Sleepless in Southampton by Chasity Bowlin
Chapter Thirty
They had not lingered checking into the hotel. Instead, they’d been ushered to their room with the promise of a meal to be sent up. Since all of Sophie’s clothing was lost somewhere in Dr. Blake’s carriage, Willa and Lilly had put together a valise for her packed with necessities. Henry was sending a boy to fetch things from his London townhouse that would be delivered later.
In short, there were no tasks to be seen to. There were, beyond the delivery of a tray of food, no interruptions that could be foreseen. They were alone. Completely and entirely alone. And newly married. And while Sophie understood, in theory, and was even quite eager for what was about to occur, it would be a lie to say she didn’t have some trepidation. It was the unknown, after all.
To distract herself from her own treacherous thoughts, Sophie took in her surroundings. The small sitting room boasted a fireplace, a settee in the center and a table flanked by two wing chairs that were positioned in front of the room’s lone window. For reading she supposed, as it would give the best light and could also serve as a writing desk. There was a door behind her, ornate and heavy. It would lead to the bedchamber. Her mouth went dry and her palms began to sweat.
“Sit down,” Henry instructed.
“What?”
“You look like you’re about to swoon and while I am quite anxious to have you in my arms, that is not the way I would prefer,” he teased gently. “Sit down.”
“Am I so very obvious?” Sophie asked.
At that moment, a servant knocked then entered with the tray of food requested. It was placed on the table and then he quickly removed himself, leaving them alone once more.
“You are not the only one to have nerves,” he said.
“You’re nervous? What on earth could you possibly be nervous about? I refuse to believe you have any maidenly sensibilities,” she replied teasingly.
He nodded and then crossed the room to sit by her. Taking her hand in his, he said, “Of course, I am. They always say you should begin as you mean to go on. I want this to be more than enjoyable for you, Sophie. I want it to be perfect. So, yes, I am nervous.”
“It will be perfect, Henry. Because it’s you… it’s us,” she said.
“But this is completely unknown to you.”
“Well it’s not entirely unknown. Simply unexperienced,” she said. “There is a difference.”
“So there is,” he agreed. “I don’t want you to feel pressured or to think that because we were married this morning that you must do anything you do not wish—”
“I do wish to!” she stated, her tone expressing all the frustration she felt. “The problem is I simply don’t know how to begin.”
“I can certainly help with that,” he said, bringing one hand up to gently cup her cheek. His thumb lightly stroked the arc of her cheekbone, causing her to shiver. “With a kiss.”
Sophie didn’t have time to ask any further questions. He’d leaned in and captured her lips before she could even form the words. And suddenly, everything was right with the world again. When he kissed her, she could forget everything else. The world shrunk down until nothing existed but the two of them.
It was gentle at first, just his lips moving gently over hers. But, as before, it became more insistent. Then her lips parted beneath his and the sensual glide of his tongue over her lower lip caused the breath to rush from her body. How could a thing feel so wicked and so glorious at the same time?
It was the most natural thing in the world, like a well-practiced dance. Sophie found herself reclining on the settee, pressed back beneath the weight of his body as he rendered her senseless with that kiss. And when his mouth moved from hers to press soft kisses along her jaw, along the delicate column of her throat, and then over the arc of her collarbone, she made no sound of protest. Instead, she allowed her hands to roam over the breadth of this shoulders, into the crisp brown hair that curled against his collar and always seemed to gleam with sun-streaked gold.
And then her clothing seemed to simply disappear. She wasn’t entirely certain how it happened as that gown had been far more difficult to get her into than it apparently was to get her out of. But the bib front had been freed and there was an alarming amount of bare flesh visible above her stays and the very low chemise the gown had required.
“You’re very good at that,” she muttered thoughtfully.
“I’m very motivated,” he replied. A little desperately, he added, “Don’t talk. Don’t think. Not now.”
Sophie giggled. She hadn’t meant to. But he sounded so terribly distressed it was impossible not to be slightly amused. “I’m trying. Really. I am trying.”
And then she felt his breath ruffling over her skin and realized that he was laughing with her. “What a pair we are,” he finally managed.
“I don’t need to be seduced, Henry. And I don’t need to be cajoled,” she said, suddenly serious. “So I think the first order of business should be to find the bed and begin in earnest.”
He rose from the settee and looked down at her. “You’re wrong, Sophie. Not about finding our bed. But you do need to be seduced. Every woman, on her wedding night—or day as it is—should be seduced. Regardless of their degree or lack of experience.”
Sophie started to rise, but she never made it that far. He simply swept her into his arms, carrying her toward their waiting bedchamber. It was such a primal thing, to be carried that way; to have that undeniable evidence of his strength, of his care and gentleness with her. Leaning in, Sophie pressed a kiss to his cheek. Then she allowed her own lips to wander over the slightly whisker-roughened skin of his jaw, his neck. And she felt the shiver that rippled through him. It was a heady thing to realize that she could do that to him—that she didn’t simply have to be the passive party and could do some seducing of her own.
He opened the door and swept her into the bedchamber. As he did so, Sophie carefully untied his cravat, unwinding the cloth from his neck as he moved them toward the waiting bed.
“Dammit, Sophie,” he muttered breathlessly.
“I think bridegrooms deserve a bit of seduction, too. Don’t you?”
