Wedded in Sin (25 page)

What was left was simply her. With a body on fire and a mind blanked to everything but how his touch made all sensations fill her being. She was breasts that ached. She was muscles that trembled. She was a belly that was liquid and aching.

Then his mouth ripped away. She felt him drop to his knees before her, the chains clanking as his hands dropped to her ankles. He lifted the chemise.

“Take it off, Penny. Please, take it off.” But he didn’t wait for her to comply. Instead, she felt his hands flow upward. Over her knees and between her trembling thighs. She clenched involuntarily, but released a moment later. She was lifting the chemise away and that allowed him to slip his hands between her thighs.

She cried out as he touched her there. She had no more mind to decipher knuckle or finger or hand. He was simply there, stroking her places that made her sob with wonder.

Then he was surging upward, hooking one of her legs beneath his arm as he moved. He raised it up and fitted himself to her. She felt the push of his organ, hard and insistent.

She wanted it. She wanted him there. But she was off balance, and that was what saved her. She stumbled, and he couldn’t compensate because of the shackles. So she fell backward, out of his reach. Her one leg was still hooked in his arm, but the rest of her fell away. And when he tried to catch her, the chain snapped tight and he was jerked backward.

She landed hard on her bottom, her one leg caught at the ankle. She sat there, her eyes wide, her breath coming in rapid pants. He stood above her, guilt and hunger stark in his eyes.

“Penny, are you all right?”

She shook her head no. This was what she wanted. Still wanted. And yet, she was afraid. She twisted her foot out of his hand. She couldn’t have done it if he hadn’t released her. But he did, and she sat naked on the floor, trying to decide what to do. But all she could do was stare at his thick penis, still stretching for her.

“You said I would still be a virgin.”

“And you are,” he said gently.

She shook her head, her mind repeating the words bellowed from so many pulpits.

“It is sinful,” she whispered.

He released a breath, the sound both frustration and resignation. “Will you stand, please, Penny?”

She nodded. The last thing she wanted to do was remain there sprawled on the floor. But as she straightened, her breasts moved, her legs felt weak, and she knew how desperately she wanted to return to a moment before. To the mindless sensation of it all.

“Trust me a little longer,” he said. Then he reached out his hand, palm up. “Your virginity is safe. I swear it.”

Such a stupid thing to worry about, she scolded herself. Most everyone believed Tommy was her son. If everyone believed her a tart, then what difference would it make if she tossed her virginity aside with Samuel? She had never felt so wholly herself except for a few moments ago. Or perhaps it was that she felt no restrictions, no worries, no
unnaturalness
in what they did. She was a woman, and she would feel what a woman did.

So she put her hand in his and let him draw her close. But when she would have pressed tight against his body, he gently spun her around. He was taller than her, and she felt him adjust himself such that his organ thrust up against her bottom and lower back. He was nowhere close to thrusting inside her and, in fact, would have to work hard to get it there.

That was, obviously, the point. So she allowed him to settle her back against his front. Then, at his urging, she let her head drop back against his chest. He took her hands then, gently lifting her arms as he encouraged her to grip a set of leather straps conveniently dangling from bolts to either side of his head.

“Hold on, Penny, and trust me.”

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t because his hands began again to flow over her skin. While his fingers found and tweaked her nipples, his head dropped down. He began with her ear, nipping at the lobe, but eventually he pressed kisses to her neck and shoulder.

Against her bottom, she felt his organ pumping slowly, pushing up rhythmically. She didn’t even know if he did it consciously, but she felt the steady thrust of it and began to counter his pressure. As he pushed upward, she pressed back.

He moaned softly against her skin, and one of his hands left her breast to skate down her belly. She whimpered, not sure of what she wanted.

His fingers slid between her folds. She was wet there, so his glide was easy. She felt every knuckle of his finger, every press of his hand as he slid inside her, then pulled slowly out.

It felt thick and rough. Not enough. The tempo was off. Her pulse was hard in her throat. And behind, he was pushing against her faster.

She wanted to say something. She wanted to control the sensations somehow. It was becoming too much for her. A scream was building in her chest, but there was no breath for it.

He pressed her forward to wrap his arm tighter around her. His finger went deeper. In. So thick. In. Then a rough pull out. His finger rolled high.

Yes!

Against her back, he was thrusting but she barely noticed. He was back inside her.

Not enough.

Out again.

A fumble.

Pinch.

Pleasure!

She must have screamed. She heard sounds, felt her body convulse. But mostly she was lost to pleasure. Wave after wave. For that blissful time, she felt like a pounding waterfall. It was a ridiculous image, but he had given it to her, so she held on to it. But in time, it faded. Waves became laps, which became ripples.

She returned to the awareness of her body. She hung limp in his arms and he was murmuring endearments to her skin. What he said, she didn’t know. It didn’t matter. It was soothing, and it eased the pleasure into a warm glow of happiness.

So this is why women marry
, she thought. This is what they sought in a marriage bed. She wondered how many truly achieved it, and how many suffered terrible lovers?

Slowly she found her feet. He helped her stand. It took some time before she realized that her back was wet. He had released his seed there.

“There is a cloth over there,” he said softly, pointing to the side shelf. “Right below the key to these cuffs.”

She nodded and moved, stretching muscles that felt exhausted as she might after a long day’s work. And yet never had she felt this happy after a long day.

She grabbed the cloth and cleaned herself. Then she gave it to him to do the same. But when she reached for the key, she stopped. Did she want to let him free so easily? Or was there something she could do now while he was still trapped? Or more exactly, something she could learn.

