‘As your husband, I owe you what you have given to me,’ he said firmly. ‘I am sorry,’ he said with a sad smile, ‘that I cannot remember the details of it.’
The conversation was beginning to worry her. If their bed became a place for talk, and the sharing of secrets, she would soon make a slip that could not be explained away. Better to distract him with her body, as she had last night, and save conversation for breakfast, when she had her wits about her. ‘The past does not matter,’ she said. ‘Only the present. And your happiness.’ She gave him what she hoped was an encouraging kiss and ran a hand down his body to be sure he was ready. Then, she stretched out on her back, legs sprawled, waiting.
He remained, propped on his elbow, watching her. Then he cleared his throat. ‘This is embarrassing to admit. But you will know soon enough, so I had best simply put it out there. I do not remember how to love you.’ He had paused before he said it, sounding almost sincere in his apprehension.
She rolled on to her elbow to stare back at him.
‘You have forgotten how to...’ Was that even a thing that could be forgotten? How was she to describe it to him without resulting to crass gestures and words that no lady should know?
He laughed, relaxed on to the mattress and reached for her, rolling her so that her body was on top of his. The suddenness of it left her breathless. ‘Clearly, I married you not for your extreme beauty, but for your sense of humour. I am not so damaged that I could forget that, Justine. And you should know by now that some parts of the act are autonomic.’
He meant the erection pressing into her belly as she moved on top of him. As she slid her bare leg against his it grew even harder. She felt a sudden, nervous swooping in the pit of her stomach, at the thought of it, sliding into her body. She wet her lips. ‘I am aware of that.’
‘My response to you is not at issue. You are a beautiful woman. If there is strength in my body to act at all, I will know how to take pleasure in you.’
She nodded. What man did not know how to take from a woman, without thinking?
He smiled and kissed her again, short and quick. ‘What I do not remember is how to make love to you. As opposed to some other woman, I mean. I do not remember the things that are most important, the things that make you different from all others. I have forgotten how to give you pleasure.’
Help my sister. Give me the diamonds. Let me leave. Those things above all others would be the best way to make her happy. But that was not what he was wondering about. ‘If you are pleased, then I shall be as well,’ she said, straddling him and hoping that this would be enough to end the talking so that they might commence and be done with it, before she lost her nerve. She gave a nudge with her hips, then she set about clearing her mind, forcing herself to relax so that he might enter her easily. Better to think of nothing at all, during the act, than the disquieting thoughts he insisted on raising in her. She wanted to be in another world entirely: a garden, the sea. Anywhere but in a bed feeling lips and skin, and the loss of her own will.
Still, he did not move, other than to shift the thing growing between them to a more comfortable position. ‘Anything I like?’ he repeated, with a sigh. ‘So you said, last night. And this morning as well. While what happened last night was very nice—’
She frowned. It had been better than nice. She had been sure of it.
‘—tonight, I am seeking mutual pleasure.’ He gave her a wicked grin. ‘Ladies first, as they say. Now, where would you like me to start?’
She closed her eyes tight, not wanting to see his expectant look. He could not possibly understand what he was asking of her. It was taking all her skill to remain calm and not succumb to the things he wished from her. Did she truly have to explain to him that kisses and petting were unnecessary, once they had got to this stage? Did he mean to paw at her breasts, trying to arouse her before pushing himself into her and having his way? To feel pleasure from such a thing, when one had no choice in partners, was the definition of defeat.
‘My elbow,’ she said, hoping that the sarcasm would put a stop to the questions.
‘Your elbow.’ Without hesitation, he reached for her arm.
She pulled it away. ‘The left one. Not the right.’
He laughed. ‘I do not know how I could have forgotten.’ He cupped it in his palm and yanked her forward, so she was stretched the length of his body. Then he pulled her bent arm to his lips.
‘What are you doing?’ she said, unsure whether to laugh or scream. But it was obvious what he was doing. His tongue was circling the little round knob of bone now, as his whole mouth closed over it, sucking and laving as though it were her nipple.
‘Exactly what you asked,’ he said, blowing on the skin. ‘Although it hardly seems fair to ignore your other arm.’ His fingers were toying with that, giving a sharp pinch before running the nail lightly back and forth along the skin.
It was too ridiculous to be angry with him. And to her surprise, it was rather pleasant. When he pressed in a certain way, there was an occasional tingle of the nerves beneath that made her breasts tighten as they rubbed against the hair on his chest.
He paused. ‘Was that what you meant? Or perhaps you meant the inside of your arm,’ He turned his head and buried it in the crook of her arm.
Now this was something quite different. The deep, open-mouthed contact reminded her of something. One of the pictures in the etching book had held her attention for some time. A man’s head rested between a woman’s legs. He could not be emulating that, could he?
But he was the one who had the book. And he was nipping at the skin of her arm as though trying to take a pinch of it between his teeth. Now his tongue was working, probing, hard against soft, as though he meant to lose himself in her flesh...
‘Oh, God.’ Had she actually said that and in such a gasping, desperate voice? Because at the thought of his tongue, and what it could do, she was as wet between her legs as if he had licked her. His member rested between her thighs and she squirmed against it, not sure if she was trying to resist or encourage. ‘I was not serious,’ she whispered, wishing he would stop, but fearing it as well.
He paused for a moment, looking up at her with a smile. ‘I know. But a woman who teases will be teased in return. It is fair, is it not?’ He rested a thumb where his mouth had been and turned to her right arm.
She moaned in response and circled her hips, rubbing against him to spread the moisture and the sensations that came with it. It was not supposed to be like this. She was sure of it. The detachment she needed to maintain her sanity was melting like spring snow.
She was losing her mind over nothing at all. The only contact between the most intimate parts of their bodies was the result of her urging. And urge she did, wanting desperately to break his resolve as she had last night.
He paused again, dropping a brief kiss on to the skin of her forearm. ‘My memory returns, I think. You like this as well, do you not?’ Suddenly, he dropped his hands to her legs and pulled them up, until her body spread over his. Then he ran his fingers slowly over the skin at the back of her bent knees.
She gripped the pillow on either side of his head with clenched fists. Of their own volition, her hips bucked against his. His touch should be harmless, but her body was on fire, burning up with the need to be filled. And still he did not advance.
She forgot her need to be passive, the importance of compliance and the need to keep herself apart and safe. She released the pillow and tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling his mouth to hers. But he continued to tease her, running the tip of his tongue along the edge of her teeth and going no further. His fingers played at the back of her legs, stroking at the crease in the skin until all she could think of was his hand between her legs.
She rubbed her body against his, needing the contact, the touch of his tip against the