Once Beloved (19 page)

Without the benefit of blankets, the stone slabs were unforgiving. He removed his coat and laid it down for her to sit on, despite her protests.

“Well then, you must at least share it with me!” she insisted. “I cannot sit on your coat while you suffer the chill of this stone, especially when there's plenty of room for you here.”

That, he could do. He'd been a cad and an ass, and he wouldn't impose upon her weakness or her kindness. He could stifle his body's perverse reactions and just sit with her, if that was what she wanted. They talked of nothing important—changes in the landscape, new and old residents of Marksby, sheep and other cattle whose antics she didn't seem to tire of. She nestled closer to him and rested her head back against his chest. When she began to shiver, he had nothing else to shelter her with but himself. He wrapped his arms loosely around her shoulders as they both slipped into a companionable silence.

“I should get you home,” he said, after a few moments. “You must be cold.”

“No,” she replied in a low but firm voice. “No, I'm not cold at all.”

“But you're trembling. I've kept you out here far too long.”

“No,” she whispered again. “That's not why I'm shaking.”

The odd tone of her voice—
That's not why I'm shaking
—puzzled him. When she turned to meet his gaze, the intense expression on her face brought every inch of him to attention. A light in her eyes bespoke not just affection but need. A need that echoed and amplified the very same complicated yearning he'd been trying to suppress. He couldn't tell who initiated the kiss this time, but when their lips met, he was engulfed in the glorious sensations of her lips, her eyelashes brushing his cheek, her scent, her quickened breathing barely audible. The luxury of these sensations teased at his mind, a siren's song luring him away from good sense. He wanted her with desire so intense, so severe, that he couldn't make himself release her. If she hesitated, if she pulled away, he would honor her wishes, but he couldn't be the one to break their connection, wherever it led.

His arms around her were gentle but firm and warm, as were his lips. To Helena, this moment felt inevitable. Daniel had just held her, uncaring of the hour or the passage of time. And she'd slowly realized how much she'd missed this closeness—this sense of compatibility and rightness—just as much as she'd missed more intimate physical relations. There was no pressure or escalation, not even when she'd laid her head on his chest, reveling in the moment. His hands had stayed lightly wrapped around her. She was not trapped or cornered; she could leave at any moment. Her mind had stopped racing, as she felt his heartbeat. Her pulse slowed, along with her breathing. It was the most tranquil she'd felt years.

And now her pulse was racing again. With absolute surety, she knew what she wanted—who she wanted—here and now. But the intensity of her feelings threatened to consume her.

“What are you thinking?” she whispered, pulling away slightly, afraid to spoil this fragile peace.

He tapped her chin, and she was reassured by the ardor she saw in them.

“I'm thinking of the night we looked at the stars.” His fond look turned serious as he added, “I'm wondering if I'm destined to be Perseus, saving Andromeda from the monster, or Orion, relegated to a plaything of the gods and dying at the hand of his beloved Artemis.”

She laughed at his somber admission. “I am neither a helpless maiden nor a virgin goddess. I haven't been a virgin for quite some time.” She let her hands roam his chest and his massive arms. She felt, rather than heard, his muffled groan as the darkness of his expression transformed into heat. “You would compare favorably with both of those men, though. Strong, fearless, intelligent.”

“Is this what you want?” he asked, pulling her against him, the feel of her soft body through the layers of her skirts tormenting him.

Now was the time. She could end this. She knew that, if she said no, he would listen. More than that, he would accept her decision without question.
Is this what you want?
She closed her eyes and gauged her heart. She had to be clear.

“Daniel,” she said, “I cannot promise you anything more than here and now.”

“Agreed,” he responded, waiting patiently.

“This is what I want,” she replied, shaken by her own vehemence. “I need this. Need you.”

Even watching him close in upon her, she was surprised by the soft touch of his lips against her shoulder. She tilted her head to give him better access as he dotted kisses along her collarbone and up her neck. His hot breath tickled her ear as he whispered fiercely, “By gow, I need you too.”

