Колин Глисон - A Whisper of Rosemary

She stumbled along as quickly as her long skirts would allow, thankful that she was not to be disrobed in front of a gaggle of women and gawking men before being urged into bed with her husband.

They reached the chamber that had been set aside for them, safely and without escort.

Dirick ushered Maris within, closing the door firmly behind him. Agnes had stoked the fire into a low blaze to keep the night chill from the damp room, and now she dozed on the floor near their bed.

Maris shook her maid awake and dismissed her. “There is no need to attend me this night,” she told Agnes, watching as Dirick sat to remove his boots. “My husband will assist me.” She found those words— my husband —to be both exciting and welcome, coming from her lips.

She barred the heavy door behind Agnes, then turned slowly to face her husband. He’d pulled off his surcoat and tunic, and was naked from the waist up: a golden statue of muscle and glittering eyes and coarse dark hair in the firelight. He sat on a stool near the blaze, watching her as he had done the night she treated his stab wound.

Maris shivered in anticipation. This night would end much differently.

“Maris, my love, come to me.” His voice was low and smooth, and his eyes never wavered.

Nervous, excited, anticipatory, she moved quickly to him and allowed him to pull her onto his lap. He drew the transparent veil from her head and thrust his fingers into the long thickness of her hair, gently combing through the braids and untangling the mass of waves and curls. “Your hair is so beautiful,” he told her, pressing a kiss to the end of a thick lock.

He stroked the edge of her chin, his touch leaving tiny sensations of pleasure, then closed his lips over her mouth in a sleek, sensual kiss that left her breathless. His long, tan fingers unfastened the golden girdle that rested on her hips and eased the heavy overtunic above her head, then flung it into a heap on the floor. And when he bent to kiss her once more, it was a long, thorough, and easy one, as if to remind her that they had all the night to taste each other.

Closing his hands over her breasts, still covered by the gossamer undertunic, he stroked his thumbs over her nipples. They tightened into miniature erections, and then he shifted the fabric across them, the soft cloth rasping over their sensitive points, Maris felt a delicious dart of pleasure shimmy down to her core.

A sort of heaviness grew low in her belly, and she felt as if she were filling and swelling in her private areas. Damp heat rushed and centered there, and Maris realized she was beginning to feel a sort of itchy, needy sensation in the pit of her belly.

Dirick’s muscles tightened and shivered as she smoothed the flats of her hands over the muscular slabs of his chest, down the sides of his ribs and abdomen. Lightly, lightly, she ran the raggedness of her fingernails over the back of his shoulders, then down and around to the ridges of his belly. Tiny bumps followed their paths and he shivered, his breathing becoming rough and unsteady.

Abruptly, Dirick stood and directed her toward the large bed where the curtains had been pulled back. Sprigs of rosemary and violets lay on their pillows, and he swept them to the side before easing Maris onto the plush bed. She watched, unafraid, as he slid his breeches down over lean hips and well defined, muscular thighs. A sigh culled the back of her throat when he came to lie next to her, pulling her to the long, warm length of his body.

Her chest rose and fell, and he placed his hand over the swell of one breast, allowing it to rise and fall with it.

“Maris,” he spoke, looking at her directly. “Do you know what is to happen?” The gentleness in his grey eyes stirred her and she reached up to smack a playful kiss onto his lips.

“Aye, Dirick, ’tis no secret to me what a man and woman do when they mate. And, I am not afraid,” she told him. “I’m not afraid of you. I welcome you.” Her fingers twisted in the thick hair that fell over his forehead, then trailed her hands lower, drifting down his chest and boldly to the hardness between his legs. When she brushed against that hot, tumescent skin, he stiffened, catching his breath in a sharp, pained groan. Maris couldn’t help a self-satisfied smile, and, with delight at his obvious pleasure, she closed her fingers over hard, velvet-skinned erection. This time, the groan that came from the back of his throat was primal and needy.

She began to explore its warm reach, not at all certain she knew what she was doing…but sliding up and down along it seemed like a good idea.

“You are bold, my lady,” Dirick said, flashing a tense grin at her. He shifted out of her greedy reach with a quick, precise movement. “And I find myself at an unfair advantage—for I am at your mercy, and you are still armored by some manner of cloth. Allow me to rid you of your protection.”

With a quick movement, he yanked the fragile cloth, rending it down the center of her body, leaving its ivory curves bare to his gaze. Maris gasped in surprise and with a faint twinge of annoyance. “Dirick,” she admonished laughingly, “you’ve just ruined the dearest piece of cloth I’ve ever purchased.”

“I don’t care,” he murmured, filling his hands with her breasts. “I shall buy you another to replace it. Two if I must.”

Then his hand smoothed over her belly, down to that warm, moist place where all of her senses seemed to have collected. She throbbed and moistened at his touch as he fingered the swollen little knob there, teasing and massaging it gently. Maris felt the most inexplicable sensation, rising and swelling inside her, blossoming into something hot and needy and all the world fell away but for the sensation of his fingers, stroking and sliding in her wetness.

“Beloved, I would not hurt you, but I cannot prevent it…and I must have you… now .”

“Yes,” she whispered, hardly aware of what she was saying. With a smooth motion, Dirick moved between her legs, anchoring up on one elbow while he guided himself to her opening. And then, suddenly, she felt him fill her, full, oh… full …and then a sharp pain surprised her and she gasped softly

“Beloved,” he whispered, holding himself poised and still over her, filling her so deeply. “Forgive me.” His breathing was the only sound in the chamber, and she could feel him waiting, uncertain and desperate.

The pain had ebbed and all at once, Maris was aware— very aware—of being filled, of the anticipation, the need, beginning once again. She gave a little twitch, a little shift, and with the gust of released breath, Dirick began to move inside her.

Any lingering discomfort melted away as he shifted, sliding in and out in a long, slow rhythm that made her tighten and reach, lifting and gathering until something exploded inside her. A storm of shivers and fluttering filled her, blossoming from her middle to the end of every limb and digit in a sharp snap of heat.

Maris might have gasped, she might even have dug her nails into her husband’s skin, but she wasn’t certain, for he was moving faster now, faster and with more urgency. His muscles bunched beneath her fingers, his skin was hot and damp against hers.

She knew, hazily, that he reached his fulfillment when he threw his head back and slammed inside her with a low groan. He froze like a beautiful god above her in an instant of vulnerability and ecstasy.

Then he smiled and opened his eyes to look down at her. “Beloved,” he murmured, rolling to the side, gathering her damp body close. “How blessed I am.”

And then his eyes slid closed and he settled against her.

When Dirick awoke much later that night…or mayhap ’twas near the morning…the first thing he saw was the unruly mass of thick, lemony smelling hair that belonged to his wife.