Secrets in the Marriage Bed

It was in his nature to argue but he knew she was right. Swearing under his breath, he rolled onto his back. Both of them stared at the ceiling. Now what?

"P-perhaps we should talk first before we rush into… We never talked, Caleb." The words were hesitant, but in her tone he heard a thread of strength that told him that maybe, just maybe, she was ready to face all that he needed from her. Not only from her body but from her soul.

The question was, would she be willing to give it to him? He knew he wasn't an easy man to live with, to love. He was too demanding, too protective and, on occasion, downright autocratic.

The woman he'd married five years ago had captured his heart with her shy intensity, but she hadn't had the grit to stand up to him. Instead of fighting when he'd become too domineering, she'd withdrawn. But now, his Vicki was coming out of hiding. They could explore what that might mean for their marriage.

"Why didn't you touch me in bed?" he asked. "I can understand how uncertain Ada must have made you but I never stopped you from doing that. I asked you to."

She took in a quick breath but didn't retreat. "I was afraid of doing something wrong. You can't imagine how terrified I was that I'd make a mistake and disgust you. You were so important to me and all I had for guidance was what Grandmother had taught me and what I'd seen between Claire and my father—separate bedrooms and separate lives."

He could hear the deep emotion in her voice and it took everything he had not to take her back into his arms, to soothe her pain. The wounds between them couldn't be so easily solved—they had to confront the mess they'd created in this bed and it seemed fitting that the truth was coming out in the darkness, in the same heavy silence that had hidden their past mistakes.

"I was too shy to bring up the topic with my friends—it's such a private thing. Of course I watched TV and read magazines but Grandmother had beaten it into me that I was … flawed goods. I couldn't be anything less than perfect because any mistake might lead to a total loss of control. And then I'd be rejected and end up like my mother—mistress to a man married to another woman. It was the perfect threat. I wanted a husband, a family."

Caleb could hear echoes of the lost girl she'd been, the teenager with no one but a bitter, angry woman to teach her. He wished he could go back in time and kiss away Vicki's pain but all he could do was listen.

She put one hand on his shoulder, hesitant, searching. "So I tried to do as she said. But she didn't tell me how far I could go with my husband, didn't tell me what it was that I couldn't do. I didn't know the rules so I froze. And after a while, you stopped trying to teach me."

He knew she was right. He'd arrogantly expected her to follow his lead, never asking if that was what she wanted, never stopping to listen to her unspoken needs. But some mistakes could be rectified. "Tell me what would make it easier for you."

Her fingers stilled. Turning over at last, he propped himself over her. "Don't stop speaking to me now," he said, not sure he could cope if he had to do this over again. His male ego was already bruised and battered.

"It's so hard to say." Her voice was a whisper. "The only thing I need is your patience."

"Slow, honey? Is that what you want?"

Her hands moved between them to press softly against his chest. "Yes."

He traced patterns across the delicate skin of her neck, aching for her. "Do you really want me, Vicki?"

He needed the answer to that blunt question, even if the wrong answer could wound him beyond repair. As he finished speaking, he shifted subtly, letting her feel his arousal against her thigh. He wanted her, had always wanted her. No other woman could do this to him.

She gasped. "Caleb." Her skin flushed hot against his fingertips and she put both hands on his shoulders. He thought for a second that she was going to push him away and his heart plummeted. Then her fingers curved and she tugged him closer. "How can you always do this to me? We've been together for five years."

"Do what to you?" Fascinated by the way her body was melting to accommodate his, he could hardly speak.

Another silence, but this time it was filled with the heat of their hunger. "Needy, hot … starving for you."

* * *

Six

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Caleb's breath rushed out of him. Unable to form words, he used touch to tell her how he felt. Sliding his hand down, he spread his fingers over her belly, indulging himself as he'd wanted to do since forever. Soon, this barely curved plane would round and he'd explore that change day by sweet day without worrying that his embrace was unwelcome or unwanted.

Something hot and beautiful sparked inside his heart at the thought of the tiny life hidden inside his wife's body. A life that had been so determined to be born it had circumvented all their precautions. He was already proud of their kid's stubbornness.

"It feels like the first time," Vicki whispered.

He leaned down. "For both of us." Their mouths met.

Sweet temptation.

That was what she'd always tasted like. The sweetest, most luscious of temptations. Except now, there was an edge to the taste of her, a spicy bite. His body grew heavy with need, captivated by this woman who was half stranger and so sexy, he thought he might die from the intensity of the desire riding him.

Then her hands began moving hesitantly down his chest, caressing him through the hair there. After so many years of hunger, he could scarcely bear the almost painful pleasure. When she began to circle her fingers around his nipples, his breath grew jagged, the sound harsh in the intimate silence.

"Caleb?" Breaking the kiss, she stilled.

"Don't stop, Vicki. I've waited years for your touch." He let her see his need, let her see the things he'd hidden from her, too damn proud to make himself vulnerable.

"Will you … will you tell me if I do something that I shouldn't?"

Her courage amazed him. "I swear to you I will never be turned off by anything you do in this bed."

Her body shuddered. "It almost killed me not to…" Her fingers began to move again, stroking and petting and learning. "So many times I wanted to tell you but then I'd think that ladies weren't supposed to discuss sex, that it would turn you from me. How could I have been so stupid?"

"Hush." He kissed her. "You were worried and inexperienced, and I'm not the easiest of men to talk to. Forget the past—from now on it's you and me in this bed, no lies, no regrets."

"No regrets." Those slender fingers slid down to caress his abdomen, his waist, his back.

Trying to find the strength to let her explore him as she needed to do, he reclaimed her lips. And drowned in the feel of her, in the exquisite lushness of the sensuality she'd released from bondage. Her kiss promised the same ecstasy it always had. But this time his body thrummed with the knowledge that the promise would be fulfilled if only he was patient.

Delicate hands stroked his back before returning to his chest. He wanted to demand a more intimate touch, something he'd never asked of her, but even enslaved by passion, he knew she had to make that decision on her own. He was utterly at her mercy. She could heal him or break him.

Her hand brushed past his navel.

"Lower," he grit out, unable to stay silent. "Sorry."

She kissed his jaw. "No. I want you to tell me. I need you to."

He was having trouble thinking with her hand where it was. Then one of her fingers plucked at the waistband of his boxers and he groaned, "Lower, honey." His voice was so rough, he barely understood himself.

"Like this?"

Shudders racked him as her fingers slipped under the waistband to carefully grasp his erection. Burying his face in her neck, he tried to breathe as she began to stroke him slow and hard. He fisted the sheets in his hands, refusing to bruise her by crushing her skin in a grip gone feral.

Under his chest, her breasts were soft, her nipples beautifully pebbled even through her pajama top, but he was too blinded by unexpected pleasure to pay homage to them. Shocked by the fury of the fire arcing through him, he had no choice but to surrender. And in that moment, Caleb did something he hadn't done in five years of marriage. He lost control.

The climax hit him hard and fast, a knockout punch that left him a heavy weight on her, drained, heart racing at a thousand miles an hour. "I'm sorry," he rasped when he could speak.

To his surprise, she kissed his neck and said, "Do you really want me that much?" Her free hand lifted to brush sweat-damp hair off his forehead.

"I've always wanted you." The single reason he'd never before surrendered so completely was because the wanting had seemed one-sided. That painful knowledge had always blunted his physical pleasure. He'd gone to her bed but part of him had stayed separate, trying to protect himself from the hurt he knew would come.