Together they struggled to get her skirt out of their way. His movements stayed gentle but not tentative. Neither of them cared to be patient. He seemed surprised when she moved in his lap to place her knees on either side of his hard thighs and even more surprised when she helped him unfasten the flap of his trousers. Did it matter if he thought her wanton? Too late for such worries now. She needed him with her, inside her, with a desperation that overpowered all good sense.

Her eyes fell shut as his fingers found her and guided their bodies together. They fit so well. And he was so gentle, so gentle. Even the way he worked himself into her needy body was restrained and tender, as if he feared harming her. The feel of their bodies joined, of him moving within her as she rose and fell, was beyond comprehension. He groaned as they found their rhythm, and his hands gripped her, pulling her down to meet his thrusts. Too soon, his movements quickened and grew rougher. He gasped and bucked, suggesting his crisis was fast approaching. If she wanted to go over with him, she would have to take matters into her own hands. She reached down and touched herself, brushing her fingers against that sensitive nub.

Maybe it was the movement or her low moan that caught his attention. He stopped, mid-thrust, and said, in a gruff, lust-heavy voice, “What are you doing?”

She opened her eyes to find him staring down their bodies, obscured by their clothes. “You are about to spend, are you not? I mean to finish along with you.” She hadn't stopped her hand, and she rocked her hips to encourage him to continue. It took an effort to force out words as pleasure built within her. “You need not attend to me. Just keep going.”

He pulled back and stared down at her, his face contorted with passion and confusion. “What do you mean?”

“See to your own pleasure,” she said quickly, “and I shall see to mine. Just don't stop. Heavens above, don't stop!”

With his brows furrowed, he looked almost angry. But he did as she bade, picking up his rhythmic motions even more forcefully. He glanced down again, and her fingers brushed him, making him grow even firmer and thicker within her. She would have to hurry.

Just a few more thrusts, and he stiffened beneath her with a harsh shout. She closed her eyes, blocking out the sight of his face twisted in a semblance of exquisite agony, and focused on the sensations tightening at the locus point beneath her fingertips. She gave herself over to the paroxysm that rushed through her, muscles tightening, back arching.

As she struggled to breathe normally again, she opened her eyes to see Daniel staring at her. His moods and expressions were such a mystery. Was he disgusted by her? The fleeting ecstasy evaporated, leaving her chilled and shaken. After all her self-doubt, after all her reservations, she'd felt a sense of rightness as their bodies met. If he didn't feel the same . . . if he regretted it . . .

Still astride him—his softening cock still inside her!—she felt a chill that had nothing to do with the weather. She stood and straightened her skirts, keeping her eyes averted from him as she heard him fasten his pants. Her vision blurred as she looked out over the hills, but she couldn't let him see her cry. What stupidity.
Damn, damn, damn.

His touch was gentle, though, as his hand caressed her damp cheek and urged her to face him. He still looked angry, troubled, but his face held worry too.

“Helena, tell me, are you able to fetch yourself like that often?”

“I—” She shook her head and looked away again. What had seemed so instinctive a few moments ago, a natural part of her sexual life with Isaiah, now seemed strange and possibly wrong in this light. Many people condemned such actions as a sin. Was he one of them? If so, he was more of a hypocrite than she could have imagined.

“Please, I need to know,” he insisted, quietly but ferociously. But she couldn't bring herself to speak. She shook her head as more tears burned her eyes. Finally, he added, “I didn't know women could experience the same end as men. In ten years of marriage, I never . . . my wife never . . . I didn't even know to try to give Nancy that kind of pleasure.”

“Never?” A guilty niggle of relief whispered at her. He didn't recoil from her but rather from his own inner turmoil.

He shook his head slowly. “I had no idea,” he said with wonder in his voice.

