Cressida's Dilemma

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, the rapid rise and fall of his chest, his piercing stare and the exuberance of his manhood outlined by his nightshirt boldly declaring his desire.

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 this was not what a man did when he was with his wife.

At least two layers of fabric were always trapped at some point between them.

Tonight’s strange, lurid, exciting, wicked and depraved voyeurism had shocked her yet filled 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.Panic ripped through her as the mattress dipped beneath Justin’s weight. 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, he gently kissed her lips.

“Lovely creature,” he whispered as the fabric yielded and her breasts spilled out into his hands.

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. She felt her body all but surrendering at the rightness of enslaving itself once more to him. 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.

Another child, she truly believed, would kill her.

“My sweet Cressida, I have missed you.” His voice was hoarse with yearning as he transferred his attention to her other breast, his hot breath and skillful tongue stirring up the aching need within her to almost desperate heights. 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 while 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. 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.

Right now, even Cressida didn’t understand. She had no idea of the nature of the practicalities that Miss Mariah had suggested might be the answer to her troubles. How could she properly explain to Justin her encounter with a common doxy who’d promised to show her ways to minimize conception during lovemaking? Or of the alternative sensory exploration she’d witnessed earlier in the evening? She could no more do that than sail into White’s and join her husband for a whiskey at his club.

And then, as her hand inadvertently brushed across his nightshirt and she felt the size of his erection, that alternative sensory exploration returned as a possible salvation.

She blocked her mind to the fact that he’d consider it so out of character for her to take such an initiative. All she needed right now were delaying tactics, and if they made Justin happy, all the better.

Quickly, without saying a word, she pressed him onto his back and shimmied beneath the bedcovers, taking his erection in her hands and flicking her tongue across the tip of his manhood.

She heard his sudden intake of breath in the silence and stilled. Waiting. The man at Mrs. Plumb’s h

ad certainly enjoyed such a sensation, but what would Justin think when it was his wife attending to him in such a manner? Would he be similarly enthralled…or horrified?

At least it was better than any other alternative that involved procreation.

His entire body was rigid with surprise—and anticipation?—but he said nothing, just placed his hand gently on her head and breathed out in one long sigh.

Emboldened, Cressida drew the length of him into her mouth. How hard and hot it was. And how delightful it was to be the giver of such pleasure. Always she’d waited for Justin to initiate any variation on their bedroom delights.

Another groan. Surely she wasn’t hurting him? The look of ecstasy on the face of tonight’s bronzed warrior suggested a man did not find such attention painful. No, Justin’s groan was definitely pleasure, for he was as tense as an arrow’s bow. She shifted onto her knees, feeling the moisture between her thighs, a sign of her own excitement. She gently increased the pressure with her hands around his rigid shaft while her mouth moved up and down, her tongue flicking the length of him. She was balancing the score and she was enjoying doing it. She could do this every night without ever having to worry about conceiving again.

On this happy thought, she focused her entire attention upon pleasuring Justin, using her tongue along the length of his shaft—just as she’d seen it done at Mrs. Plumb’s—circling it before taking him deeply into her mouth in a series of languorous thrusts.

“Cressida…darling…” His voice was hoarse as he dug his fingers into her shoulders. He seemed to be straining, using every ounce of willpower to keep still. She sensed what he must be feeling. She’d felt it many times, herself, when Justin’s pleasuring had brought her to the cusp and she’d held back, feeling a strange mixture of both terror and ecstasy before spiraling into the glorious abyss.

She wanted Justin to feel the same wonderful sensations to which he’d introduced her. Exultation, pride and satisfaction welled up inside her. Without Mrs. Plumb’s help, Cressida had discovered the secret to bringing her husband pleasure without implicating herself in anything that would return to haunt her.