Page 12 of To Winter at Wildsyde

She flushed, which surprised him as her fair skin was nigh on scarlet already with a combination of mortification and pleasure.

Another man might have preened under the look in her eyes. Gordy shifted uneasily.

“Goodness.” The word was little more than a whisper. “You’re even bigger with your clothes off,” she said, staring at him with obvious awe.

“Aye, like a prize bull, eh?” The bitterness of his words surprised him as much as her.

She met his eyes, and he saw her confusion. “You’re beautiful,” she said, so earnest her sincerity was obvious.

Gordy stilled, aware of heat climbing up the back of his neck. “I’m nae a lass,” he scoffed, unsettled by the reverence of her words and unsure of what to make of them.

“I am aware,” she retorted dryly. He frowned as she gave a soft huff of laughter. “The view outside that window there is beautiful, too. Hard and cold and unforgiving, but beautiful all the same.”

He stared down at her, uncomfortable with the compliment and the comparison. Deciding he’d do well to ignore both, he climbed onto the bed.

“Take that off,” he said, jerking his head at her nightgown and reminding himself this was supposed to be all business.

She’d given him money, he’d give her the bedding she so sorely wanted, and a bairn to take home with her. What that made him, he didn’t like to consider, but it had been a bargain from the start and they both knew it. No point in pretending otherwise.

She glanced down at the nightgown, rumpled now, and he saw a glimmer of something vulnerable in her eyes.

“You don’t like it,” she said, and he felt every bit the bastard he was at the resignation in her voice.

“I like it fine,” he said, impatient still. “I just prefer what’s beneath it, ’tis all.”

“Oh!”

She brightened at once, far more than his terse words warranted, and he felt ever more the brute. Perhaps it wouldn’t kill him to be a little kinder, just for tonight.

“Ye look bonny.” It was grudging, but honest at least.

The pleasure that lit her eyes at the pitiful compliment made guilt flare in his chest. Christ, she looked a deal more than bonny, she took his bloody breath away, but he’d cut out his tongue before he’d tell her that.

He watched as she sat up and tugged the nightgown over her head. She held it bunched in front of her for a moment, hiding herself and glancing at him, that anxious glint returning to her eyes. Then her chin went up and there was the steel he’d remarked upon before. She flung the crumpled garment to the floor and lay back, staring at him with something like defiance, daring him to find fault.

If there was a fault to be found, Gordy was damned if he could see it. She was all long limbs and ripe curves. Her breasts were large and full, and her lush body beckoned him with such force she might as well have been a siren, calling him into dangerous waters for all the will he had to resist. Longing and lust rose inside him and he could not hold back the soft curse that left his mouth as he looked her over.

“I… I’m sorry if… if I’m not to your liking,” she said, the words all jerky and stiff and spoken in a rush. “I’ll do my best to please you.”

Gordy blinked at her, nonplussed and too lost to the clamouring excitement in his loins to understand her for a moment.

“Not to my liking?” he repeated, frowning before giving a snort at that idea and climbing over her. “I like ye,” he said, palming one full breast and unable to restrain a heartfelt moan as he ducked his head and took her nipple in his mouth, suckling hard. She jolted and gasped and he raised his head, certain that she’d see devilry and desire in his eyes now. “I’ll like these very much.” He didn’t give her time to respond but returned to indulge his own pleasure, squeezing and kissing her delicious breasts as he found his place between her thighs, sliding his cock against her sex with a groan of sheer bliss. God, she was perfect: soft and welcoming and strong enough to withstand him.

Unable to wait a moment longer, he pushed into her, gently at first, and then with one, fierce thrust that made her cry out and clutch at his shoulders.

“Easy,” he said, though how he spoke when the hot shaft of pleasure that had engulfed him had stolen any lingering shred of reason he did not know. “Easy, ’twill pass.”

He returned his attention to her breasts, which was not exactly a hardship despite his body trembling with the need to move, with the urgent desire for more, and more, and everything she had to give. He felt the tension in her subside and he eased back and sank into her again, slowly now, and then with growing speed as the climax came upon him too fast. He sought her mouth, desperate to take all she had, taking her generous kisses like a starving man offered bread. The warmth of her hands sliding down his spine made him shiver, and then she raised her legs higher, wrapping them around him and tilting her hips just so. Christ, but he wasn’t going to last. Thanks be she was too innocent to know the difference or his pride would never recover. He shattered, shuddering over her and giving a harsh, guttural shout of joy as he spent inside her, jerking helplessly with the power of his release.

Hell and the devil, was his last coherent thought before he collapsed on top of her and fell asleep.

***

Ruth stared at the ceiling, still breathing hard, and not at all certain of what she was supposed to feel. All the unsettling, primal feelings that had assaulted her on first setting eyes on her husband now made a deal more sense. That tense, urgent sensation in the pit of her belly, the crawling frustration beneath her skin and the insistent ache between her thighs, this was what it had been about. This primitive need to claim and take, and give too, it was for this. The joy he’d given her had been beyond anything she’d believed possible. In those first moments after her climax had subsided, she’d been horrified, shamed by the wild abandon she’d displayed for him, but then she’d seen the look in his eyes. He’d liked it. He’d liked her body, too, or at least taken pleasure in it. Good Lord, that seemed an understatement of towering proportions. Rather like the man himself.

She shifted, crushed into the mattress by his dead weight. It wasn’t terribly comfortable—she could hardly breathe—but it wasn’t unpleasant, either. He was still inside her, though he’d fallen dead asleep. Her body tingled with awareness, everywhere that wasn’t crushed at any rate. His head lay beside hers on the pillow, his breath huffing against her neck. Ruth turned her head and looked at him. He’d shaved for her, she noticed with a smile. Her gaze travelled over his handsome face, taking in the sweep of dark lashes and a lock of thick hair that had fallen over his eyes. Her arms were not pinned to the bed, at least, and she reached over, pushing the hair from his face and stroking his cheek, feeling tenderness welling inside her as he stirred a little and gave a heavy sigh.

The big, pig-headed brute was not a brute, nor a devil, just a man with troubles of his own, no doubt. That he didn’t want to let her be a part of his life was clear as day, that he’d chase her off at every attempt she made to inveigle her way into it a certainty. He was bad-tempered, unreasonable, and stubborn, which was fine, because she was all of those things too, when she had just cause. Well, he was her husband, and this was her home, and she meant to keep both, whether he liked it or not.