Hardly a Husband

  God, but he wanted to touch her, all of her. He wanted to suckle at her breast and taste the sweet hot essence of her. He wanted to bury his length inside her warmth and to feel the heat of her surrounding him as he throbbed and pulsed within. He wanted to capture her lips and swallow her cries as he made hot sweet love to her. He wanted to wrap her legs around his hips and take her on the journey of her life where they were joined in pleasure.

  And he wanted to feel her touch him. To taste and caress him as he tasted and caressed her.

  Jarrod worked his way from her breasts back to her lips. He plundered her mouth with his warm, rough tongue, tasting, devouring, wanting, as he worked his way beneath her single petticoat to her stockinged thighs and beyond, past her garters to the bare skin. He ran his hand over the top of her thigh and down into the valley between her legs.

  Sarah sucked in a ragged breath as he found the opening in her brief drawers and touched the triangle of soft hair hidden there. Placing her hands against his chest, Sarah broke the kiss. "Jays?"

  "Sssh, sweetheart," he whispered against her mouth, "I'm not going to hurt you."

  "Jarrod…"

  Jarrod took a deep breath. He knew he was taking advantage of her inexperience, knew he was venturing into uncharted territory, praying that he could explore all she'd allow him to explore, then find his way back with her virtue and his sanity intact. He knew he should stop what he was doing and send her straight back to her aunt, but for the first time in his life, Jarrod couldn't force himself to do What he knew to be right. For the first time in his life, he wanted to throw caution to the wind and feel.

  And Sarah was what he wanted most to feel. Jarrod sighed. Who would have thought that little Sarah Eckersley could make him burn? Who would have thought that she would be so eager to join him in the conflagration? "Do you want me to stop?"

  "No," she sighed.

  "Then, what is it?" He kissed her chin, then the corner of her mouth, then the tip of her nose, and finally, her eyelids, before working his way down again.

  "I ache," she whispered shyly. "I ache in places I've never ached before."

  Jarrod chuckled. "What do you think that means, my sweet?"

  "I'm not sure," Sarah admitted. "But what you're doing isn't quite enough. It seems as if I'm striving for something. Something to soothe the ache."

  "Oh?" He arched his eyebrow and gave her a wanton look. God, but she was incredible! How could he ask for more?

  "I don't mean to criticize," she added quickly, as he leisurely stroked her soft curls with his finger. "Because what you're doing is quite the most wonderful thing I've ever felt other than what you did to my…" She blushed bright red.

  "Breasts?" he offered.

  "Yes," she whispered. "I loved the way you took me in your mouth as a baby would do."

  "Like this?" He followed his suggestion with action, covering the point of her luscious ivory globe with his hot mouth, sucking deeply, drawing her nipple as far into his mouth as possible.

  Sarah closed her eyes and gifted him with a low, keening moan.

  Jarrod held his breath, struggling to maintain control as the sound and sight and scent of her passion threatened to send him over the edge.

  "How about the other?" He treated her other breast to the same tender ministrations and Sarah nearly came off the bed as a rush of intense pleasure surged through her.

  "Good heavens!"

  He flicked his tongue over her nipple, then reluctantly released it and leaned over her. "You were saying?"

  "I can't remember," she gasped. "I can't think. All I can do is feel."

  "That's as it should be, my sweet," Jarrod murmured against her ear, moments before he thrust his tongue in it and sent new shivers of pleasure coursing through her. "Now, feel this…" He traced the contours of her mound, then slid his fingers inside its slick warmth and teased the tight little bud hidden within the folds.

  "Oh, yes…"

  There were no words to describe the shock she felt at the multitude of delicious and forbidden sensations as Jarrod's wicked and wonderfully skilled fingers slipped inside her petal-soft folds. She moaned his name and thrust her hips against his incredibly talented fingers, feeling the impact of those sensations deep inside her as yearnings she never knew she had shot to the surface and begged to be assuaged.

  "How about this?" He slid a finger inside her. Sarah quivered uncontrollably.

