for the part
of a strong and warlike baron. His treatment of he r was scrupulously polite. He
kissed her repeatedly, always with his mouth closed. While he
kissed her, he stroked her breasts and her shoulders and arms until
she began to experience an aching sensation deep in her belly that
made her put her arms around him and press herself against him. He
held her closely, with one hand now stroking along her back and
down to her hips and outer thighs until she began to moan and twist
in his arms. Then, as if in response to her cries, his male
hardness rose in a swift rush against her thigh, startling
her.
Someone had left candles burning on a table
in the bridal chamber so they would not be in complete blackness,
and by now Joanna’s eyes had adjusted to the semidarkness behind
the bedcurtains. She could see Crispin’s shape when he rose beside
her, and she saw the outline of his stiff manhood. She whimpered,
but it was not in fear. His persistent, gentle wooing of her body
was having its desired result. He put both hands upon her breasts,
kneading her nipples, and the heavy ache deep inside her began to
focus on one particular spot.
Crispin drew his hands slowly down across her
abdomen and on to her thighs. He began to pull her legs apart. At
first she wanted to protest, but all she could do was utter a soft,
helpless cry. Remembering Rohaise’s instructions, she voluntarily
adjusted her position, allowing him access to the most private part
of her body. He knelt between her thighs, and a moment later she
could feel him pushing against her.
“I will be as gentle as I can,” he
promised.
“I understand.” She took a deep breath.
Preparing herself for pain, she placed a hand on each of his
shoulders.
It was more like a stretching sensation than
actual pain, and it was only briefly uncomfortable. Crispin slowly
pushed himself into her, pausing once when she cried out, and then
continuing until he was completely inside her. He slid his hands
around to her buttocks to pull her closer still, and he began to
move. She was already partially aroused by his prolonged
attentions, and there was in his steady, continuing motions a
friction that began to warm her still more. He was being as gentle
as he had promised, and the heavy ache in her belly had changed
into a sweet, warm hunger that gnawed at her. She threw her head
back, gasping for air.
“Does it hurt?” he asked, apparently
misinterpreting her movement.
“No, my lord.” She sounded as if she was in
pain, but it was not pain; it was something else, something just
beyond her reach. “It is pleasant,” she assured him, wishing he
would continue what he was doing indefinitely.
“Good.” He kissed her cheek. “I hoped you
would find it so.” He moved twice more, pushing harder and deeper
now, and then expelled a long breath. When he withdrew from her and
rolled to one side she clutched at his shoulder as if to keep him
where he was.
“Please don’t stop, my lord.”
“I must, for now. And call me Crispin.”
Putting an arm around her shoulders, he pulled her close, kissing
her brow.
“It was so sweet and gentle,” she said. “Not
frightening at all. Could we do it again soon?”
“We will,” he promised. “Every night until I
get you with child.”
“I hope you will not stop then,” she said. “I
think with practice I might enjoy it even more.”
He did not answer, but only chuckled and held
her a little more tightly.
And when, later that night, he knelt between
her thighs again and touched her in places he had not stroked the
first time he had taken her, she warmed to him even more. When he
buried himself in her and held her buttocks, pushing her against
him, she grasped him in the same way, so that they were firmly
fused, and the tight fitting together of their bodies stirred her
into a sudden and brief explosion that shook her for an instant,
making her cry out softly. Again he kissed her and held her
tenderly
of a strong and warlike baron. His treatment of he r was scrupulously polite. He
kissed her repeatedly, always with his mouth closed. While he
kissed her, he stroked her breasts and her shoulders and arms until
she began to experience an aching sensation deep in her belly that
made her put her arms around him and press herself against him. He
held her closely, with one hand now stroking along her back and
down to her hips and outer thighs until she began to moan and twist
in his arms. Then, as if in response to her cries, his male
hardness rose in a swift rush against her thigh, startling
her.
Someone had left candles burning on a table
in the bridal chamber so they would not be in complete blackness,
and by now Joanna’s eyes had adjusted to the semidarkness behind
the bedcurtains. She could see Crispin’s shape when he rose beside
her, and she saw the outline of his stiff manhood. She whimpered,
but it was not in fear. His persistent, gentle wooing of her body
was having its desired result. He put both hands upon her breasts,
kneading her nipples, and the heavy ache deep inside her began to
focus on one particular spot.
Crispin drew his hands slowly down across her
abdomen and on to her thighs. He began to pull her legs apart. At
first she wanted to protest, but all she could do was utter a soft,
helpless cry. Remembering Rohaise’s instructions, she voluntarily
adjusted her position, allowing him access to the most private part
of her body. He knelt between her thighs, and a moment later she
could feel him pushing against her.
“I will be as gentle as I can,” he
promised.
“I understand.” She took a deep breath.
Preparing herself for pain, she placed a hand on each of his
shoulders.
It was more like a stretching sensation than
actual pain, and it was only briefly uncomfortable. Crispin slowly
pushed himself into her, pausing once when she cried out, and then
continuing until he was completely inside her. He slid his hands
around to her buttocks to pull her closer still, and he began to
move. She was already partially aroused by his prolonged
attentions, and there was in his steady, continuing motions a
friction that began to warm her still more. He was being as gentle
as he had promised, and the heavy ache in her belly had changed
into a sweet, warm hunger that gnawed at her. She threw her head
back, gasping for air.
“Does it hurt?” he asked, apparently
misinterpreting her movement.
“No, my lord.” She sounded as if she was in
pain, but it was not pain; it was something else, something just
beyond her reach. “It is pleasant,” she assured him, wishing he
would continue what he was doing indefinitely.
“Good.” He kissed her cheek. “I hoped you
would find it so.” He moved twice more, pushing harder and deeper
now, and then expelled a long breath. When he withdrew from her and
rolled to one side she clutched at his shoulder as if to keep him
where he was.
“Please don’t stop, my lord.”
“I must, for now. And call me Crispin.”
Putting an arm around her shoulders, he pulled her close, kissing
her brow.
“It was so sweet and gentle,” she said. “Not
frightening at all. Could we do it again soon?”
“We will,” he promised. “Every night until I
get you with child.”
“I hope you will not stop then,” she said. “I
think with practice I might enjoy it even more.”
He did not answer, but only chuckled and held
her a little more tightly.
And when, later that night, he knelt between
her thighs again and touched her in places he had not stroked the
first time he had taken her, she warmed to him even more. When he
buried himself in her and held her buttocks, pushing her against
him, she grasped him in the same way, so that they were firmly
fused, and the tight fitting together of their bodies stirred her
into a sudden and brief explosion that shook her for an instant,
making her cry out softly. Again he kissed her and held her
tenderly
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