It had been months since Justin had visited her, an eternity since his gaze had raked her with that almost forgotten look of aching want that, in the bedroom, replaced the habitual affection he showed her during the day .
In the flickering candlelight ,the warmth of his smile gained heat as he rose to untie the cord of his banyan. It slid off his shoulders while he focused his gaze with unmistakable longing on her breasts, still confined in her lace-edged night shift. Cressida felt her palms begin to sweat, her breath fizzling in her throat as she feasted her eyes on the length of him.
Oh, he’d never reveal himself to her naked, but as she recalled the bronzed warrior she’d seen earlier that evening in the mist- filled chamber of brazenness, she knew Justin would look every bit as magnificent.
His good nature was etched in the fine lines around his usually warm brown eyes, now black with desire as they bore into her. His strong jaw was tense with intent, the well-sculpted cheek muscles sharp planes and shadows. Fashionably thick and curling hair brushed forward made him a handsome man. During the day, he was the urbane lord of the manor. Tonight, the finer civilities were stripped away as he pulled back the covers of the bed, the rapid rise and fall of his chest, his piercing stare and the exuberance of his manhood outlined by his nightshirt boldly declaring his rampant want.
For the first time, Cressida focused her attention upon the masculine contours of his fine linen shift. No, Justin would never come naked to her, and she’d never thought to explore the idea of skin to skin contact. Why? Because clearly skin to skin contact was not part of the marital act between a man and woman of Cressida’s respective stations.
At least two layers of fabric were always trapped at some point between them.
Tonight’s strange, wicked and depraved voyeurism had added a new perspective to her understanding of physical relations between men and women. It had shocked her yet excited her, filling her with longings she could not put into words.
Longings that stirred in her womb and made her damp, no, slick with desire. She ached to hold her husband to her breast, to wrap her legs around his waist and to rock with him in an embrace that would envelop them in sensation and sweep before it all the pain and loneliness of these ten long months.
But she could not.
Not yet.
Reason told her she need simply explain to Justin that she
wasn’t ready, yet reassure him that she soon would be.
Instead, panic ripped through her as the mattress dipped beneath Justin’s weight; and reason—and with it, words—deserted her. What should she do? How could she explain that the only thing between her and Justin was ‘a little matter’ she’d attend to by
next week? She’d already used her monthly excuses last week.
Her mind raced. She could hardly breathe through the fear as he slipped beneath the sheets and drew her to him, his fingers gently tugging at the ribbon of her night rail. She felt herself go
rigid in his arms and nearly wept at the pain she’d soon cause him.
Taking her gasp as encouragement, and her rigidity as anticipation and perhaps a little fear after so long, he gently kissed her lips. “Lovely creature,” he whispered as the fabric yielded and her breasts spilled out into his hands.
Glancing up at his face, she was not surprised at the warmth of his love, radiating from him. Justin had always made her feel loved. As if she were a temple to the depth of his feelings for her, which ran so deep.
She whimpered as he found just the right pressure to knead her into compliance. His tongue, hot and wet, circled her nipple while one hand gently massaged her heated inner thighs and her body all but surrendered on the spot at the rightness of enslaving itself once more to him.
But she held herself back. She had to, even though the throbbing at the apex of her legs was agonizing. Once he recognized her need, she was doomed. She would conceive another child tonight, she knew it.
And another child, she truly believed, would kill her.
“My sweet Cressida, I have missed you.” There was so much yearning in those few words before he transferred his attention to her other breast, she nearly wept. Meanwhile, she was acutely aware of the desperate need within her own body whipped up by his hot breath and skillful tongue.
Prickles of sensation skittered from the tips of her toes into the core of her belly, and she whimpered as she felt another rush of heat to her groin.
Justin found the hem of her night rail and gently tugged. Making the most of drawing it languidly up over her thighs, his fingers trailed a devastating path of lust and longing.
Feelings Cressida knew only too well. Feelings that would be the end of her.
Fighting every fiber of her needy body, she caged his hand against her thigh, halting its progress. Abruptly, he stopped, raising his head to look at her. In the pale glow, she saw the confusion that crossed his features. She’d met him part way, but now she was telling him she did not want him? She knew it was what he was thinking, and she forced out a thread of sound to tell him she loved and desired him as she always had.
“I’m sorry, Justin, I can’t—” she croaked, her parched lips desperate for his understanding kiss.
But tonight Justin did not look as understanding as usual. He stilled, his hands withdrawing themselves from her body as he withdrew, the few inches between their heated flanks like a chasm of ice and fire.
“You don’t want this?” A myriad of emotions flashed across his countenance—surprise, confusion, a brief flash of anger, then...
Nothing but dull resignation, oh, so much worse than anger and disappointment. Those she could meet with her own protests, perhaps propelling all that stood between them into the open. He might hate her for her disloyalty, but at least he’d understand.