Haven House, page 14




“Watch. I’ll do it this time.”
I may have blushed a furious red, but I would not miss this lesson. Not if it allowed me access to Damien and the relief that I was sure lay on the other side of this activity.
He tugged the belt, loosened the tongue, and I watched, committing the movements to memory. With a deft pull, the belt flew across the room, and I was already reaching to pop his pants free.
“Maybe you should slow down a little?”
I stopped and considered. “Why?”
He laughed. “So I can return the favour.”
“Please do, kind sir.”
He reached out and found the buttons of my bodice. It was a plain and unadorned black wool, and I watched his hands work carefully, releasing one button, then another. When it gaped open, his face flushed, eyes sparkled, and lips curved into a satisfied smile.
In the lamp's glow, the muslin of my blouse appeared nearly translucent. I didn’t cross myself, though, because I was closer to heaven now than at any other time. I shrugged off the upper section of my gown in silence, watching him.
My hand moved to the tiny closure at the side of my skirt, and my finger caught on a hook. It hurt.
“Not a dream,” I whispered, and suddenly I knew none of this was make-believe. I was here with Damien, ready to pounce on him like a jaguar intent on its prey.
The heat flashed to frigid before reverting to scorching embarrassment. “Oh, Damien, I’m sorry. I thought…” Owning up to what I thought this was would be horrific, but I needed to make him aware that I was no doxy. I clasped my cheeks. “You must think me terribly fast.” The words emerged as a mumble.
He turned beet red. “I… I apologise,” he muttered and reached for his pants and belt.
“Damien… I meant—”
“No, Ammy. It’s my fault. I thought you wanted—”
“I do!” I wailed, and he stopped. Narrowing his gaze on me, he then slumped with a sigh to the bed beside me.
“Tell me what you want, Ammy. I’m a mere simple man and clearly didn’t read your intentions correctly.”
I gulped, aware I’d made a hell of a mess of this. I covered my eyes with a hand. “I want you, Damien. But I thought this was a dream, so I let it keep going without considering how wanton I must appear.”
His frown made me feel even worse. “You want me but thought it was a dream. You felt you could act like this because it was a dream, but when you realised it wasn’t, you stopped because you were embarrassed?”
“Yes. Except I really…” The words couldn’t push past the lump in my throat.
“You shouldn’t ever be embarrassed by this, Ammy. We’re married. It’s allowed and, in some cultures, expected.”
My eyes fluttered against my hand. He pulled it away, so I looked at him. In the depths of his eyes, I saw emotions I was too afraid to name.
“But it’s not seemly.”
“Why?”
I wet my lips. “Women are submissive. That’s their role. To carry and care for—”
He reared back. “That’s the sect talking, Amaryllis. Wanting is normal. Passion is not just acceptable but desirable in a relationship like ours. Don’t be confused by the rubbish put into your head in Haven House. Do you think Andrew and Gloriana don’t have a relationship of love that includes passion?”
My breath hitched. I’d seen them together during the weeks I’d stayed with my brother and his wife. The times I caught sight of them around the corners or in the garden, the brief but highly charged embraces. “I… No, I mean, yes.”
“Amaryllis. You’re not a child. You’ve taken the first step to becoming yourself in this place. If you want me, and you want the intimacy, all you have to do is ask. I won’t push for what you’re unready for, but be aware that I want you. I want the hot, naked woman inside that ugly dress. I want the tenacious woman who freed herself from the situation she’d had to accept.”
He cupped my cheek. “But most of all, I desire you, because you fill me up. You tempt me and woke the man who never thought he’d find a love like this.”
Those words stopped me. “Love?”
He sighed. “Yes, Ammy. The first time I saw you in that ugly, torn gown with Gloriana, I was hit by a bolt of lightning. Later, I used every opportunity—and trust me, if Andrew didn’t see how thin some of them were, then he’s not the man I thought he was—to be around you.”
