roof. In some company that meant he was honour-bound not to seduce her.
That was all well and good, for that company.
Charles, however, had every intention of using the days of their engagement to his full advantage. He had several days before they would marry, so he remained quietly still, rubbing his hand idly over his reawakened erection as he considered the next few days.
Of all the stories he’d heard about men and their wedding nights, the only happy ones had been from men who had not had truly innocent brides. Despite her flirtatious tongue, Charles was convinced that Abigail was not schooled in the sensual arts. Her response to his touch had been instinctive and tentative, neither terrified nor expectant. In his fantasies, Abigail would lust for him, and be ripe with the need to mate with him. In reality, Charles sensed an undeveloped sensual awareness in Abigail. Her naturally responsive body and their isolation from her family would favour him, if he could ease her into an understanding and acceptance of the shockingly intimate relationship he most secretly desired, without unwarranted, unhelpful instruction from other women.
Until Abigail’s name had been put forward as his wife, Charles had been convinced such pastimes would be confined to encounters with whores or, at best, an acquiescent mistress kept well away from family and friends. Of course, it remained to be seen if Abigail could one day welcome the illicit escapades in which he delighted, or if she would be convinced to indulge him for the sake of pleasing him, or if she would simply come to gracefully accept his rule of their marriage and marital bed because she had no expectations other than the ones he created.
Charles considered any of the three possibilities to be immensely pleasurable. It remained only to carefully guard her feisty nature while at the same time shifting whatever her expectations were so that they would parallel his.
Smiling, Charles wandered into the bedchamber and walked confidently to the window in the dark room. A fire burned in the grate, but the room was dark enough to cast a low glow on the furniture. Abigail belonged here, her naked body in his bed. She might not believe him yet, but he wouldn’t have had any compunction about using her hair ribbon to tie her wrists to the headboard of a bed—either the one she slept in or this one they would share. In fact, he rather looked forward to the opportunity, and planned to enact it as soon as he was certain she wouldn’t panic.
Charles wanted to wrap the ribbon through and around her wrists and knot it tightly so that her hands were clasped, then pull them above her head so that her arms were stretched out to display all of her gleaming, ivory skin. He wanted her rich curls fanned across the pillows as she rolled her head back and forth in agonised ecstasy. He wanted her sleepy eyes bright with lust and desperation. He wanted to hear her begging for him to pinch her, to bite her, to squeeze her, to spank her, to fuck her.
Right now, though, he was the one aching. Again. It had been years since he’d had to take himself in hand as much as he had today, but Abigail wasn’t going to be welcoming him with deliciously spread thighs any time soon. He’d be damned if he’d turn any loyal servant into his personal strumpet to relieve the ache from a woman who would shortly be his countess. He shoved down his pants and toed off his trousers, then slid his bare haunches onto the bed.
Once she was stretched out beneath him, he’d kneel between her legs and do all the things she would beg him to do. He grasped his staff a little roughly as he imagined how her plump breasts would gleam after he’d bitten and licked and sucked them. Farther down, he imagined her legs spread wide, his hands splayed on the backs of her thighs as he held her open for his tongue and teeth and lips. She’d be helpless to do anything but accept it, no matter how long he sucked her clitoris or
That was all well and good, for that company.
Charles, however, had every intention of using the days of their engagement to his full advantage. He had several days before they would marry, so he remained quietly still, rubbing his hand idly over his reawakened erection as he considered the next few days.
Of all the stories he’d heard about men and their wedding nights, the only happy ones had been from men who had not had truly innocent brides. Despite her flirtatious tongue, Charles was convinced that Abigail was not schooled in the sensual arts. Her response to his touch had been instinctive and tentative, neither terrified nor expectant. In his fantasies, Abigail would lust for him, and be ripe with the need to mate with him. In reality, Charles sensed an undeveloped sensual awareness in Abigail. Her naturally responsive body and their isolation from her family would favour him, if he could ease her into an understanding and acceptance of the shockingly intimate relationship he most secretly desired, without unwarranted, unhelpful instruction from other women.
Until Abigail’s name had been put forward as his wife, Charles had been convinced such pastimes would be confined to encounters with whores or, at best, an acquiescent mistress kept well away from family and friends. Of course, it remained to be seen if Abigail could one day welcome the illicit escapades in which he delighted, or if she would be convinced to indulge him for the sake of pleasing him, or if she would simply come to gracefully accept his rule of their marriage and marital bed because she had no expectations other than the ones he created.
Charles considered any of the three possibilities to be immensely pleasurable. It remained only to carefully guard her feisty nature while at the same time shifting whatever her expectations were so that they would parallel his.
Smiling, Charles wandered into the bedchamber and walked confidently to the window in the dark room. A fire burned in the grate, but the room was dark enough to cast a low glow on the furniture. Abigail belonged here, her naked body in his bed. She might not believe him yet, but he wouldn’t have had any compunction about using her hair ribbon to tie her wrists to the headboard of a bed—either the one she slept in or this one they would share. In fact, he rather looked forward to the opportunity, and planned to enact it as soon as he was certain she wouldn’t panic.
Charles wanted to wrap the ribbon through and around her wrists and knot it tightly so that her hands were clasped, then pull them above her head so that her arms were stretched out to display all of her gleaming, ivory skin. He wanted her rich curls fanned across the pillows as she rolled her head back and forth in agonised ecstasy. He wanted her sleepy eyes bright with lust and desperation. He wanted to hear her begging for him to pinch her, to bite her, to squeeze her, to spank her, to fuck her.
Right now, though, he was the one aching. Again. It had been years since he’d had to take himself in hand as much as he had today, but Abigail wasn’t going to be welcoming him with deliciously spread thighs any time soon. He’d be damned if he’d turn any loyal servant into his personal strumpet to relieve the ache from a woman who would shortly be his countess. He shoved down his pants and toed off his trousers, then slid his bare haunches onto the bed.
Once she was stretched out beneath him, he’d kneel between her legs and do all the things she would beg him to do. He grasped his staff a little roughly as he imagined how her plump breasts would gleam after he’d bitten and licked and sucked them. Farther down, he imagined her legs spread wide, his hands splayed on the backs of her thighs as he held her open for his tongue and teeth and lips. She’d be helpless to do anything but accept it, no matter how long he sucked her clitoris or
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