When he looked up at me, I tried to take a deep breath. It was difficult; the intensity of his look and the movements of his hands all seemed to gather at that single point between my legs—the place where he was threatening to explore. He left a trail of kisses from the spot between my breasts down a line to my stomach. Branford rose up on his knees, gripped the edge of my skirts and looked at me, his eyes a silent question. I could only respond by nodding my head, and he slowly pulled the dress down my legs and off completely.
I shivered though the sun was warm on my skin. I shivered because my husband was staring down at my naked body for the first time, his eyes dark and smoldering. I shivered because he was licking his lips, and I was fairly certain he was also holding his breath. Was I acceptable? It had been my fear since the wedding night that he may, in the end, find me lacking. His words to Sir Parnell in the carriage came back to me. He could dismiss me if I wasn’t good enough, and here I was, exposed completely to his eyes in the bright sunlight of midday. I looked away from him.
“Stop,” Branford said quietly. I turned back to him, and I could feel the indentation of my teeth in my bottom lip as I bit down.
“Stop?”
“Stop thinking whatever it is you are thinking,” Branford said. “You are incredible to behold. You are not inadequate or whatever word it was you used before.”
It was the word I had used. I couldn’t help but think of the princesses he had known and the other noblewomen who would have been, undoubtedly, better suited for his wife. They already knew all these things that I did not, and many of them had not been afraid of his touch in the past. I felt his hand on my cheek, and he turned my head to face him before he took my bottom lip away from my teeth and sucked it gently into his mouth.
“You are beautiful,” he said. He moved his hands from my head down my shoulders, over my arms, and down to my bare waist. For a moment, he closed his eyes and seemed to be battling something inside of himself. Using his thumbs, he danced over my skin, making small circles across my flesh. When his eyes opened again, he took a long, deep breath before speaking. “So soft…so innocent…”
He moved one of his hands from my waist to my stomach, stopped there for a brief second, and then slowly dropped lower. I gasped as his hand reached the small mound of hair that covered my skin there, and his fingers threaded through it. They explored, they searched, and they discovered while I panted and gripped his shoulders, my eyes staring wide at the sky above.
“Do you feel it here?” he asked quietly. He moved lower, slowly moving between my legs and coming back covered in moisture. I gasped. “Do you feel how warm you are against my hand? How wet you are for me?”
A small noise escaped my lips as his fingers reached for my most intimate spot. He circled with his moistened finger, dipped low, and then came back up to circle again.
“You are so wet for me, Alexandra. Do you feel it? Do you understand? This is how I know your body wants me. This is how I know you want to feel me inside of you even if you don’t know it yet.”
The tip of his finger circled at the apex of my folds, just below the mound of hair, spreading the moisture around me and then going back for more. I heard a low moan, and I couldn’t tell for sure if it had come from his mouth or my own.
Branford pressed his lips back to my throat, sucking on my skin and licking at my neck. I was sure he could feel my heart beating rapidly under his touch. With one hand, he cupped my breast while the other continued to slide up and down between my legs. My thighs clenched, and I felt the cloth of Branford’s trousers as he placed one of his legs between mine. He curled his knee to wrap his ankle around my calf and dragged my legs apart in one fluid movement. I gasped again as his fingers delved lower, sinking between the folds of flesh now spread out before him, fully uncovered to his touch.
I closed my eyes tightly and reached for him. I grabbed at his back and shoulders as I fought with myself to stay grounded. My heart was beating too fast—my lungs working too hard to bring air into my body. Branford’s upwardly curled lips danced over the skin of my neck, shoulders, and chest as I held on to him. I felt as though my whole body was shaking. The sheer magnitude of feelings brought out of me at the touch of his mouth, tongue, and hands was just too much for me to bear. My reaction was like it had been last night, when his hands had touched me there through the cloth of my nightdress, only multiplied.
