gwine do what both you and me want you to do?"
"It's not as simple as that, little one. I don't want to hurt you, and—"
"It's gwine hurt?"
He couldn't look at her. He bent his head and watched her lace her fingers through his. "Yes, your first time will hurt, but that's not what I was talking about."
"Iffen it hurts, why do people do it?"
"It doesn't hurt the man. Only the woman."
She pondered that. "Well, that ain't fair a'tall. Menfolks a-gittin' thur jollies, and women—"
"It's only the first time, Keely. After that, it doesn't hurt anymore. You know so much, yet you know so little. How can I explain the way of things to you?" He laid her down in his arms, much as he would hold a baby. "You don't really know anything about lovemaking, do you?"
"Tole you I seed animules—"
"It's not the same thing. Animals do it to procreate, and emotions aren't involved. With people, feelings are—"
"I know those feelin's. I'm a-havin' 'em right now."
Again, he turned his eyes away from her and looked up to watch a cloud sail by. Ordinarily, he was little better than one of those animals. Emotion never entered into his lovemaking.
And it didn't now either, dammit! His whole future was at stake, and nothing else mattered. Without Chickadee, there would be no outwitting Araminta, and Desdemona would never learn to smile. And since he had no intention of marrying anyone other than Chickadee, his inheritance was in jeopardy too. Everything depended on making her his wife.
His eyes narrowed in resolution as his hand swept to the fastening of her breeches. This had to be done; he'd do it quickly and think no more about it. He still avoided her eyes as he went about his task, something inside him not wanting to see the innocent trust he knew was in them, and when the buttons were undone, he slipped his hand inside.
She fell back over his arm, her hair cascading to the ground. As his hand dipped lower, the fire she'd spoken of began to consume her. Instinctively, she arched her hips while she clung to his neck, and when his fingers sought and found her most secret place, the age-old beat of passion caused her to move rhythmically against his warm palm.
Saxon ignored the nagging voice of his conscience and laid her down on the mountain floor. With one smooth action, he slid her breeches over her hips and down her legs. He then removed his own clothing and, careful to elude her trusting gaze, he rolled atop her.
He didn't want to see her body, couldn't look at her face, and prayed she wouldn't speak. He wanted no reminders of who this was lying beneath him, guileless, unsullied. He prepared to do what he knew he had to do. He spread her legs with his own, his manhood soon finding the opening of the velvet sheath he would claim.
Chickadee tensed, and when she did, she felt him do the same. "Saxon," she said softly, "make it nice fer me. I know it's gwine hurt, but whilst yer a-doin' it, could you tell me more o' them thangs I like to hear? Maybe iffen I was a-listenin' to 'em, this wouldn't hurt as much."
He groaned. Dammit, why couldn't she be quiet for once in her life? And why did her voice have to be soft as summer rain?
"Saxon?"
He entered her slightly. Not far enough to cause her the pain she was worried about, but far enough for her to understand what he was going to do. Taking a deep breath, he pressed his lips to her ear. "Keely, relax. Open to me and remember how beautiful, how very special I think you are. Let your feelings go, and enjoy them."
She nodded and then trembled, her breathing irregular. Saxon's heart skipped a few beats. She was afraid, yet she had all the faith in the world in him.
He slipped to the ground and stared at the sky.
"Saxon? Is thur somethin' wrong? Warn't I a-doin' it right? I don't know much about sweetheartin', but I'll do whatever you tell—"
"I've got a headache."
*
Chickadee filled the cup and set the flask back down on the bedside table. "Drank it. It's fer yore
"It's not as simple as that, little one. I don't want to hurt you, and—"
"It's gwine hurt?"
He couldn't look at her. He bent his head and watched her lace her fingers through his. "Yes, your first time will hurt, but that's not what I was talking about."
"Iffen it hurts, why do people do it?"
"It doesn't hurt the man. Only the woman."
She pondered that. "Well, that ain't fair a'tall. Menfolks a-gittin' thur jollies, and women—"
"It's only the first time, Keely. After that, it doesn't hurt anymore. You know so much, yet you know so little. How can I explain the way of things to you?" He laid her down in his arms, much as he would hold a baby. "You don't really know anything about lovemaking, do you?"
"Tole you I seed animules—"
"It's not the same thing. Animals do it to procreate, and emotions aren't involved. With people, feelings are—"
"I know those feelin's. I'm a-havin' 'em right now."
Again, he turned his eyes away from her and looked up to watch a cloud sail by. Ordinarily, he was little better than one of those animals. Emotion never entered into his lovemaking.
And it didn't now either, dammit! His whole future was at stake, and nothing else mattered. Without Chickadee, there would be no outwitting Araminta, and Desdemona would never learn to smile. And since he had no intention of marrying anyone other than Chickadee, his inheritance was in jeopardy too. Everything depended on making her his wife.
His eyes narrowed in resolution as his hand swept to the fastening of her breeches. This had to be done; he'd do it quickly and think no more about it. He still avoided her eyes as he went about his task, something inside him not wanting to see the innocent trust he knew was in them, and when the buttons were undone, he slipped his hand inside.
She fell back over his arm, her hair cascading to the ground. As his hand dipped lower, the fire she'd spoken of began to consume her. Instinctively, she arched her hips while she clung to his neck, and when his fingers sought and found her most secret place, the age-old beat of passion caused her to move rhythmically against his warm palm.
Saxon ignored the nagging voice of his conscience and laid her down on the mountain floor. With one smooth action, he slid her breeches over her hips and down her legs. He then removed his own clothing and, careful to elude her trusting gaze, he rolled atop her.
He didn't want to see her body, couldn't look at her face, and prayed she wouldn't speak. He wanted no reminders of who this was lying beneath him, guileless, unsullied. He prepared to do what he knew he had to do. He spread her legs with his own, his manhood soon finding the opening of the velvet sheath he would claim.
Chickadee tensed, and when she did, she felt him do the same. "Saxon," she said softly, "make it nice fer me. I know it's gwine hurt, but whilst yer a-doin' it, could you tell me more o' them thangs I like to hear? Maybe iffen I was a-listenin' to 'em, this wouldn't hurt as much."
He groaned. Dammit, why couldn't she be quiet for once in her life? And why did her voice have to be soft as summer rain?
"Saxon?"
He entered her slightly. Not far enough to cause her the pain she was worried about, but far enough for her to understand what he was going to do. Taking a deep breath, he pressed his lips to her ear. "Keely, relax. Open to me and remember how beautiful, how very special I think you are. Let your feelings go, and enjoy them."
She nodded and then trembled, her breathing irregular. Saxon's heart skipped a few beats. She was afraid, yet she had all the faith in the world in him.
He slipped to the ground and stared at the sky.
"Saxon? Is thur somethin' wrong? Warn't I a-doin' it right? I don't know much about sweetheartin', but I'll do whatever you tell—"
"I've got a headache."
*
Chickadee filled the cup and set the flask back down on the bedside table. "Drank it. It's fer yore
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