“Women . . . that is, I can, yes.” She considered how much to admit. How much would be too much? He'd raised the specter of his former wife already. “My husband,” she said, faltering, “my husband was older and, as you might suspect, he was much more knowledgeable than I regarding what goes on in the bedroom. He sought my enjoyment as much as his own. He taught me ways to . . . bring about my pleasure . . . ways to explore what felt good.”

When his face paled, she had more than adequate confirmation that she'd said too much. She turned away, all too aware of his disgust.

“I should have known. I should have tried harder,” he said, with fierce recrimination. “I didn't think women were made that way. I—she—”

With sad relief, she realized that he'd turned his condemnation upon himself, and she hated seeing this good man mired in self-loathing. She explained, “Many couples don't experience
that
and still enjoy being together, physically.” It was exceedingly strange to stand there, out in the open fields, talking with him about something so very intimate, despite what they had just shared. Dear Lord in heaven, they'd done
that
in open view in the middle of the day, on a stone slab!

It was disconcerting to offer him reassurance when she so keenly felt the tenuousness of their relationship now more than ever.

“Teach me,” he said firmly, distracting her from her spiraling thoughts.

“Pardon?”

“I find I want to feel that again.” His thumb brushed across her lower lip. “It's been ten years, and I've never felt it this intensely before.”

“Ten years? You didn't seek a lover after she left?”

“No. At first, I was sure she'd return. She'd realize what a terrible mistake she'd made.” His voice trailed off, but she didn't want to push him. She waited silently until he added, “As the years passed, I couldn't let go of the idea of her and her betrayal. No woman appealed to me. Even had I time, I had no desire.” His voice faltered. “I took release occasionally when a kind and willing lass crossed my path, but it was rare and fleeting and . . . empty.” Guilt and anguish laced his tone and twisted his face. “I didn't even know this was possible, this immense pleasure, especially for women.” He sounded genuinely shocked, and then he sat up abruptly, tense with dismay. “Is this why she left, do you think? Because I did not see to her pleasure?”

“Daniel, such speculation can only bring pain, not resolution. She had her reasons, but you might never know the full extent of them. It is entirely possible her leaving had less to do with what you gave her and more to do with what she wanted for herself. We cannot be all things to all people; I've come to believe we cannot fulfill all of someone else's needs. I loved my husband, and we made each other happier than I could ever have imagined. But he needed things I couldn't simply give him—a sense of purpose, a sense of duty, a sense of accomplishment. And I too needed things he couldn't just present to me in beribboned packaging, things no one could give to me. I needed to find my own sense of purpose, beyond what other people expected of me. I was fortunate to find that sense of self working with the Needlework for the Needy Society and even more fortunate that Isaiah supported my efforts wholeheartedly.”

“You are capable of anything, I'm sure. And later we will talk of this Needlework circle and how it relates to the factories and all of that. Much later. Now I want your undivided attention. I have been in the dark about the pleasures of the flesh for too long.” The slide of his body against hers as he moved downward, as his breath skated down from her ear to her neck to her collarbone, curled her toes in anticipation. The “pleasures of the flesh,” indeed! But then he paused, his warm breath teasing through her clothing. She couldn't bring herself to speak.

“I want you to teach me, Helena. I want you to show me all the things I didn't know, all the ways I can make you feel good, make you feel
that
good.”

“I don't know all the ways.”

“Whatever you know, I want it. I want to make your body shake with desire. I want to make you throw your head back in pleasure. I want to make you scream in ecstasy.”

“I—I—how ambitious of you,” she whispered, finding it difficult to breathe.

“You have no idea.” He glared at her with a ferocious determination. “I want it all now. Right now.” Then his mouth captured hers, his hands roaming her breasts, and she shuddered at his sudden intense focus.

“Daniel, wait!”

“More,” he said, his voice gruff and demanding. “Tell me. Show me. I want more.”

“Look around you! This is madness. We shouldn't have done anything out here, at the top of the world, for heaven's sake! We cannot continue this now!”