Page 66 of Marry in Secret
He kissed her, then let his mouth follow his hands, lower and lower. He parted her trembling legs and slipped between them.
“Thomas!” she gasped. “What are you—?”
The sweet-salt taste of her stung his lip and it was a gift, a healing. She was roses and new-baked bread... and woman. His woman, his Rose.
She squeaked as his tongue found her most sensitive spot, and then clenched her eyes shut, emitting little gasps and moans as her body vibrated with pleasure.
He teased her to desperation, her legs thrashing around him, and then he sucked hard. With a faint scream she bucked beneath him and almost came off the bed. He entered her then, in one smooth powerful motion, and drove them both to a shattering climax.
When he woke for the second time, it was dark. Faint light from a three-quarter moon was all that lit the room. He slipped out of bed and groped around until he found some candles and a tinderbox on the mantelpiece. He wrestled with the tinderbox, striking and striking the flint, but the spark never caught. He muttered a curse. He hated these things, had never been good with them, and hadn’t touched one in years.
A soft chuckle came from the bed. “Don’t bother tryingto light a candle. We can dress in the moonlight.” She slipped from beneath the covers and came to him, naked and lovely and unashamed, a goddess of moonbeams and shadows, and slipped her arms around him. “I’m so very glad you came home to me, Thomas.” She kissed him softly.
His arms locked around her. It still felt like a miracle. Even more so with her in his arms.
After a moment she spoke. “That thing you did, with your mouth.” He could feel her blushing in the darkness as she said it. “I didn’t know people did such things.”
“Men talk.” And then he realized she was asking him an indirect question. “I’ve never done it before, but when I heard it described, I wanted to try it with you. Did you mind?”
She laughed and rubbed her cheek against him, a sensuous little cat. “What do you think?” And something tight inside him unraveled a little.
They talked as they dressed, the soft dark and the empty house seeming to invite confidences. Until Rose came to the subject of his scars.
“I was looking at those frightful marks around your ankles while you were sleeping, Thomas. Were they painful?”
“No.” Until they rubbed his skin raw and the seawater got in. He pulled on his breeches and fastened them.
“Didn’t it make it hard for you to walk around?”
“Yes, that was their purpose. So we couldn’t move.” He found one of his stockings, put it on, then pulled on a boot.
“But how could you do your work?”
“It was sitting-down work.” He groped around on the floor, searching for his other stocking. Where the hell was it?
“What kind of work were you doing?”
“Rowing. Now that’s enough—”
“Rowing?” She gasped. “You werea galley slave?”
“I don’t wish to talk about it.”
“But—”
“Ever.” He found the blasted stocking and dragged it on.
“But, Thomas—”
“Look, first Galbraith was in my ear about it, and now you. That’s enough. I’m not discussing it.”
“You told Edward? Before me?” Her voice sounded hurt. He cursed himself.
“He told me. He guessed.” And he’d had no plans to tell her at all.
“But how?”
“I don’t know how and I don’t care,” he lied. “Now, I said that’s enough, Rose. Are you finished here? Got all you need? Are you ready to go home?”
