The Officer and the Traveler (12 page)

Her heart thudded in her chest. Did he want her to remove her chemise now, or would he be kind enough to allow her to keep it on? He lowered himself to sit on the edge of the bed and ran his callused right hand up her calf and to her knee, bringing his left hand to the button that rested at the top of his shirt, in the center of the column of his throat. He pushed it free, then moved to the next. Never taking his hand from her skin, the tanned fingers of his other hand moved down to work the next button free. Followed by another and another.

It wasn’t until his shirt was unbuttoned and she glimpsed a swath of his bare skin that she realized she’d just shamelessly watched him! She blushed and half expected him to laugh with an air of arrogance.

But he didn’t; instead, he yanked his shirttails from his trousers, then stood and shrugged out of his shirt, dropping it to the floor into a careless heap.

Heat stole over Michaela. She’d never imagined a man’s naked chest would be so...so...handsome. Her fingers itched to touch the smooth expanse, trace the edges of his muscles and even twist into the curling hair that covered the middle. He leaned forward to remove his stockings with far less care and slowness than he’d expressed when removing hers. When he was done, he straightened to full height and brought his hands to the fastenings of his trousers.

Her heart slammed in her chest and she barely registered that she wasn’t breathing. She took a deep gulp of air. Had she been an innocent virgin she’d likely be anxious to see just what her mother had once referred to as the “male part”, but Michaela wasn’t as innocent as most. Not by her choice. Well, not exactly. She could have fled when she’d first walked up, but fear had kept her paralyzed with her feet rooted to the ground as a group of soldiers took turns unfastening their trousers and taking their pleasure while a woman with a ripped dress screamed and thrashed against the rough hands of the men who held her in place.

Bile surged in her mouth and she slapped a hand over her lips to keep everything contained. She swallowed with an unladylike
urp
.
 

“
I’m not sure if I should be flattered or offended at your response to me removing my clothing,” Gray teased.
 

Michaela forced a smile and jerked her gaze up to meet his. “Sorry.”

“
There’s no need to be sorry.” He lowered himself onto the edge of the bed and brought his hands toward her hair. He found a loose tendril and wrapped the dark strands around his finger. “I suppose women don’t enjoy the sight of a naked body as much as we men do.”
 

She wouldn’t say that. Quite the opposite. He was very attractive with his strong build and rippling muscles that lead to his lean waist. Even what she’d glimpsed of his strong legs when he tied on his sheath hadn’t disappointed her. But neither could she tell him what had caused that reaction.

He released her lock of hair and let it fall, then cupped her face with his hands. She lowered her lashes and watched his parted lips as he moved them closer to her until they were out of sight and touching hers.

Tilting her face up toward him, he kissed her with the same passion he’d shown yesterday. Gentle at first, then adding a hint more pressure, moving his lips on top of and between hers. He touched her lips with his tongue and she gasped. Murmuring her name, he did it again, this time taking advantage of her parted lips and pushing his tongue inside.

All the starch and tension within her dissipated instantly. He slid his hands from her face to her shoulders, then down her sides, and easing her down on the bed. His lips left hers pressing kisses on her cheeks all the way to her jaw. She sighed and impulsively moved to offer him more of her face, but he kept moving. He placed a row of kisses along the bottom edge of her jaw and back toward her ear then pressed a kiss just behind her earlobe. She shuddered and sank her fingers into his thick, black hair.

Without pausing, he trailed his parted lips along her neck, touching every inch of skin she possessed along the way. Sighing, she moved slightly to allow him to reposition himself overtop of her.

He shifted to the side, supporting himself on his left forearm, then reached down toward her waist.

She stiffened, relaxing only marginally when his hand found its place on her thigh instead of yanking up the hem of her chemise. He gave her thigh a slight bit of pressure then guided it off to the side, readjusting himself to lie between her parted legs as he did so, but never once stopping his kisses.

“
Sorry,” she murmured, realizing she was on the verge of ripping his hair out. She released her grip and removed her fingers.
 

“
Don’t let go.” His voice was ragged. “You can pull if you wish.”
 

Michaela lowered her hands back to his head to tangle in his silken hair.

Gray arched up and kissed her lips then rested his forehead against hers and gazed down at her body. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

“
We don’t have to do this, if you’d rather not,” he offered after a moment.
 

Her heart skipped a beat.
This
was the Gray who’d claimed her heart when he’d tried to stop that brutal attack on that woman and after getting hit and kicked, had spotted her and whisked her away from the men and brought her to safety. The same man who’d offered her jerky, then wrapped his arms around her and held her, making her feel safe and protected from the harsh world that she’d never known surrounded her until earlier that night. “Thank you, but you don’t have to stop. I’m just nervous.”
 

“
I understand that, but it’ll be better for you if you’d try to relax.”
 

A smile pulled at her lips. “I think that’s impossible. I don’t think anyone can try to relax without becoming even tenser when they don’t accomplish their goal.”

“
Indeed,” he murmured. “Is there anything I can do to help you relax?”
 

She bit her lip and averted her eyes. “I—I liked what you were doing,” she whispered.

“
Very well. I shall continue.”
 

Before she could utter so much as a syllable, his lips were back on her skin, searing her with every touch. He slipped his right hand under the hem of her chemise and to the bare skin of her hip. Involuntarily, her muscles contracted at his bold touch. When he moved his thumb, stroking a sensitive patch of skin on her side, she jumped again, this time releasing a gasp simultaneously. He moved his hand along her side, skimming her ribs; then stopped with his thumb settling just under the curve of her breast and his fingers splayed out on her side. Would he go higher and touch her breasts? If he did, would he be gentle?

