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“I—I thought ... I didn’t think it ... it would feel ... like this. Th—they only ever ... spoke of pain ... never ... pleasure. Nicholas, I—I can’t... It’s too much! I—” She cried out again, his name ringing in his ears as she shook and bucked beneath him.

He covered her mouth with his to stifle the sound and the groans welling up in his own throat as his body tightened. The pressure within built, and he didn't hold back. His seed spilled across her stomach, and Nicholas half collapsed, catching himself on his elbows.

Amy lay limp and panting under him, apparently too dazed to recover her modesty. “Was that...? It doesn’t even hurt.”

"It'll hurt when we join," he admitted when his head cleared. "But there are ways to make up for that."

She was quiet long enough that he wondered if she’d heard him. Then she let out the softest of sighs, her hand gently gliding along his back. Her eyes opened, her warm, tired gaze moving over his face. “Many ways?”

“Indeed.”

“Then what is a little pain?” She laughed and lifted her head to press her lips to his.

"Stay still." Nicholas gently disentangled his limbs, pushed the covers off, and got out of bed, readjusting his breeches to cover himself. He then retrieved one of the towels and brought it back, applying it to her distractingly flat stomach. "Are you still feeling well?"

She stared at his hand on her stomach, blinking with bemusement. “Um ... oh, yes. Sorry.” She took a deep breath, drawing her shift back to her shoulders, regrettably covering her breasts. “I am more than well, Nicholas. Are you? I fear I know little about these ... diversions. My aunt didn’t go into much detail other than to warn me of the pain and my duties as a wife. The rest I only know from books and, er, animals at our estate. Does it also hurt for you?”

"No." He paused, recalling a few specific instances in too-sharp flashes. If he’d been a less-experienced man, he might’ve had the grace to blush. "Well. Not usually. Something might go awry every so often," he added with a chuckle. "Yours is the more difficult part."

He sat on the bed, his hand abandoning the towel and traveling up her stomach beneath her chemise. He was free to explore her and didn't want to stop. His blood warmed again at the thought of her angelic face and demure gown at the wedding, hiding a body still glowing and marked by passion.

"I may be a demanding lover, but I don't want you to fear your wifely duties." He cupped her breast, kneading her flesh and rolling his thumb against her swollen nipple.

Amy covered her mouth in time to catch the keening moan. She pressed up into his grip, trembling, so Nicholas lowered his voice, whispering the rest: “I want you wet and aching for my touch, even when I'm ordering you to strip your dress off or bend naked over the chair.”

“Nicholas?” His name sounded like a prayer from her lips. He rewarded her with more soft explorations of her breasts.

“Yes?”

“Whatever you order me to do, I will do it.”

“A bold offer, my sweet.”

“Ever since that evening in Lord Markham’s parlor ...even dreams of you have made me wake up wanting...” She twisted, lifting her shift higher, her lips grazing his cheek before finding his lips.

"Good." His cock twitched at her words, though he knew she had no idea what she'd said. He squeezed her breast, then released it to stroke her stomach. "You're going to have a trying day tomorrow, my darling. A few hours alone in my carriage, then the ceremony ... and a very, very long wedding night. You need to rest."

“The sooner I sleep, the faster the morning shall come.” She didn’t close her eyes.

He settled into the pillow but didn’t retreat from her warmth, smoothing a hand over her forehead. “Try to sleep.”

She shut her eyes, her chest still rising quickly. “Good night, Nicholas. Your tomorrow will be just as trying as mine.”

No, it won't.

He kissed her cheek and stretched out, his hand splaying wide on her stomach. This was why he'd wanted to find a widow—someone who had already been in the world and understood how things worked. For all her aplomb and bravery, Amy had marched into this marriage unprotected because whatever damage he might do apparently paled compared to her father. The knowledge burned in his chest—that she would be his. Not in a purely passionate manner, but in entirety if her broader family took the elopement as a cue to cut her. And what the hell am I going to do with her? He pulled the coverlet up and edged closer to her side. She sighed, not objecting to his added warmth nor the arm draped across her.

****

Sleep relinquished him with the dawn light. A maid was stoking the fire and bobbed a quick bow before she scuttled out. He ran his hand over Amy's stomach and pulled her hips tight to his erection while his other hand palmed her breast. Her hand, previously tucked beneath her cheek, joined his. He feathered kisses along her shoulder. "Time to wake up, beautiful."

Sighing, she wriggled against him before she peered over her shoulder. Her dark, disoriented eyes lit a flash in his chest. “Am I truly in your arms, my lord?”

"My arms. My bed." He pinched her nipple harder, tweaking it until she whimpered, a sound that had him grinding his erection against her wet folds. "I've decided you must come for me before I'll let you dress." The hand on her hip crept down, sliding along her cunt, seeking her clit. He grabbed his cock, keeping it against her swelling bud, and began working them both.

“Oh!” She bent her knee, planting her foot flat on the bed, granting him better access. Suddenly, her body stretched taut, like a bow string about to snap. Her tremor was just as passionate as her last, and her backside pressed hard against him. He glanced between them, her pale, perfect skin drying his mouth. Well, perhaps not perfect. A straight, puckered pink line peeked from the hem of her shift...

So, her protests about her father weren't just childish resentment. He'd seen enough floggings to know the scars they left behind, and as he pushed her chemise lower to be sure, he found the others. Not as bad as a sergeant and a cat o'nine would inflict, but more than enough to keep a young lady's dresses cut somewhat high in the back. He let go of the chemise and put his lips to the nape of her neck, focusing on prolonging her climax and chasing his own. He gripped her breast harder and moved faster, savoring Amy’s breathy, incoherent pleas. His balls tightened, and the tell-tale pleasure-ache built until the seed spurted up, coating Amy's clit, thighs, and stomach.