Hopping and nearly yanking his own feet out from under him, he shoved off his drawers, which wouldn’t have won him any praise in the seduction department. What woman would want to make love to a man who was acting like a randy schoolboy?
He had to calm down, slow down. Sucking in a deep breath, he filled his lungs and forced himself to move slowly, deliberately. She’d still be in his bed if he took the time to take care of his clothes. After her thorough cleaning of the flat, he didn’t want her thinking she’d married a man who would chuck his clothes every which way and expect her to pick up behind him. He sucked in another deep breath and exhaled out of his nostrils.
His heart thundered as he folded his underwear and set it on the chest at the foot of the bed.
The covers rustled on his side of the mattress. Was she coming toward him? His anticipation spiked. She must be eager and ready—thank goodness, because trying to go slow was like trying to hold back floodwaters.
Her cool fingers and the sleeve of her nightgown brushed his fevered skin at his hip. Desire burned in him, and he groaned.
She gasped and jerked back her hand.
Even if his naked state surprised her, she had come toward him, reached out to touch him. She must be prepared for more to happen. His heart kicked.
“Take off your nightgown.”
“No!” Her voice was high and tight, a match to her frigid hands.
The shock of her resistance stole his breath. She might as well have tossed a bucket of cold water over him. He winced. He’d thought her ready, at least a little aroused, but it was his own fault for barking an order at her. He should have hailed the warning sign of her cold fingers. In his own anticipation, he’d nearly come at her as if she were as primed as he was. She sounded terrified, not the least bit keen, in spite of her words.
A weight bore down on his shoulders. Seducing his wife was not going to be smooth or easy, after all. He wouldn’t use brute force to plow through her resistance, as the shopkeeper had done with his miserable wife. If it was possible for Selina to care for him, John wanted a wife who viewed him with affection, not resentment and anger. “I don’t want to fumble with fastenings I can’t see in the dark.”
“I mean...it’s not necessary.” Her hushed whisper spoke volumes. “I don’t have to take it off for you to...us to...”
No, he supposed it wasn’t entirely necessary, but he hadn’t planned some shameful coupling with a barely lifted nightgown, as if their joining would be a sinful thing. That wouldn’t go far toward making her view the intimacies of marriage with any pleasure.
The fire in his loins reduced to a glowing ember of need. Even though she didn’t desire him, he still wanted, needed to make her his tonight. God help him, he had to find a way to make her relax and then enjoy their joining. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I know what I’m doing.”
The bed swayed as he sat and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. She jerked as if he’d scalded her.
“Easy,” he murmured, as he rubbed her upper arm. She shouldn’t find anything threatening in that.
Except she was coiled up tighter than a wound spring.
“I’m just a little nervous,” she whispered.
“More than a little,” he said dryly.
“I’m sorry.”
“Try to relax.” He slid his hand down to her elbow.
Her forearm came up, blocking him. If he continued it would be like making love to a porcupine. His gut turned. He wouldn’t let himself think her fear was of him specifically, but of the act. But this wasn’t going to happen tonight. He would have to give her time to get used to him, to be comfortable with him. He sighed. “We aren’t doing anything you aren’t ready to do.”
Her stillness was louder than a scream would have been. As tightly coiled as she was, reaching down under her legs to scoot her back on the bed might result in her landing on the ceiling or fleeing across the room. No, he was better served sitting with her and talking, even if it was odd to be on the side of the bed, their feet on the floor.
“You’re not ready.” He half wondered if he should put his underclothes back on, but it might seem even more awkward. “It’s okay. I’ll just hold you tonight.”
“I don’t want you to stop,” she whispered.
Yeah, he could tell that from her lack of eagerness. Still, his ears buzzed, his entire body buzzed. “I would like to kiss you again.”
A quiver moved through her.
Fear or the beginnings of desire? He couldn’t tell because the darkness cloaked her expression. He shifted closer.
She tensed.
Fear. His gut churned. “When you’re ready for me to.” He closed his eyes—not that they were of much use, anyway. All he could make out was the vague outline of things as his vision adjusted to the darkness.
She twisted toward him. His breath caught.
Her lips landed more on his chin than on his mouth. As she tried to reposition, her nose bumped his. Her ineptness was charming. He’d been worried about misgauging distances in the dark—not that he expected his wife to be skilled at kissing, but the darkness was as problematic for her as it was for him. He wanted to tell her that, but wasn’t sure she’d appreciate his attitude.
“Easy,” he muttered, as he caught her head and held her still. He brushed his thumb across her lower lip. The soft, moist flesh trembled slightly. The gesture was as much to locate her mouth as it was to test if she would yield to him. But the charge of wanting slammed him square in the chest, like being bowled over by a galloping horse. Taking his time was killing him. But he had to grab the reins of his need and control it. He had to give her time. He would give her time to get used to him. He would kiss her a few times and then insist they go to sleep.
“I’m sor—”
His mouth on hers silenced her apology. Once, twice, three times he brushed his lips against hers. Even though every fiber of his being screamed at the restraint, he wanted her to know that he wouldn’t attack her. He could control himself. He would control his desire.
She’d had enough time to twist away or push him back, but when she didn’t, raw energy thrummed through him.
He angled his mouth across hers, probing at the soft seam. She let him in, and his pulse buzzed in his veins.
Her mouth was warm and sweet. She turned more toward him, so it was easier to position her against his chest. He had a plan, which involved slow, thoughtful kisses and a full stop, but it flew out of his head. As their mouths pressed against each other, and her tongue swirled with his, he crushed her against him. The feel of her breasts squishing against his chest sent desire charging through him.
Her arms circled his neck. The brush of material against his skin was a reminder of her blowing out the light, balking at removing her nightgown, and blocking him when he slid his hand down her arm. But she was kissing him now. Still, he loosened his grip and stroked her back, slowly, carefully, hoping to provoke a moan. Then he was lost in the long slope of her back.
Her fingertips pressed lightly into his shoulder, still cool, but not as bad as they’d been earlier. Was she warming to him a little?
His heart pounded, and he burned with need. His breathing was so rapid he couldn’t measure the cadence of hers. Had it quickened at all? He had to hear her, because he couldn’t take any clues from what he couldn’t see.
He ended the kiss, and moved to her neck.
She stiffened.
Damn. No progress. He should tell her to go to sleep. “We should stop now.”