My hands clenched. “So, if I want something, I should just… ask?” I held the oxygen in my lungs as his eyes roamed my face. He nodded in answer. “Damien? Will you love me?”
The planes of his face settled into granite hardness. “Now?”
I nodded, then reached for the fastener of my skirt and released it. It fell to the floor, leaving me in my underthings before him. There may be more layers to divest, but this was like being naked before God. Nothing to protect me now.
“Would you like me to remove my pants or shirt?”
Oh Lord! I wanted to say both but stammered out, “Sh–shir–t.”
He smiled, and it filled me once more with heat as his eyes promised darkly exotic things.
He divested himself of the white material, revealing his chest, a light sprinkling of chest hair, and my fingers itched to play in it. To twine it and tug him closer.
As if he read my mind, he smiled. “Touch me, Ammy.”
I reached out and found the flat disc of one nipple. It budded, and I felt the thud of his heart beneath the warm satiny skin.
“More,” I whispered and noted the way the musculature of his belly tightened as I breathed on him.
“Yes,” he muttered and reached for his waistband, then stopped. “You do it. You know how.”
I employed both hands, tugging at the buttons and releasing him. The material pooled at his ankles. He stepped back, kicking the offending trousers out of sight, and I focused on his white underdrawers, the way they pouched at the front to cover his erection.
His hands settled on my shoulders, then slid down. He lifted me from the bed and turned me, and I felt him undoing the ribbons of my camisole, then brushing it away. His hands settled in my hair and slowly removed the pins holding it up so it fell down.
“You have beautiful hair, Ammy. Like a silken cloud,” he murmured, the heat of his breath bathing the back of my neck. I shivered, feeling my body respond, nipples turning to hard buds and rasping against the chemise below my corset.
He turned his attention to the strings of my stays, and I knew I couldn’t turn back. My body was on fire with need.
“Damien?”
I turned as he threw the material and boning to the chair near the bed.
Curling my hands over the hot sinewy flesh of his shoulders, I leaned in, as did he. When our mouths met, it was a soft caress, his lips roaming over mine, drugging me. The sensation of his fingers sliding their way over the last scrap of fabric between our skin was arousing.
I closed my eyes, unable to cope with the overload of sensations, the fizzing in my veins, the heat and scent of him, his taste.
With almost nerveless fingers, I gripped his hips, my hand contracting around the tie at his waist.
“Free me, Ammy,” he whispered against my ear, and I moved blindly now as his mouth once more found skin. The tie gave as I tugged it, and he hissed in concert with the whoosh of fabric.
Then I was moving, falling, and resting on the counterpane of the bed, his fingers burrowing beneath the chemise and pushing it up so he could slide his fingers over my breasts. The tips were beads of pure pleasure, and when his finger slid over them, I bucked and called out.
Reality melted away. He released the petticoat and pushed it down along with the pantalets I wore beneath it, and then we were skin against skin. The heat of him scorched me as I writhed. His mouth found the tender peak of my breast, sucked it into his mouth, and his tongue danced wickedly against the flesh.
A hand slid down my front, finding the curls that hid my most secret recesses, combing through before sliding between the flesh, now damp and slick with the moisture of my arousal.
“Ammy,” he groaned. “I want you.”
“Please,” I begged, head thrashing in time with the wild thrumming inside me. The urgency built, pressure in my belly hot and raging.
Empty, so empty. I pulled him close, my hands digging into his shoulders as my legs found their way around his waist, my body demanding fulfilment.
Then he was there, nudging against me, and the heat and hunger pushed me on. Lips mating, hands questing, and the sounds of moans and entreaties echoing.
We moved at some point, though I didn’t know how. Now I was on the bed, and he was crawling over me, shaking and slick with sweat.
“Now, Damien,” I demanded, and as his mouth settled once more over mine, he pushed, shoved. I felt him. Then came the burning sting, and I cried out, startled, and held myself still.
“Stay still, my love,” Damien whispered, holding me close. “It’ll pass soon.”