The tip of his finger was suddenly there—right at the very entrance to my body—nestled between my legs in warm, wet heat. I cried out, and Branford’s mouth was against my ear, whispering that he would not ever, ever hurt me. As his words warmed my ear with his heated breath, his finger did as his words promised, and slowly pushed inside of me as his thumb began its relentless circling at the top of my folds.
There were so many sensations—his mouth against my neck, his hand cupping my breast, his thumb and its slow, deliberate movements. His finger had slipped inside of me without any resistance at all. The motions he made were obvious to my sensitive skin, but where I expected to feel the pain of his entry—even when it was only his finger—there was none. He just slowly slid it in and out of me while I moaned and panted into his hair.
“Does that feel good to you, my wife?” he murmured against my throat. “Do you like my hands on you now? Do you want to feel more of what I can give you?”
I moaned again, possibly telling him yes though I couldn’t have been sure. He pulled his finger from my body and then slowly eased back in with two fingers instead of one. I gasped at the new pressure, and he pulled back, kissing my mouth and taking my breath from me before pushing them back inside again.
“Soon,” Branford whispered, “soon there will be more of me—pushing inside of you like this. I’ll take you so gently, my wife…I swear it…”
I whimpered as my hands shook, and my legs tensed. I tried to bring my legs back together, but Branford kept his leg firmly wrapped around mine, keeping me spread out for him. I could feel his fingers curl up inside of my body, placing pressure up toward the area where his thumb pushed down from the outside. My legs became rigid, then shuddered. My fingers dropped to my sides and gripped the blanket under me as I called out for my husband. Instantly, he was kissing the side of my neck and up to my jaw, whispering words I could not understand as my body sang loudly to the rhythm of his touch.
“Branford!” I cried out before my body went slack against the blanket. I gasped for air, and though my eyes were open, I saw nothing. I could still feel though, and I felt Branford’s hand as his fingers slowly pulled away from me, leaving me feeling empty without his touch. He rolled to his side and pulled me with him, his arms circling me as he pulled me against his chest.
Slowly, I emerged from my stupor. My breathing and heartbeat calmed down a little, and I found the clearheadedness to turn and look at my husband. His face was slightly flushed, and he still breathed roughly. Remembering the night before when he had not felt as I had felt, I was again hit with the unfairness of the discrepancy.
“You are, um…you didn’t take off your…” I couldn’t even finish. I would have thought now that I was lying beside him without a stitch covering my body, I would have been able to find the words I wanted to say, but they would not come. I felt my embarrassment in my cheeks. I wanted to tell him he could take me now if that was his desire. I wouldn’t have stopped him again, for I understood now what it was he wished to feel, and I did not seek to deny him that pleasure.
“I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to stop myself if I did,” Branford said. “You are far too tempting, and I want to make sure I at least do this right.”
He pressed his lips against the tip of my nose.
“Would you like me to?” he said, giving me his half grin as he raised an eyebrow as well. I turned away from him as I felt my cheeks flush at his forwardness. Branford laughed through his nose, trying to hold it back. “I will, you know. I’m only too happy to have you look at me.”
He took my wrist like he ha
d the other night, and I didn’t resist as he moved it across his chest and down to his stomach. He released my hand, and I left it where it was as Branford lifted his hips slightly and pulled his trousers away.
I didn’t look. I wanted to look, but I also didn’t want to look.
Branford covered my hand again, and he guided my fingers lower until they met the slight dip of his navel. He let go of me then, and I opened my eyes to look at his face.
He was smiling his crooked smile and leaning all the way back on the blanket, with both of his arms tucked behind his head. His chest rose and fell steadily as he breathed through his parted lips. I felt a shiver run down my spine, and it reminded me of what his hand had been doing a few moments ago and how he had made me feel.
I wanted him to feel what I had felt.
