dangle? Put them about his shoulders as seemed the sensible thing to do?
“Come,” he was saying, his mouth still brushing hers. “Let us lie down. I shall extinguish the candles. You will be more comfortable in the darkness.”
“Yes,” she said. Actually, she thought, she would be more comfortable behind six locked doors, but she did not say the words aloud. A jest seemed to be inappropriate to the moment. Besides, she doubted that she would be able to get so many words past her teeth without their rattling loudly enough to drown out the sound.
She climbed into bed and moved to the far side of it while he blew out the candles. He was not wearing his dressing gown when he joined her, just a nightshirt.
This could prove to be something of a massacre, she thought, and then clamped her teeth together hard. She had not said that aloud, had she?
“Abby,” he said, one arm coming beneath her shoulders and turning her so that she was instantly aware of his nearness, of the warmth of his body. “I don’t want to hurt you. I would like to spend a little time getting you ready. Shall I? Or would you like to have this over with without further delay?” The sound of his voice suggested that he was smiling.
It was all very well for him to joke, she thought. He was not almost blind with terror and embarrassment. “You are the expert,” she said. “I don’t feel quite capable of making decisions.”
He laughed softly, and Abigail clamped her teeth together again, feeling all her neck muscles grow rigid.
Getting her ready involved some slow kissing until she began to relax and hope that perhaps he would be satisfied with that for one night. He must be quite as tired as she. But his hand was stroking over her shoulder, relaxing the muscles there, and down over her breast. And he was slowly undoing the buttons at the front of her nightgown.
And the gown was being nudged off her shoulder and down her arm and his warm hand was cupping her naked breast, stroking lightly over it. His thumb was rubbing gently at her nipple.
As his mouth moved downward to her throat and her breast, her nightgown was being lifted up her legs, which he was touching with light fingertips, and she was lifting her hips by instinct rather than design so that it could be raised to her waist. His hand stroked between her thighs, a little cooler than the flesh there, strong and firm, and very male. And he was reaching behind himself.
“I am going to put a cloth beneath you,” he told her, and she shifted her hips again while he did so, and turned onto her back.
He was leaning over her, smoothing the fingers of one hand over her cheek, across her forehead.
“Just relax,” he said. “If it hurts, Abby, it will be just briefly.”
“Yes,” she said, and wondered that a voice could shake so badly over the uttering of one word.
He was heavy on her, and his own nightshirt was up about his waist. She felt heat flare as his knees came between hers and pushed them wide on the bed and firm hands came beneath her to raise her.
And then it was happening. But there could not be enough room. There could not possibly be.
“Oh, no,” she said. “Please don’t.”
But he kept coming and coming until he was deeply embedded in her body and the sharp pain had not grown into anything unbearable.
“It’s all right,” he said. “Just relax.”
Just relax! Abigail was waiting to die. But it was possible after all, she thought as terror began to recede. There was indeed room. She was his wife. The wedding-night consummation was no longer in the future, but in the past. She felt an enormous relief.
“No, don’t,” she said when he began to withdraw. She was not ready yet to relinquish her sense of triumph.
And he listened to her. He came back into her.
“Hush,” he said. “Just relax. This is what happens.”
What happened lasted for several minutes and took Abigail completely by surprise. She lay still and quiet, fearing that each withdrawal
“Come,” he was saying, his mouth still brushing hers. “Let us lie down. I shall extinguish the candles. You will be more comfortable in the darkness.”
“Yes,” she said. Actually, she thought, she would be more comfortable behind six locked doors, but she did not say the words aloud. A jest seemed to be inappropriate to the moment. Besides, she doubted that she would be able to get so many words past her teeth without their rattling loudly enough to drown out the sound.
She climbed into bed and moved to the far side of it while he blew out the candles. He was not wearing his dressing gown when he joined her, just a nightshirt.
This could prove to be something of a massacre, she thought, and then clamped her teeth together hard. She had not said that aloud, had she?
“Abby,” he said, one arm coming beneath her shoulders and turning her so that she was instantly aware of his nearness, of the warmth of his body. “I don’t want to hurt you. I would like to spend a little time getting you ready. Shall I? Or would you like to have this over with without further delay?” The sound of his voice suggested that he was smiling.
It was all very well for him to joke, she thought. He was not almost blind with terror and embarrassment. “You are the expert,” she said. “I don’t feel quite capable of making decisions.”
He laughed softly, and Abigail clamped her teeth together again, feeling all her neck muscles grow rigid.
Getting her ready involved some slow kissing until she began to relax and hope that perhaps he would be satisfied with that for one night. He must be quite as tired as she. But his hand was stroking over her shoulder, relaxing the muscles there, and down over her breast. And he was slowly undoing the buttons at the front of her nightgown.
And the gown was being nudged off her shoulder and down her arm and his warm hand was cupping her naked breast, stroking lightly over it. His thumb was rubbing gently at her nipple.
As his mouth moved downward to her throat and her breast, her nightgown was being lifted up her legs, which he was touching with light fingertips, and she was lifting her hips by instinct rather than design so that it could be raised to her waist. His hand stroked between her thighs, a little cooler than the flesh there, strong and firm, and very male. And he was reaching behind himself.
“I am going to put a cloth beneath you,” he told her, and she shifted her hips again while he did so, and turned onto her back.
He was leaning over her, smoothing the fingers of one hand over her cheek, across her forehead.
“Just relax,” he said. “If it hurts, Abby, it will be just briefly.”
“Yes,” she said, and wondered that a voice could shake so badly over the uttering of one word.
He was heavy on her, and his own nightshirt was up about his waist. She felt heat flare as his knees came between hers and pushed them wide on the bed and firm hands came beneath her to raise her.
And then it was happening. But there could not be enough room. There could not possibly be.
“Oh, no,” she said. “Please don’t.”
But he kept coming and coming until he was deeply embedded in her body and the sharp pain had not grown into anything unbearable.
“It’s all right,” he said. “Just relax.”
Just relax! Abigail was waiting to die. But it was possible after all, she thought as terror began to recede. There was indeed room. She was his wife. The wedding-night consummation was no longer in the future, but in the past. She felt an enormous relief.
“No, don’t,” she said when he began to withdraw. She was not ready yet to relinquish her sense of triumph.
And he listened to her. He came back into her.
“Hush,” he said. “Just relax. This is what happens.”
What happened lasted for several minutes and took Abigail completely by surprise. She lay still and quiet, fearing that each withdrawal
Similar Books