But I’d squeezed my eyes together to banish the burn and pushed at him. “No. It hurts,” I whimpered.
He dotted kisses on my forehead as time segued from one moment to the next in a blur of discomfort.
“Please,” I whispered again, and he moved. “Not like…”
The burn wasn’t totally gone, though it was receding. Now I felt something more. He shifted his hips, only a nudge, but while my expectation was of fiery pain, it didn’t happen.
“It won’t ever be like that again, my Ammy. Trust me.” He shook, sweat rolling off him, but it didn’t repulse me.
The next nudge had me sighing as the passion that had washed away returned by degrees. The next move had me groaning. “Oh, Damien!”
Our lips met and clung, and now his length slid deeper. I felt it, every inch, as I stretched to accommodate him.
“My beautiful wife,” he crooned. “Mine. My love.”
I joined him now in the dance, our bodies sliding together in an ancient duet that grew faster. Wilder. Hotter.
“More,” I demanded of him. And he gave me everything, hands sliding over my skin, urging me to find the precipice. I did. That shining instant where I could no longer hold on to reality.
Splintering.
Burning.
I broke apart, the orgasm unexpected and overwhelming, but I welcomed it because the pleasure filling me was so all-encompassing. I cried out, and his fingers dug deep, the movements of his body urgent and driving while every inch of civilisation cracked and flew away.
The bed groaned, he growled, and I strangely felt truly complete. As if this act of congress had sealed the promises we’d made.
It was as if my heart was whole.
He held me close, and I felt a sensation of jetting deep inside me. I knew what was happening.
I wanted it and the result that may come from our lovemaking. If I were pregnant from this, I would welcome and love the child. Not just because of the teachings of Haven House but because if I were, the child was started by our choice, not the decisions of some self-ordained priest. The teachings of Haven House might dog me for the rest of my life, but I would glory in the fact that I’d chosen for myself.
When Damien finally slumped against me, I held him close, my hands making slippery circles on his flesh.
And finally, the world swam away as sleep overwhelmed me.
Waking was slow, layers of awareness making themselves known. Warmth, an ache, and an unfamiliar languor. I turned, or attempted to, and met something warm and… naked.
I started up, the cool air sliding over bare flesh. “What?”
A hand reached out. “It’s all right, Ammy.” A male and sleep-thickened voice I knew captured my attention.
Understanding flooded my mind, and I blinked once. Then again. “Damien?”
“Yes, Ammy?”
“I’m…” I swallowed. “Where are my bedclothes?”
He turned, and I caught sight of miles of flesh, bare and really so very tempting. “This is normal, Ammy. Married couples sleep together. Naked. We’re married and—”
“But what about bedclothes?” I croaked.
“Well, we can put them on if you like, but I’d rather not.” His hand slid up to my shoulder, and the wanting rose again, heat pooling in my belly.
I tugged the sheets and wound them around me, and he smiled but said nothing. That he was watching me was enough to increase my discomfort several times over.
“I should get dressed.” With the sheet tight around me, I dashed to the bathing room, hoping I’d be able to overcome my embarrassment before I saw him again.
I looked in the mirror, cheeks flushed a deep red wine and eyes shining while my hair lay mussed around my shoulders. I caught sight of him behind me in the reflection. Looking down, I noted his nakedness, and my gaze flashed up again.
He stepped closer to me. I felt the heat of him burning my suddenly chilled flesh. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Ammy.” I watched with fascination as he bent down and kissed the bare skin of my shoulder. A frisson of sensation raced through me.
“It’s daytime,” I groaned as his lips travelled up the length of my throat and settled at the sensitive juncture of my head and neck.
“There’s no rule that says we can’t make love in the daytime, Ammy. No rules at all. We can make our own.”
I shook from the vibrations of his voice, but it was when I felt the tip of his tongue as it flicked at my jaw that I had to fight my eyelids from drooping.
“Oh, Damien,” I murmured and released my grip on the sheet.
“Look in the mirror, Ammy.”