I allowed my gaze to drop down over his sculpted chest, his muscled stomach, and all the way to his…his…
My breath caught in my throat. It looked even bigger than it had felt, and it seemed to move of its own volition, bobbing up and down and reaching nearly to where my hand rested on his stomach. It was long and thick and seemed so powerful as it lay against his skin. It reminded me of the sword Branford had held—strong, hard, and dangerous if one was not careful around it—as he fought against Sir Remy
I traced the edge of my lip with my tongue as I reached out tentatively and slowly brought my fingers down the slight line of hair below his navel. I remembered how Branford had run his fingertip over my sensitive nipples and wondered if he would like the same kind of touch against his skin. With the index finger of my left hand, I followed the line down until I was nearly touching that part of him—the part he wanted inside of me, the part that would open me and make me his wife, the part of him that would fill me with his seed to grow children in my belly.
Branford hissed as I touched the tip, and I pulled my hand away quickly with a gasp. He grabbed my wrist, holding it near his stomach.
“Please…don’t stop.”
With my hand shaking a little, I reached out again and traced lightly over the very tip. I was quite surprised at how smooth the skin was and equally astonished when I realized the skin at the end would move with my touch as I stroked two fingers from the tip to about half way down his length. It twitched, then stilled, and Branford’s hand covered mine again, putting slight pressure on my fingers until they had curled around it.
With his hand guiding me, I wrapped my fingers partway around him—for my hand did not reach all the way around—and slowly stroked the male flesh, both soft and hard at the same time. Branford set a smooth rhythm and then released my hand as he leaned back into the blanket, much as I had done just a few minutes before, leaving me to my own devices.
For a moment, I just watched what I was doing—slowly moving my hand up and then back down again. When I brought it back, the layer of skin around the end pulled back with my hand, exposing the round, bulbous tip. When I moved my hand back up, it disappeared, reminding me of a turtle sneaking back into its shell. I felt myself smile at the thought and wanted to laugh but decided Branford would likely not find my thoughts humorous. As I became a little more comfortable with the action, I remembered how Branford’s hand had moved against my flesh, and I tried to do something similar.
Branford began to rock his hips slightly against my hand, showing me the exact rhythm he desired. It made me feel bolder. His panting breaths, tensing muscles, and dark gaze showed me what I was doing was pleasing him. I gripped him just a little more as my hand stroked up to the tip, and I ran my thumb around the end.
Branford gasped, moaned, and grabbed my hand. He held me there for the briefest moment—pushing my hand hard against his flesh—then stopped with a growl.
“Stop…Alexandra…please.” Branford groaned and pulled my fingers away.
“You don’t like it?” I held my breath. I must have done something wrong.
“Don’t like it?” He scoffed and moaned again. “It’s feels like heaven, my wife. It’s just…it’s too good, and I’ve sinned enough.”
“Sinned?”
Branford took a few deep breaths, one hand resting on his chest near his heart while the other gripped my fingers. Finally, he spoke again.
“If you had kept touching me, I would have spilled my seed on the ground.”
“That’s a sin?”
His gaze turned to mine, and he brought my fingers to his lips.
“If it is not used for its intended purpose,” Branford told me, “it is sinful, yes. If it falls to the ground…if it is not…ugh.”
Branford sat up and released my fingers from his grasp. He closed his eyes, and his hands rubbed at his cheeks roughly before cascading upwards and through his locks, leaving them splayed out all over his head. I tensed, sure he must be angry with my ignorance.
“I have no capacity to explain this to you,” he mumbled. “In the end, it means I will only experience that pleasure when I am inside of you, and there is the potential to give you a child.”
I nodded as Branford opened his eyes and peered at me. I understood what he meant—he would only feel the same as I when he released his seed into me. I tried not to think about what he might have meant—that he had already sinned enough—for the implications were a little too unnerving.
“I’m sorry, my…Branford.” I blushed. “I didn’t know that was a sin.”