All thoughts of what he might do to her breasts evaporated when he licked the hollow of her throat and shifted again, this time in a way that pressed the tip of his erection against her delicate flesh. She almost wished she’d gotten a better look at that part of him while he was still standing. Almost. It might be better this way, though, not knowing.

Gray moved up to kiss her lips, the hard length of him probing at her entrance. She shifted, hoping that would give him the angle he needed. He eased inside, stretching her. Her breath hitched. “Stop,” she whispered, grabbing his shoulders—as if her petite hands could possibly hold him.

“
I’m sorry,” he rasped, his voice hoarse and ragged. He waited a minute then moved forward again. Just when she thought she might split in two at his invasion, he stopped.
 

Their breathing was the only sound breaking the silence between them. Hers uneven and strained as she tried to adjust to him; his was labored, a testimony to his strength.

She moved her hips, an unspoken invitation for him to continue. He held still a moment longer, then began to move over her, slow and steady at first, her discomfort easing with each stroke. His pace increased, the friction becoming less uncomfortable and more pleasurable, eliciting the strangest feeling in her abdomen. It was almost as if heat was pooling in her belly and sending sparks flying through the rest of her body.

She arched her back, lifting her hips ever so slightly to meet his thrusts and take him deeper to stoke that fire.

Then with a grunt, the muscles in his shoulders tensed and his movements slowed to a stop.

Gray gasped for breath. That was the best experience he’d ever had. Far more exhilarating than meeting his own needs with his hand as he’d done this afternoon to keep from embarrassing himself tonight. And indeed, his planning had been warranted. Had he been any more attracted to her, he’d have spent himself before he’d made it all the way inside.

He dropped a kiss between her closed eyes and withdrew. It was dark out now, and he had only the moon’s light streaming in through the break in the curtains to see. He quickly discarded the sheath he’d worn to protect her from conception then padded around to the other side of the bed and took his place next to her beneath the covers.

He had the strangest urge to move closer to her and lie so close their bodies touched. He’d never imagined he’d have such a pull to her and now had a better understanding of why men sought female comfort.

No. It wasn’t the same at all. Michaela was his wife. He wasn’t paying her. The matters were different entirely. Besides, as far as he knew, men who sought their companionship that way had no interest in lying close afterward. They were there for a quick release, then gone. Nobody would know the workings of brothels better than he.

He shuddered and pushed the thought from his mind.

Gray’s eyes couldn’t have been shut but for a moment, and yet, someone was blowing a horn so loud it just might wake the dead.

“
Make it stop,” he grumbled, grabbing his pillow and holding it over his face.
 

“
I take it you’re not one who enjoys mornings,” Michaela said.
 

Gray yanked the pillow from over his face and tossed it on the floor, scowling. “Normally they don’t bother me, but I spent the night before last in the watchtower and didn’t sleep much yesterday.”

Michaela climbed out of bed, creating an emptiness Gray hadn’t expected. She blushed, presumably at the realization she was standing before him in only her chemise. She gripped the hem and tried to hold it down lower.

Gray chuckled. “I think the fabric has already been cut.”

“
I know.” She looked down to the bed and swallowed, then grabbed the sheet and quilt and pulled it back over where she’d just been laying down. “Shall I make you some breakfast?”
 

“
If you’d like.”
 

She smiled at him in a way that he thought might be less than genuine, then literally shuffled over to the four-shelf rack in the corner of the room. As soon as he was certain she couldn’t see him, he flipped back the sheets to see what had changed her mood so quickly.

Blood.

Dark red.

His gut clenched and he abruptly let go of the quilt. He turned his attention back to Michaela, his eyes colliding on the back of her chemise where there was another bloodstain toward the bottom.

Nausea and disgust swept over him. “On second thought, I’ll just eat downstairs with the men,” he choked out. He swung around and gripped onto the bedpost then forced himself to stand. He tightened his grip on the bedpost. There was supposed to be blood, he knew that. But surely not quite so much. Why hadn’t she said he was hurting her? Did she fear him? She shouldn’t have, he’d offered to stop before it had reached that point. Why had she let him hurt her so badly? Numbly, he found his way to the bureau, refusing to look in her direction.

“
Are you sure? I don’t mind cooking.”
 

“
It’s fine.” He winced at the gruffness in his voice. “I’ll eat with my men and you can spend more time with some of the other women.”
 

“
Aunt Lucille?”
 

“
Sure,” he grunted. He jerked his trousers up then reached for his shirt. Had he been so caught up in his own desires he’d been blinded to her pain? He certainly didn’t remember plowing into her the way he knew men often did when joining with a woman. But he must have. Nobody knew better than Gray how degrading and painful the act could be to some women.
 

He remembered having to remind himself not to touch or kiss certain parts of her, lest she feel she was being demeaned. He’d also thought he’d been gentle with where he had touched and especially careful when he’d joined with her. Apparently not.

Gray pulled on his shirt and without bothering to button it reached for his boots. From the corner of his right eye, he saw Michaela pull a new chemise over her head. A lump grew in his throat. Why hadn’t she said anything?
Because she didn’t want to make it worse.
He muttered a curse at the small voice in his head that had made such a statement, even though he knew it was true. How many times had one of Mother’s friends commented on the pain and how it was easier just to endure it than to make it worse by inciting the man’s wrath by telling him that he was hurting her. Some men found some perverse pleasure in knowing they were hurting the girl and only became rougher, or others had said that the men would become enraged that she’d complained and would hit her or refuse to pay.
 

Another sickening reality sank in—not only had he hurt her, he’d forced her. Sure, he was her husband therefore; it
was
his right to share her bed, but what of her? He’d completely disregarded what she might have wanted. And for what? Because he could? Because he was her husband and she his wife, and legally they were allowed to share intimacies with each other without exchange of money or her losing her respect and honor?