Page 57 of Tremaine's True Love
“If you understand that marriage is a partnership,” Nita said, tracing his eyebrows with her thumb, “if you accept that you have no dominion over me save what I yield willingly, and that my dominion over you is on the same terms”—she traced his lips with that same thumb—“ifyoucan trustme, Mr. St. Michael, then I am willing to take this risk with you—but only this risk.”
Still not an acceptance of his proposal, but progress. “I can honor those terms,” Tremaine said, for he’d never intrude on Nita’s domestic territory, never overrule her common sense as she applied it to the nursery or household matters, never question her social instincts when moving in circles where she was welcomed and Tremaine merely tolerated.
She traced his ear, a peculiarly arousing touch, when Tremaine was already painfully aroused. “You promise to withdraw?”
“On my honor, I promise to withdraw.” Tremaine had enough practice at it that he could make that vow, though he had no experience with Nita, and thus he resisted the screaming imperative from his cock to plunge into her willing heat.
“Doesn’t one need to”—her caresses slowed—“that is, in order to withdraw from a location, oughtn’t one tobein that location in the first place?” Nita sounded curious and worried, as if trusting Tremaine were the most difficult boon he could have asked of her.
“You have the right of it,” he said, nudging forward. She would frequently have the right of a situation, and he’d learn to rely on her judgment in the years to come.
The thought of those years steadied Tremaine, gave him some purchase against lust, and allowed him to love Nita with honest affection, with a cherishing respect that was no less passionate for being of the mind as well as the body.
“I like this,” she whispered as he progressed languidly toward a complete joining. “This is better.”
Better than her soldier boy? Tremaine gathered Nita closer, hoping he could soon make their union better than her wildest imaginings.
“Am I pleasing you?” Was he making her see him as her husband?
“If you could move just a shade more—mmf.” Nita bit his earlobe as he added a hint of power to his thrusting. “Like that.”
She locked her heels at the small of his back, adding her undulations to his own, and Tremaine was forced to think of… sheep succumbing to coe, foot rot, scours…
“Tremaine…”
His name, full of wonder and maybe a bit of terror, as Nita Haddonfield’s passion found its gratification. He drove her through it, though she hardly needed herding. Nita went after her pleasure at a pounding gallop, bucking into him, clutching at his backside with a ferocious, delightful strength.
“Gracious, merciful, never-ending…” She unhooked her ankles and purely hugged Tremaine as he went still above her. “I had no idea.”
That she’d had no idea clearly bewildered her, while her befuddlement delighted him.
He kissed her shoulder. “Then you’d best have another go, don’t you think? You can confirm your first impression, investigate the matter further.” Make a thorough study of what was on offer, because irrespective of any marriage proposals, she was owed that.
Damn her soldier boy for a selfish bumbler anyway.
“We can do that again?” she asked. “I thought you said you’d withdraw?”
“I will withdraw before I spend, but I needn’t spend just yet.” Much to Tremaine’s surprise.
He pleasured Nita again, and just when he thought she’d had her fill, she got to experimenting with angle and speed, and had a jolly good time without Tremaine having to do much besides mentally attempt the Lord’s Prayer in Latin backward.
When his lady lay panting and pleased with herself—and with him—Tremaine gently slid from her body, knowing she would be a trifle sore come morning.
Also engaged to be married, he hoped.
He braced himself on one arm and used his free hand to stroke himself exactly three times, before his self-control joined other valuable assets somewhere in the wilds of Oxfordshire. The pleasure was glorious, while the mess went all over Nita’s belly, for which Tremaine would apologize, just as soon as he could speak.
“You withdrew,” Nita said, petting his hair. “You said you would.”
She was relieved and pleased and capable of speech. Marriage to this woman would require great reserves of sexual stamina, God be thanked.
“Flannel?” he managed.
While Tremaine hung over Nita, breathing like a spent steeplechaser, she fished on the night table and then passed him a cloth. He tended to her, then tended to himself and tossed the cloth toward the hearth.
“Let me hold you,” Tremaine said. Nita would soon learn what he really meant was, “Would you please hold me?” He needed her embrace, needed her sweet kisses and surprisingly affectionate nature. Tremaine pitched onto his back and tucked Nita against his side. “You should take a soaking bath in the morning, madam.”
“Will you need a soaking bath too?” Nita was either genuinely curious, or his lovemaking had put her very much on her mettle.