My eyes fluttered open, and there in the full-length mirror I saw us both. His bronzed skin against my pale milky flesh, green eyes blazing while his hands covered my breasts, plumping them under his attention. They weren’t big, but the tips were a rosy hue, the nipples puckered, and I felt the imaginary wisps of eroticism curling around me.
One of his hands made its way down my belly and covered the mound hidden in a thatch of hair. “So beautiful,” he whispered. A finger slid between the fleshy folds, and I leaned back into his embrace.
Lost in the haze, I nearly missed the sound of thudding. Could it be the beat of my heart? Except it wasn’t, and I tugged away, startled.
Who? Does someone know what we’re doing?
Damien cursed, though his gaze held mine for several seconds before he wrenched a dressing gown from the door and marched away, leaving me with a trembling mass of roiling sensations.
I hurried through my ablutions and dressed. Finally presentable, I went to the bedroom to find him jerking on boots. “What’s going on?”
He glanced at me, face set in thunderous granite. “Andrew has received news. We need to meet with him downstairs.”
I let Damien take my hand and draw me out of the room and downstairs. In the parlour waited food and Andrew. Gloriana had taken up position in one of the armchairs. They rose as we entered the room, and for a moment, I fancied that Gloriana knew what we’d been doing when interrupted. I burned and squirmed internally, then allowed the sensation to wash away. Damien wouldn’t tell. That wasn’t the man he was.
“Tea?” I queried. Eyes fastened on me, but I kept up the pretence of nonchalance. For Andrew to be here early in the morning, demanding Damien’s attention, it had to be of grave import.
Once everyone had a drink and was settled, Andrew cleared his throat. “I believe they know where you are. But I’ve intelligence about why they want Ammy.”
“More about Eldora?” Damien asked, but Andrew shook his head.
“Not exactly. We know they detained some women from Haven. They’ve been found beaten but very much alive. They were returned to Haven late last night. They, of course, said Ammy would know, as she assisted Junior. They also said they believed she was Junior’s lover.” Andrew spat the words, and the distaste turned my stomach.
“I’d never—” Before I could finish, Damien was there, hand on my shoulder.
“She was never his, Andrew. Anyone who says that will have to face me.”
Strange, really, that his defence, both honest and heated, bolstered me, but I also felt ill at ease hearing the implication. “Never would I stoop to that. I will face these women and vindicate myself.”
Damien added nothing, just kept his hand on me, showing solidarity.
“I know. But the men from Nobel want to see you. They’re hunting. They’ve already sent out ships,” Andrew explained.
“They’re between here and Port Isaacs,” Damien added, and my brother gaped at him.
“You knew?”
“I received word last night. It won’t take them long to work out where we are. Sending Ammy off isn’t the answer. They’ll just keep chasing her. So, we’ll set the ground rules. They come here, but we make plans of our own. We find out what they know, share what’s in our best interests.”
Letting Damien speak on my behalf wasn’t easy, but watching Andrew’s ire rise was unpalatable too. “I’m not sure about that. The safety of the children—” I looked around the room, hunting for the way to explain my fears.
“I understand, Ammy. You fear for the children, but as far as the Nobel Crest followers are concerned, they’re simply collateral damage.”
I grunted at that. “They shouldn’t be. They’ve just become orphans. They deserve much better than that.”
Gloriana rose and wandered to the window. “So, how do we go forward? There are questions. Many questions and few answers. But the danger is increasing, and we’re not going forward.”
Not true, of course. “Damien is right. It won’t take them long to work out I’m here. We need to meet them as equals. Bring their leader here. Share what we know, or at least enough to keep them busy looking for Junior. And speaking of him, has anyone found him yet?”
Andrew shook his head. “That would certainly improve our chances. But no, my men haven’t found him yet.”
“I have my men chasing some leads, but I haven’t had the opportunity to see what they’ve found out,” Damien said from behind me. I ducked my head a little, knowing full well why he hadn’t yet checked his communicase.