“Chris,” he said through gritted teeth. “What are you doing?”
“I have never seen one in the flesh before.” She touched his right thigh, which was wrinkled and discolored with yet more scars. Fortunately, his phallus was unaffected. She wondered if he had given thanks for that in the early days—if he had praised God for offering him this relief.
Or, conversely, if he had been angry with God for allowing him to be burned at all.
She returned her attention to his erection. For all she wanted to reassure him that she loved every inch of his body, no matter its appearance, there was an ache between her legs, and she had an urge to hear him groan again.
Yes, she wanted that very much.
If she could cause him pleasure, that would giveherpleasure. Bodies were fascinating in that regard: with only the stimuli that came from arousing another, one’s body could become heated and needy. With sight and touch and smell and hearing alone, without his hands on her, she felt as though she were being pleasured.
How had she never considered her body’s function in this regard? Pleasure could, she knew now, most definitely be a function.
“Are all men the same as you?” She wrapped a hand around him, and his hips bucked before he caught himself, visibly locking his muscles to remain still.
“In what manner?”
She slid a hand up and down, and his breath hitched. “As regards this.”
“Size varies, but I believe all men are relatively similar.” He clenched his jaw as she moved her hand again. “I haven’t precisely investigated.”
Size varies?That made sense; the size of women’s breasts varied, too. Still, he looked large, and she wondered about the mechanics of what would follow. In the name of exploration, she had inserted a finger inside herself, and it had been both underwhelming and tight.
Her hands were, notably, far smaller than his, never mind his phallus.
“I am not afraid,” she said, her hand still wrapped around him, unsure what to do now, “but I am somewhat curious.”
He closed his eyes as though praying for strength. “About what?”
“How you will fit.” She gave him a slight squeeze, and to her delight, he throbbed in return. He did not feel as she had imagined, though she couldn’t put her finger precisely on what shehadimagined. All she knew was that his skin was hot and velvety under her palm, and underneath, he was so very hard—like steel. Harder even than muscle.
Fascinating. And… arousing.
She raised her gaze to find him watching her, an unaccountably fond expression on his face. “I will fit,” he said, so tenderly, her chest felt oddly constricted, “because I will make it so, even if it takes a great deal of patience. But, Chris, I must warn you…” He debated with his choice of words for a moment. “I have never bedded a virgin before, but I have heard that there may be pain.”
“Oh, yes,” Christiana said, matter-of-factly. “When the hymen breaks.”
“I—” He cleared his throat. “Yes.”
“The pain should be short-lived. But there may be some blood. Or there may not.” She shrugged. “Laura told me that she did not bleed when she first lay with a man.”
“The less I know about her amorous activities, the better.”
Christiana laughed, feeling her heart swell with affection. “I’m sure she would say the same, Your Grace.”
With a growl, he took hold of the material of her nightgown, fisting it in one hand. He looked at her, a silent question, his eyes hot and heavy. But though his knuckles whitened, he made no other move. “Chris,” he said, sounding as though the words cost him. She still had a hand wrapped around his member, and she felt this new throb as he spoke the words, “May I see you?”
“Naked?”
He did his best not to smile. “Yes.”
Finally, Christiana dropped her hand from him and held her arms awkwardly by her sides, doing her best not to let her trepidation show. This was an exercise in bravery for them both. And if he could allow her to explore him when he evidently felt himself to be hideous, then she could do the same.
She took a deep breath. “Undress me.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Tempted as hewas, and he very much was, to do exactly as his wife had commanded without delay, Hugh instead slid a hand into her hair and kissed her. He wanted to erase the artificial tension in her limbs, and to reassure the nervousness he had glimpsed in her eyes. She had been so gentle with him, her expression open and curious—hungry, even—as she had seen his body for the first time.