“I want you so much,” he whispered, and I could not deny the intensity of his words. They both thrilled and terrified me. “Since the moment I laid eyes on you…when I pulled you close to me on my horse…I wanted you then. So beautiful, so soft…”
He sucked my lower lip into his mouth, tracing the edge of it with his tongue before releasing me, only to kiss me deeper as his fingers went to the lacings at the top of the nightdress. Obviously, there had been no need to lace it up, for the laces were removed only moments later. He didn’t pull it open though. He just lay his hand on my shoulder, his fingers teasing softly under the edge of the cloth.
“Touch me.” His voice was pleading.
I placed my hand on his shoulder, splaying my fingers out against his warm flesh. It didn’t stay there long, though, as Branford’s fingers wrapped loosely around my wrist, and he pulled my hand down off his shoulder and across his chest. He brought it all the way down to his stomach where I could feel the lines of muscle I had admired earlier as well as a light sprinkling of hair across his skin.
“Touch me,” he repeated, and rolled over onto his back, bringing me over to my side. He held my hand flat against his abdomen as we moved and then released my wrist, placing his fingers atop my own. He started pushing my hand lower, and I felt the fabric of his white linen pants against the tips of my fingers.
As his intentions became apparent to me, I felt my breath catch in my throat. He wanted my hand on him—he wanted me to touch that strange, masculine part of him that was meant to open the way for me to bear his children.
“Touch me, Alexandra,” he said again. “Please, I won’t hurt you…just touch me.”
I had felt it before—pushed up against my stomach at times when he was full of desire and need. But to do this…to actually touch his male flesh with my hand? I felt a cold shiver race between my shoulder blades, and if his hand had not been on top of mine, I probably would have pulled away. At the same time, I found myself strangely intrigued. What would it feel like in my hand? What would it look like? I had never seen a man without his clothing and had never given much thought what he looked like underneath. Earlier, Branford had told me he wanted to see me—to see me bare. It was something he desired, and I found myself wondering what he looked like as well.
“You don’t have to, Alexandra,” Branford said. I looked up to meet his gaze. His lips turned up in his half smile. “But I am your husband, and at some point, you will become fairly familiar with it.”
I knew I had to be blushing a deeper crimson than I ever had before. Branford chuckled softly and then brought his lips to my forehead.
“Whenever you want to,” he said. “It’s not going anywhere, I promise.”
“I just…I mean…I never…”
“I should hope not,” Branford said with mock indignation. “I would be quite affronted if I ever heard of any man getting close enough to you to show you such a thing.”
I smiled, and then a giggle escaped my mouth. I turned my face into Branford’s chest since his hand prevented me from covering my laughter with my fingers.
“Do you want me to help?” he asked quietly.
“Help?” I could barely hear my own voice. Without another word, Branford used his hand to push mine lower. I felt the edge of his trousers at first, and then my fingers came into contact with the very end of him, round and bulging under his clothes. He didn’t pause but continued to move my hand lower until my fingers rested on top of it with only the thin linen separating my flesh from his.
I closed my eyes and pressed my teeth against my bottom lip. Even through the fabric of his pants, I could feel the heat of him in my palm. I heard Branford’s shuddering breath, and he moved my hand all the way down to the base and then back up to the tip. It was warm, and it was hard, and it was…huge.
There was no way…no possible way…it couldn’t…it couldn’t…
“Of course it will, my wife,” Branford said softly. I had no idea I had spoken aloud. “Your body is made to accept me into you. God made us this way to join together, to bring forth children and to bring each other pleasure. It is His gift to us.”
The top of my hand went cold as he released my fingers and brought his hand to my cheek. He kissed me softly, and when I opened my eyes, he was staring at me.
“I want to touch you,” he said. “I want to feel your skin in my hands—feel your warmth, your softness. I want to kiss your mouth, your neck, the hollow of your throat. I want to kiss your shoulder, where I…where I hurt you. I want to kiss your breasts and suck them into my mouth while my hands explore your body. I want to make you feel like you never have before.”
I trembled at his words, and I felt that spot between my legs begin to tingle. Branford’s hand began to push back the front of my nightdress, opening it fully and removing the laces from the holes where they once held my clothing closed. My mind was spinning as he reached the end of the ties and fully pushed away the fabric of the dress, and it fell back from my shoulders.
“So beautiful,” he murmured before he kissed my mouth again, his tongue pushing between my lips and colliding with mine. He kissed me deeply, over and over again before he moved his mouth to my chin, across my jaw, and up to my ear. He sucked the lobe into his mouth a moment and then blew warm air across my skin. He rolled his body to the side, pressing his hard length against my hand, and I started to pull away, but he grasped my wrist again and held me in place. His lips were against my hair as he took a deep breath through his nose and let it out slowly.
“Your hand feels so good there,” he said so quietly I could barely hear him. He let go of me and raised himself to his knees, once again pulling me with him. My hand fell away, feeling quite cold. As I knelt on the bed facing him, he placed his lips against my throat. He ran his hands up my arms, from my wrists all the way to my shoulders. He carefully avoided the mark on my shoulder, but as his fingers moved past it, he kissed down my neck and over to the mark. He brushed it softly with his lips as his eyes squeezed shut for a moment. He pushed the sleeves of my nightdress down my arms and over my hands, pulling them free once again. He caught my wrist in his hand and brought my arm out in front of my body.
In the dim candlelight, the bruises on my arm were hardly visible, but he found them anyway. His eyes narrowed, and his brow creased as he examined them, and then he kissed them gently with the same strained look across his face.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered in the darkness. “Never again, Alexandra. I swear.”
I cupped his face. The rough stubble of his beard felt good against my palms.
“I know,” I said. He sighed and looked into my eyes again. I tried to hold his gaze unwaveringly though it was difficult to look him in the eye for so long. My mind told me to look away from him—I was being disrespectful—but as I watched his gaze soften and his slight smile return, I knew it was what he wanted.
“Lie down,” Branford said softly. He gazed intently at me as he moved forward slightly. He kept his mouth against my throat as I lay down on my back, his hands guiding me slowly to the mattress. Once I was situated, he stroked my body in one, long movement—from my shoulders, down my chest, over my breasts and down to my stomach. My muscles tightened involuntarily, and I heard my breath hitch. I felt warm air from his mouth over the skin of my shoulder, across my collarbone, and then to the pebbled flesh of my nipple. He sucked it into his mouth as I moaned quietly. My legs shifted of their own volition, trying to find…something.
It felt as though his fingers were dancing over my skin, and I soon found my body sh