So Sherbourne devoted himself to kissing his wife. Charlotte was inexperienced rather than reticent, and she was a fast learner. When Sherbourne slid a hand over her hip, she retaliated by pressing her palm to his heart.
When he eased his tongue across her lips, she scooted closer and ran her toe up his calf. Sherbourne trapped her foot between his legs, and she pulled his hair.
Fatigue fell away, replaced by a compulsion to mount and start thrusting, but this was their wedding night, more or less, and Sherbourne was determined to earn a standing invitation to Charlotte’s side of the bed. He rolled to his back, taking Charlotte with him.
She straddled him on all fours, not touching him, and once again looking impatient. “You might have asked.”
“Charlotte, darling wife, would you please consider settling over me such that I am surrounded by your abundant glories? I like having both of my hands free to plunder your charms while you kiss me any way you please. I like your weight on me, your warmth pressing on me intimately.”
She curled down to his shoulder, not fast enough to hide a smile. “I have married a foolish man.”
“An incompetent poet but not a fool.”
“Abundant glories, Mr. Sherbourne?”
“These,” he said, palming the sides of her breasts. “I’d love to worship these with my body, et cetera, if you’re inclined to grant that boon.”
Charlotte sat up, expression wary. She still wore her nightgown, though it was bunched at her waist.
Sherbourne lay on his back, hands resting on her hips. For the sake of the next five decades of marriage, he remained relaxed and still, though arousal had become a sharp ache.
Slowly, slowly, Charlotte raised the nightgown over her head, then leaned forward to tuck it under her pillow. Before she straightened, Sherbourne caught her breast in his mouth and slid his hands up her back.
By touch, he suggested she linger in that position and learn the pleasure of her husband’s teeth on her nipple. She sank closer, and he rejoiced.
“Pleasant?” he asked, switching breasts. Warm, sweet, soft, delectable.
“Married, and pleasant.” She sounded a tad breathless.
Erotic impressions piled up—the silky-smooth contours of Charlotte’s breasts beneath his fingers, the texture of a puckered nipple in his mouth, the throb of desire. An ambition landed amid all these pleasures, a determination that Charlotte get a taste of the destination before the consummation.
More than a taste. Sherbourne was her husband, very likely the only man whom she’d take as a lover, and he owed her that consideration. In a way that speaking vows or sharing a long journey had not, Charlotte’s intimate trust struck Sherbourne with the enormity of the commitment they had made to each other.
They were husband and wife, joined for the rest of their natural lives. She was his and he was hers and by God, he would make certain she was pleased with that bargain.
He slid a hand down to her hip and around to pat her bum. “Time to enjoy a few more abundant glories.”
“Must I? I was rather enjoying—”
He kissed her. “Glories, Charlotte. Plural. We have many more to sample.”
She slipped to the side, brushing her sex over his rampant cock in the process. The haste with which she scooted away confirmed that the caress had been inadvertent—this time. Give her a week, and with any luck, she’d be driving him mad.
Sherbourne fixed his figurative eye on that prize and began rearranging pillows.
“What are you doing?”
“Embarking on an experiment.” He propped himself against the headboard, spread his legs, and patted the mattress. “Let me hold you.”
Charlotte had the covers drawn up under her arms. “You want me.…?”
“Between my legs, using me as your personal chaise. Your back to my front.” And my hand between your legs.
She remained right where she was. “Why?”
“So I can worship you to the utmost.”
Her expression turned mulish. “When do I get to worship you? The vows were reciprocal, you know.”
“Next time, Charlotte. If you want to worship me by taking a riding crop to my bare bum, or licking every part of me while I’m bound hand and foot, we can negotiate that later. This time is just for you.”
She crawled over his leg, her breast brushing his thigh, then curled against his chest on her side. “You say the most outlandish things.”
Sherbourne put his lips near her ear. “You’re interested in that bit about the riding crop, aren’t you?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, and I don’t see the point of binding you.” She flicked her tongue over his nipple. “The licking has possibilities. You taste like lavender.”
Rather than let her tangle him up with more words, Sherbourne cupped her chin and kissed her while he used his free hand to caress her breast. Her weight pressed against his erect cock, a sensation he tried to ignore.
By stealth, degrees, and determination, he eventually got Charlotte positioned where he wanted her—sprawled with her back against his chest, arching into his touch as he pleasured her breasts.
“You like this?”
She closed her hands around his, asking for more pressure. “I haven’t made up my mind.”
“Then I must try harder.” He trailed his fingers lower, until he was stroking through her curls. “Relax, Charlotte. We’re getting to the interesting part.”
“This has all been very—gracious everlasting powers.”
He’d found the seat of her pleasure, and possibly a way to have the last word at least some of the time. Charlotte squirmed, she wiggled, she sighed, she spread her legs over his, and reached behind her to grab Sherbourne’s hair.
He found a rhythm and a pressure that she could follow, and when Charlotte’s hips were urging him faster, he resisted. Pleasure delayed was pleasure intensified.
“Mr. Sherbourne.…”
“Lucas.”
Silence for a few moments, while she probably fashioned an argument, and he added more pressure without speeding up.
“Mister…oh, ye gods, Lucas. Lucas, Lucas, Lucas.…”
Sherbourne cupped her breast and drove a finger into her slick heat, giving her some part of him to seize around. Her pleasure was intense and protracted, while Sherbourne’s was vicarious and bound in frustration.
When he withdrew his hand, Charlotte curled sideways on his chest, her sigh fanning across his heart. His cock throbbed, his balls ached, his back wasn’t exactly comfortable and the room was gradually cooling.
“Charlotte?”
She nuzzled him. “Hmm.”
He tucked the covers up over her shoulders, cradling her close. Sherbourne cast around for the right words, the right question.
Charlotte had given him her trust in a way that mattered, and he wanted to tell her…something. When she’d recovered, he’d make sweet, slow love with her, and ease her the last distance down the path to marital intimacy. They’d fall asleep entwined and in the morning, share smug smiles over their tea and toast.
For the rest of their lives.
Tenderness pushed arousal aside an inch or two. “Charlotte? Did you find it…pleasant?”
Her breathing was regular, and she was a warm bundle of wife against his chest. Sherbourne waited for her answer—doubtless something honest, original, and accurate—but still Charlotte remained silent.
“Charlotte? Mrs. Sherbourne?”
Sherbourne fell asleep, waiting for his wife to wake up and answer a question that mattered to him far more than he’d thought it would. When he did awake, weak sun was filtering through the curtains, he was spooned around his wife, and some fiend was rapping incessantly on the door.
“Sir, you must wake up,” Turnbull shouted.
Sherbourne forced himself to awareness, because Turnbull never shouted.
“Sir, you must wake up. There’s been an accident at the mine.”
*
The colliery looked the same from a distance. Only as the landau wheeled closer could Charlotte make out men digging at a huge heap of hillside that had come slouching over the retaining wall. The wall was no more, buried under tons of mud.