“Samuel,” she said as she left the key right where it was.

He looked up, his expression open. Until he looked at her face. Then it abruptly shifted to wary. “Yes, Penny?”

“Surely these hooks and shackles aren’t here for holding men back. There must be another purpose for it.”

His eyes widened as his hands slowly lowered. He held the cloth over his organ, and his stance was decidedly defensive. “Some men and women enjoy being restrained. They like to be…” He swallowed and gestured to the shelves of implements. “They like being hurt,” he finally said. “But I have never shared that feeling. I did this”—he shook the chains—“for your benefit.”

She nodded. “Yes. Thank you.”

He waited. “So will you unlock me now?”

“No,” she said, surprising herself with her boldness. “No. There are a few more things I would like to know first.”

“Such as?”

“Such as why you have been so generous in helping me.”

He pulled back, his expression confused. “What?”

“You have devoted your life to this for the last two days. You have done nothing but help me. Without recompense.”

“You will pay our wager when we are done,” he said sternly.

She waved his comment away. “Money is not what motivates you.”

“Thirty quid is good pay for a few days’ work.”

“And how much did this room cost?”

He blanched and glanced away. She had her answer there.

“More than a few quid, then. So it wasn’t money. So why do you help me?”

He arched a brow. “You stand before me naked. I have just enjoyed the best, most unusual coupling in my life. And you can still ask me why?”

His words made her abruptly self-conscious, and she moved to pick up her shift. Even so, she was able to speak as she pulled it on. “You didn’t know this would happen.”

His lips curved. “Oh, but I have been dreaming of it from the first moment.”

“Enough to invest two days’ work to accomplish it? I don’t believe it. You are friends with a madame. You could have any number of women.”

His grin widened. “You underestimate your charms.”

She shrugged and was surprised to find that her nipples were tight where they brushed against her shift. “Maybe,” she answered. “But even I am not that charming. What is your game, Samuel? Why have you been working so hard to help me?”

He looked at her, his mouth tightly closed and his body tense. She saw anger in his expression, and a vulnerability she hadn’t expected. She was probing into something painful for him, and that surprised her. She hadn’t truly known what to expect when she began asking these questions. It was merely something that had hovered in the back of her mind, but she had ignored it. He was helping her. She hadn’t the energy to question why.

But she did now, even more now because the questions pained him. And yet, she couldn’t do this to him. She couldn’t hurt him, not after what they had just done. Not after what he had just shown her. She couldn’t do that to him.

So she flushed and turned away. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled as she grabbed the key from the shelf. Then she handed it to him and spoke more clearly. “I’m sorry. Your reasons are your own. I should be grateful. And quiet.”

Rather than take the key, he grabbed her wrist. He pulled her to him as if for a kiss, but he stopped short. He just looked into her eyes and held there, so still.

“Samuel?” she whispered.

“What else am I to do, Penny?” he answered. “What else should fill my days except you?”

She could tell that there was meaning beneath his words. Pain that she didn’t understand, but she supposed she understood the basic essence of his statement. For all his brilliance, his life was empty, filled with one piece of nonsense after another.

She might complain under the weight of caring for Tommy, of trying to make shoes and provide for them both. But that filled her days to bursting. Whereas, perhaps for him, there was nothing. No family except his brother’s. No occupation to fill his hours.

What did the man do with his time?

Chapter 15

Samuel felt raw inside and out, and yet his mind had
never been more at peace. He had just experienced the best sex of his life and it hadn’t even been true sex. He had released against her backside, for God’s sake.

And then she had asked him why. Why was he spending his time on her? Why did he do the things he did? Why did he wander through his days with no purpose at all? And right there was when he fell in love with her. Not a momentary interest, not a passing fancy, but a soul-deep worship of her. Because she asked the right questions. She saw him and that was what caused this unexpected feeling to fill him. Love. He was in love. And the moment the knowledge struck, his mind balked into a shocked and horrified silence.

He stared at Penny, his trousers on but not buttoned. He’d never been in love before. Not like this. In truth, he hadn’t thought he was capable of it. He’d learned young that he played at love: seducing women, teasing maids, flirting in his own unique style. But that wasn’t love. That was finding a way to entertain his mind and release his body. This…this depth of feeling for Penny was as unwelcome as it was unnerving.

He
felt
for Penny. He wanted to protect her, to solve all her problems, to bed her every night and wake to her kisses every morning. He wanted to see her laugh so hard her sides might split. And he wanted to be the one to make her do it. And he wanted her swelling with his child.

“Samuel?” she asked, her brows tightening in worry. “Are you all right?”

He blinked, forcing his mind to function. Yet more proof that feelings were detrimental to normal function. “Um, of course I am. Why do you ask?”

“Because you are holding your fall like you’re gripping a dead cat.”

“What?” He glanced down. His hand was on the fall of his trousers, the piece of fabric that buttoned to close the garment, securing it on his body. But instead of buttoning the damn thing, he had clenched it tight in his fist. Yes, he supposed this was exactly how he would hold a dead cat: with revulsion but a necessarily firm grip. Bloody hell, what was he thinking? Dead cats? “Why ever would I pick up a dead cat?”

“Why ever would you squeeze your fall to the point of ruination?”

He shook his head, unable to answer. He couldn’t tell her the truth. By God, he couldn’t even think the word anymore. He was not…that word. He couldn’t possibly be in…that feeling. It would upset everything! And so with a conscious act of will, he unclenched his hand and slowly buttoned his fall. Sadly, he had creased it to ruination, but he’d be damned if he acknowledged that to her.