  "If that's how you feel about one, let's try another, shall we?" He withdrew his hand, then slid two fingers inside her, massaging, stretching, readying her for more…

  "Oh, God, Jays, it's so… " Sarah grabbed at his shoulders. Missed. Then grabbed again and held on as Jarrod began a steady rhythm. Caressing her, stroking in and out with his fingers as she arched her back, flexing and squirming in an effort to get closer to him. Or have him get closer to her.

  Sarah knew she should be scandalized by Jarrod's familiarity with the forbidden places on her body; knew she should be alarmed at the way he knew exactly what to do to increase the pleasure and the ache and at the way she allowed him to do whatever he wanted to do. Sarah had always known she was putty in Jarrod's hands, but she hadn't realized he had known exactly how to mold it. She had sensed it, but she hadn't known how much she wanted Jarrod to love her until now. He knew her much better than she knew herself and he'd been right to refuse her offer to become her first lover, for having felt this, how could she ever let him go? And staying free was the thing Jarrod wanted most.

  Sarah knew they shouldn't be doing what they were doing. But she didn't care. She knew she should be shocked or embarrassed by the liberties he was taking. By the liberties she was allowing. Even encouraging. But how could she be shocked or embarrassed when it was her beloved Jays? And when all he gave was incredible pleasure?

  This was what she wanted. What she needed. And she needed it from Jarrod. It didn't matter that he didn't love her or that he didn't want to marry her. She loved him. She had always loved him and that was enough. Because he felt something for her. He couldn't stroke her with such infinite tenderness and probe her secret places with such care if he didn't.

  "Please," she murmured in such a heartfelt tone of voice that Jarrod couldn't tell if she was inviting him to continue or begging him to stop. He deepened his caress, wiggling his fingers against her slippery warmth. Sarah squeezed her legs together in reaction, before opening them again to give him access. And Jarrod had his answer.

  Sarah squirmed as pleasure — hot and thick and dangerous — surged through her body, filling her with urgent longings she couldn't name and a buffet of vibrant emotions — all of them emanating from the place Jarrod graced with his glorious attention. She thrust her hips upward as she moaned her pleasure and gasped out his name in short frantic little breaths.

  Jarrod kissed her again, gently at first, then harder, consciously matching the action of his fingers to that of his tongue as he feverishly worked his magic on her. He knew she was desperately close to finding release, even if she didn't quite know what to expect or what was happening to her.

  Chafing beneath his self-imposed restraint, Jarrod ached to join her in blissful release, but he took his time. Laving her folds with the honey she lavished on his fingers, Jarrod pressed his thumb against her aching core.

  Sarah sighed against his lips, then shuddered deeply as her tenuous control shattered, the tension she felt dissolved, and she came apart in his arms. She opened her eyes and looked up at him with such an expression of sheer awe and joy that Jarrod's breath caught in his throat. He was humbled by the look in her eyes and rewarded tenfold for his remarkable restraint.

  "Better?" he asked.

  Sarah blushed. "Much better." She stretched like a cat, delighting in the feeling, then suddenly she reached up, and framed Jarrod's face between her palms. "Thank you," she said simply, before pulling his face down to meet her lips.

  "Glad I could be of service," he whispered seconds before he captured her mouth with his own.
r />   Jarrod kissed her again — this time with all the pent-up passion and frustration and longing he'd been holding in check so long. He kissed her until her breasts heaved with exertion, until her bones seemed to turn to jelly, until all she could do was cling to him while she fervently returned his kisses measure for measure.

  Shaking with need and reeling from the flood of sensations surrounding him as Sarah matched him stroke for stroke with her tongue, Jarrod pulled his mouth away from hers.

  "What's wrong?" she asked. "Nothing's wrong," he answered. "Then why did you stop kissing me?"

  "Because I want you." Jarrod leaned his forehead against hers and drew a shaky breath. "Because I want more."

  Sarah suddenly realized that while she felt much better after the release of the tension he'd built inside her, Jarrod seemed to feel much worse. "Tell me what to do."

  Jarrod gave a shaky laugh. "It isn't something one usually asks of an innocent young lady after their first dance."