He placed her on her feet next to the bed. When he did so, her gown fell away, crumpling into a pool of fabric at her feet. “Yes. We do. But you may consider me thoroughly seduced.” He kissed her cheek. “Enchanted.” Another kiss landed upon her neck. “Enamored.” His lips moved over the curve of her shoulder. “Enrapt.” And then he pressed his lips to the curve of her breast just above her nipple which was only barely contained by the fabric of her stays. “Enticed.”
“Don’t. Don’t think. Not now,” she said, throwing his earlier words back at him. Her fingers dove into his hair, holding him to her. Then he was tugging at the laces of her stays, the garment falling away and only her chemise and petticoat remained. Each one was made short work of, disposed of readily and then she was nude but for her stockings and garters. And she didn’t even care. Because in all the time he’d been removing her clothing, his mouth had never stopped moving. His tongue had traced a burning path on her skin, punctuated by the slight scrape of his teeth with the most tender love bites. She was breathless with it already and yet she knew they had only just begun.
Impatient for more, Sophie reached for the buttons of his waistcoat, slipping them free with hands that trembled. Even as she did so, he was shrugging out of his coat. When he’d managed to divest himself of both garments, he eased back from her just long enough to pull his shirt free from his breeches and slip it over his head. He tossed it carelessly into the growing pile of their clothing.
Sophie was utterly transfixed. Of course, she’d seen men shirtless before. But they’d been dockworkers or prizefighters at fairs. This was Henry. Her husband. The man she, against all reason and sense, had fallen hopelessly in love with almost at first sight.
Tentatively, Sophie reached out to touch him. She placed her hand flat on his chest, testing the texture of his skin, of the dark hair that dusted his chest before thinning to a slim line that disappeared into his trousers. Then his hand came up to cover hers. He shifted it slightly, pressing it directly over his heart. She could feel it thumping there, strong and steady.
He stepped closer and she stepped back, but not in fear—in invitation. When the backs of her knees brushed the edge of the bed, she sank down on it, easing back until she could lie across it and beckoned him to come with her. Then they were lying back in a tangle of limbs. And when he placed his mouth to her breast, he didn’t simply kiss the delicate skin there. He took the taut peak into his mouth and Sophie felt it like a shockwave throughout her body. It was the most exquisite sensation. Everywhere he touched, everywhere he kissed, it seemed she came alive. Then he slid one hand over her thigh, dipping between them. Instinctively, she wanted to shield that part of herself from him.
“Let me touch you,” he whispered against her ear. “Trust me.”
And she did. She trusted him implicitly. Sophie parted her thighs for him. At the first brush of his fingertips over the curls shielding her sex from him, she shuddered. Her hands clutched at his shoulders. It wasn’t fear. But the nerves she’d shaken off earlier were threatening to return. And then he touched her directly, parting that tender flesh and caressing her in a way that robbed her of breath. Her lips parted on a silent cry and she closed her eyes. Surely, nothing was supposed to feel like that?
“Just wait,” he teased. “There’s infinitely more.”
*
There was nothingmore beautiful than seeing the woman he loved in the full throes of passion. Except perhaps the joy of seeing her spent from pleasure. He was determined that would happen before ever seeking his own release. He hadn’t been simply placating her when telling her that he was nervous, too. While he had experience on his side, it was very different with her. The stakes were higher, after all.
Moving carefully, watching and cataloguing her every response, he learned just what she liked. He memorized which touches would make her sigh, which would make her cry out, those that would make her gasp and shudder. Everything was committed to memory and with every second of exploration, he pushed her closer to that precipice.
When at last she fell, when she let out a broken sob and he could feel the ripples of her pleasure, only then did he lever himself over her fully. She welcomed him, wrapping her arms about him and clinging to him.
Henry didn’t make promises about not hurting her. He prayed that was true and that he wouldn’t, but he couldn’t know. There was an element of that which was simply beyond his ken and beyond his control.
But Sophie, as with everything else, surprised him. Rather than being shy and reticent, she slipped her hand between them and began to unbutton his trousers. Her fingers brushed his rigid shaft and he hissed out a breath.
“Did I do something wrong?” she asked.
“No,” he said. “It’s right. So very, very right. But if you do it again… well, this will be embarrassingly abbreviated.”
Apparently she interpreted that as a challenge, because she pressed the palm of her hand against him. “Did you mean that?”
“Minx,” he murmured, as he grasped her wrist and pulled her hand away. “Be patient. It will be worth it.”
She wrapped her arms about him again, her hands roaming over his back, her nails lightly scoring his skin in a way that was sure to drive him made with lust. But Henry remained focused. There were tasks to be seen to, pleasurable as they might be. Shifting slightly, he managed to push his trousers out of the way. With no barriers left between them, he cupped her face gently and kissed her.
Pulling back, she said, “I know this is the part they warn us all about. It’s fine.”
Guiding himself to her entrance, Henry prayed for strength. He prayed for the ability to control his own urges. And then, he thrust through the fragile barrier of her innocence.
In theory, he claimed her. In reality, they claimed one another. She might as well have marked him visibly for all that she owned him body and soul in that moment.
For all that it cost him to deny his own raging need, he moved slowly. Gently. Easing his way and hers. When she found the rhythm, moving with him, it was beyond glorious. And when she began to cry out softly, when she clung to him as she arched beneath him, it was all that he could stand. Pleasure claimed them both.
Collapsing breathlessly onto the bed, he held her close and wished they had far more than a few short hours in that chamber.
“When things are settled,” he promised, albeit raggedly, “I will take you on a proper honeymoon. I will show you the world.”
She smiled at him. “You already have.”