“Have you not read your Bible?” Branford turned toward me and grinned, obviously teasing. I looked away and felt my teeth in my lip. My heart began to beat faster as shame washed over me. Before we were even wed, he had said I was to know his God, and I didn’t. I knew almost nothing. “Alexandra? What is it?”
“I’ve not read the, um…the Bible.”
“Well, I’m sure you didn’t have much time for such things before,” Branford said. He shrugged his shoulders. “You will have time for it now.”
“I don’t, um…” I didn’t know what else to say, so I finally just blurted it out. “I know nothing of reading!”
“You don’t know how to read?”
“No, my lord.”
“Of course you don’t.” Branford grumbled and sighed. He reached up and rubbed the bridge of his nose, his fingers against the corners of his eyes. “Sunniva is right. There is so much I need to teach you.”
Branford reached out and touched my cheek.
“All in good time, my wife.”
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. My heart had calmed with his words though my mind had not. Branford lay back against the blanket and drew me close to his side before reaching for the cloak and pulling it over the top of us. For a few moments, we lay on the blanket in silence while I wondered about how he may have sinned in the past and the reasons he had me stop touching him. I had heard about a man’s seed and how it would be expelled from his body when he was in the heat of passion, but I had certainly never witnessed such a thing. I was both curious and apprehensive. I wanted to ask him more of it but did not know what to say.
“So, that is why you want to, um…to put, um…” I was babbling, not sure exactly what I wanted to say, and I certainly didn’t know what I was supposed to call…it. I finally gave up and just neglected to call it anything. “You want to, um…so you won’t be sinning?”
“Yes, my wife,” Branford said with a smile. He raised an eyebrow at me, and his eyes sparkled. “Though that is not the only reason. I want to be with you the right way every time I am with you.”
The right way.
I wondered if he meant that there was more than one way to complete the act itself, or was it only because he would be taking me as his wife and not just someone he came across at a tournament? For what must have been the thousandth time, I wished I could be more like them—those women he had been with before—sure of what I wanted and willing to give him what he desired without any reservations.
“You may…if you wish,” I said. Feeling the heat rise to my skin, I ducked my head against his chest. My voice had been so quiet,
I could hardly hear it myself. Branford cupped my face and turned me to look at him. He slowly shook his head.
“I do wish,” Branford said softly. “I want you, Alexandra. You will undoubtedly discover I have an…an appetite…but I am not so insatiable I cannot wait a few more hours.”
“When we return to the castle?”
“Very soon after we return if I may have my way.” He raised his eyebrows at me.
“You will,” I said softly. Branford traced along my jaw and neck with his fingers before he captured my mouth again. I could feel his smile against my lips.
“I will need to make sure you are well-fed beforehand,” Branford said with a chuckle. I wasn’t sure what he meant, but I didn’t ask. I wondered if he would take me to our chair again tonight, and if so, maybe I would ask him what he meant then. The thought had me wondering what else I might ask him the next time we sat there.
He moved his hand up and down my arm as he repositioned the cloak to cover my shoulder. The afternoon sun shone down upon us, and it was quite warm under the cloak. I relaxed against him and did not tense when he placed his fingers against my chin and turned my head so he could kiss me. I smiled as his lips brushed mine, and he dropped his head and held me close to his body. I felt his chest rise and fall with his steady breaths and found my thoughts drifting. My eyes closed soon afterwards, and I let the warmth of the sun and my husband’s strong arms lull me to sleep.
*****
“Alexandra?”
I heard the sound of my name, but it wasn’t quite registering with my brain. I was warm, sleepy, and content. I could feel the soft brush of a finger over my cheek.
“Alexandra?” I heard my name again. I blinked as bright, warm light penetrated my vision. Branford gently teased the side of my face with his knuckle as I looked up into his jade green eyes. We were still lying on the blanket in the middle of the meadow, our clothes scattered off to the side. My cloak covered us like a warm, woolen cocoon. Branford smiled and placed his lips against my forehead.