  "What you just did to me isn't something one usually does to an innocent young lady after their first or second dance," Sarah reminded him.

  "Even the third or fourth," Jarrod added in that same shaky laugh.

  "Then why don't we skip the third and fourth dances while you teach me everything I should know about giving you the same kind of pleasure you gave me?"

  "Oh, Sarah, my sweet," he murmured. "It will take a lot longer than that." Jarrod was beginning to think that it might take him a lifetime to teach her everything he wanted her to know about pleasuring him.

  "Start with what you want most." The smile Sarah gave him was beatific. "I've got all night. And you're the only man who's signed my dance card."

  "Jesus!" Jarrod swore. "I forgot about the dance. We've been out here entirely too long." He pulled Sarah's bodice back over her breasts, hiding them from view, and groaned as he stood up to help her to her feet.

  Sarah looked up at him. "What is it?"

  "I can't go back inside like this."

  He looked perfectly presentable. Sarah stared at him in the glow of the moonlight. His cravat was a bit askew, but other than that, not a hair was out of place. She wasn't sure she could say the same. "Like what?"

  "This." He took her hand and guided it to the front of his trousers.

  The hard ridge she'd felt earlier seemed to have grown so large it was pushing against his trouser front. "Oh." She applied a little pressure, then began massaging him in a slow circular motion, before tracing the length of it through the fabric. "Can you walk like this?"

  "Barely," Jarrod choked out. "And dancing is out of the question."

  "Does it hurt?"

  Jarrod leaned down and kissed her on the nose. "It aches like the bloody devil."

  Sarah frowned. "Does this happen often?"

  "Only when I'm with you." He surprised himself by speaking the truth. He had always prided himself on his control and Jarrod couldn't remember the last time he had been unable to control an erection. Unfortunately, he didn't seem to be able to control this one or the reason for it. "Suffice it to say that I can't make an appearance in the ballroom until this subsides."

  "Is there anything I can do to help?"

  Was it possible? Had he died and gone to heaven? Or had the rector's daughter from Helford Green just offered to help him alleviate the ache in the place he needed it most? And the fact that she didn't truly understand what she was offering didn't seem to matter at all.

  God, how he wished she could help, but he hadn't quite lost all his manners or his good sense and Jarrod knew that was something he couldn't ask. He closed his eyes instead, and mentally counted to twenty in an effort to erase the images of Sarah doing everything he wanted her to do. Kneeling before him. Or leaning over him while he reclined on the bed. Even taking him in hand and bringing him to satisfaction. Or lying beneath him, her legs tightly wrapped around his waist, as he buried himself inside her.

  He'd just counted twenty-four when Jarrod felt Sarah fumbling for the buttons on his trousers. "Sarah, don't… "

  Too late.

  She released the buttons and stared at the hard ridge straining against his stockinette drawers in the vee of his trousers.

  "Mind if I satisfy my curiosity?" she asked politely, in an echo of his earlier words. "Be my guest," he invited.

  Sarah hooked a finger in the waistband of his drawers and tugged.

  The hard length of him sprang free. Jarrod inhaled sharply.

  "What have we here?" she mused, tracing it with the tip of her gloved finger. "A French eclair without the frosting?"

  Jarrod closed his eyes and bit his bottom lip as Sarah ran her finger up and down his shaft. "This eclair's all English," he managed through gritted teeth, "and loaded with cream. Mind your glove, my lady, so you don't get any on it."

  Sarah looked closely and saw that he was right. A drop of pearly white liquid glistened at the top. She quickly unbuttoned and removed her glove so she could touch him with her bare hand. The feel of him took her by surprise. She expected hardness, but the top of him wasn't hard. It was soft. Incredibly, velvety soft. And that intrigued her. She traced the length of him with her bare finger, stopping to touch the liquid. She rubbed the pearly drop into the velvety soft flesh, then watched, fascinated, as another drop immediately took its place. "You are loaded with cream," she said, reaching out to grasp him.

  "Easy," he cautioned, shuddering with a mixture of exquisite pain and pleasure as she gripped him. "You can't squeeze it out. You have to coax it out." He took her hand and showed her the motion. "Although, I doubt it will take much coaxing."

  He was right. Sarah proved to be a most adept and enthusiastic pupil. Jarrod quivered with pleasure and came very close to spilling himself in her hand as Sarah pumped him just the way he'd showed her. Just the way he liked. Until he reached the limit of his control.

  "Stop," he ordered, leaning his forehead against the top of her head in order to catch his breath and gain control of his racing heart.

  Sarah eased her grip on him and gently moved her hand up and down. "Better?"

  "No," he answered.

  "Don't you like it?"

  "I love it." His chest was heaving with effort and he ground out the words between each breath. "But you must stop. I only have so much control," he said. "And I'm at the limit." Jarrod reached down and caught hold of her wrist, forcing her to end the magnificent torture.

  Sarah stopped the motion, but she didn't let go. "What happens if I continue and you lose control?"

  "I spill my seed," he said. "And you'll have cream all over your talented little hand."

  "It's a sin to spill your seed anywhere but inside a woman," Sarah told him.

  "Where did you hear that?"

  "From the Bible." She added, "Papa had whole sermons devoted to the sin of needlessly spilling one's seed and how it leads straight to hell."

  "Believe me, my sweet," Jarrod groaned, "it isn't needless. Quite the contrary. And if it's a sin, then every man you're ever likely to meet is going to hell because it's done quite regularly."

  "Will you be able to return to the ballroom afterward?"

  He managed a nod.

  "And dance?"

  "Yes."

  "Then may I continue?"

  Jarrod conceded. How could he refuse so polite a request? How could he refuse to do what his body urged him to do? How could he not want to take her in his arms and make love to her forever?

  "So long as you can locate my handkerchief."

  * * *

  Chapter Twenty-One

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  The gods have their own rules.

  — Ovid, 43 B.C.-A.D. 18

  It was over in less than a minute.

  Sarah caught the cream on his handkerchief as he spilled it, then carefully patted his flaccid member dry and tucked it back into his stockinette drawers and buttoned his trousers. She folded the handkerchief into a neat little square, then turned her back to him and busied herself in smoot
hing out the coverlet on the bed and fluffing the pillows, erasing all signs of use, giving Jarrod time to compose himself.

  "You may turn around now," he told her. "I'm presentable."

  Sarah handed Jarrod his handkerchief. "And if I prefer you in disarray?"

  "Then you must keep that preference and how you came to have it to yourself," he told her. His knees still felt like jelly and he blushed like a schoolboy as he took the square of soiled linen from her and shoved it into the inside pocket of his jacket.

  Sarah found that boyish reaction more endearing than anything he could have done. "Can't I share it?" she asked sweetly. "If only with you."

  "Only with me."

  "There's no one else with whom I want to share it," she said softly. "And there's no need for you to be embarrassed," she told him. "I wasn't embarrassed for you to make me lose control. And you shouldn't be embarrassed because I did the same for you." She walked up to him and straightened his cravat. "I'm honored that you trusted me enough to allow me to ease the ache I caused."

  "I'm not…" Still reeling from his own audacity at allowing Sarah to perform such an intimate act for him, Jarrod found it hard to give voice to his feelings. "Christ, Sarah! I've never done anything like that in my life."

  "You seemed quite good at it for a novice," she teased.

  He made a face at her. "That I've done more times than I care to remember." Jarrod reached out and smoothed a stray lock of red hair back into place, then handed her her black glove. "And if your father was right, I'm well on my way to hell, because I've never allowed a lady to witness that particular act before, much less participate, and tonight I encouraged an innocent young lady to do both."

  "Papa must have misinterpreted the scripture," Sarah decided. "For nothing that extraordinary can be sinful. And you needn't worry about shocking me," she continued, even though she allowed that she'd been more than a little shocked at the powerful feelings surging through her at the sight of so potent a man as Jays made vulnerable by the motion of a woman's hand. She wanted to hold him and protect him and love him forever. "I'm not so innocent anymore," she told him proudly, "thanks to my most excellent tutor."