against her bottom. Abigail broke in hurriedly, before he took it into his head to smack her more. “It was unpardonable of me, I know, to question your intelligence. I apologise.”
Still, he kept his hand on her rump, then, to her shock, slowly rubbed his palm over the expanse. “And?” he asked, after a moment.
Rapidly, she thought, trying to remember, but the sudden realisation that she was oddly wet between her legs distracted her as much as the warmth that had spread from her bottom throughout the rest of her body.
Abigail stilled as Meriden smacked his hand down hard again and repeated, “And?”
After very few moments, she managed to gasp out, anxiously, “And I’m sorry for accosting you.”
Meriden stopped smacking and rubbed the tender flesh of her bottom through the skirt. Abigail remained very still, and to her surprise he spoke instead of releasing her from the undignified position. “I have a confession to make,” he said.
Abigail licked her lips, wondering, but whispered, “Yes?” And she started to sit up.
He kept his left forearm upon her back, preventing her from rising. “It’s simple, really. I have to confess that I shouldn’t be completely unhappy if I must punish you again, although I’m sure to be truly displeased at the cause. Such an encounter would give me an excuse for seeing and touching an utterly fascinating and desirable part of you—I won’t deny that I find that thought immensely stimulating.”
Even turned away from him, Abigail felt the blood rise in her neck and cheeks.
“Do you consider the touch of my hand unpleasant now?” he asked then, continuing to palm her warmed curves. “And do not think to lie to me, little one.”
Her face red, Abigail swallowed. She was quite aware of the warmth she’d identified earlier as desire, and in a rational moment she’d equated it to lust. According to what little she’d learnt of the subject, lust wasn’t necessarily good because it could shame her family. Still, he was shortly to be her husband. Surely, if she felt lust, it was best directed at one’s spouse?
Abigail reminded herself that she did not need to find him repulsive. It was better if she was fond of him—their marriage would be more enjoyable if they were affectionate. And even if Meriden’s touch was unpleasant, Abigail had the idea that if she said she disliked it, he might actually be hurt.
The mere thought made her gasp. If Abigail was sure of anything, she knew she didn’t want him to be angry, or to hurt him. She wanted him to touch her, to ease the strange new ache in her body.
“No,” she whispered in hesitant confession.
She turned her head in time to see his mouth quirk as he looked down on her again. “Come then,” he urged, lifting his arm and helping her to rise and stand between his legs. “I shall happily forgive and forget both the insult and the anger, and you shall please me and be in an improved humour by returning to your room in a few moments and resting until you must dress for dinner.” Meriden traced his hands boldly from Abigail’s hips up over her breasts and cupped her cheeks, one in each hand, even as she reddened and looked at the floor, trying her best to suppress the sudden shiver that racked her.
“No, don’t fight it,” he whispered huskily, noting her helpless response to his touch, and deliberately using his thumbs to caress her jaw on each side. “Let yourself shudder, moan, gasp, arch, clutch onto anything, squeal,” he went on, then shocked her by leaning forwards and pressing a caress with his lips to the upper curve of her breast. “I want to know how I make you feel, how your body reacts. There’s no shame in it, Abigail, not between us, not ever.”
Cautiously, Abigail reached out and touched his cheek with her fingers. “Thank you,” she whispered.
He blinked and met her eyes. “You’re welcome,” he returned promptly. “But what, may I ask, are you thanking me for?”
Abigail
Still, he kept his hand on her rump, then, to her shock, slowly rubbed his palm over the expanse. “And?” he asked, after a moment.
Rapidly, she thought, trying to remember, but the sudden realisation that she was oddly wet between her legs distracted her as much as the warmth that had spread from her bottom throughout the rest of her body.
Abigail stilled as Meriden smacked his hand down hard again and repeated, “And?”
After very few moments, she managed to gasp out, anxiously, “And I’m sorry for accosting you.”
Meriden stopped smacking and rubbed the tender flesh of her bottom through the skirt. Abigail remained very still, and to her surprise he spoke instead of releasing her from the undignified position. “I have a confession to make,” he said.
Abigail licked her lips, wondering, but whispered, “Yes?” And she started to sit up.
He kept his left forearm upon her back, preventing her from rising. “It’s simple, really. I have to confess that I shouldn’t be completely unhappy if I must punish you again, although I’m sure to be truly displeased at the cause. Such an encounter would give me an excuse for seeing and touching an utterly fascinating and desirable part of you—I won’t deny that I find that thought immensely stimulating.”
Even turned away from him, Abigail felt the blood rise in her neck and cheeks.
“Do you consider the touch of my hand unpleasant now?” he asked then, continuing to palm her warmed curves. “And do not think to lie to me, little one.”
Her face red, Abigail swallowed. She was quite aware of the warmth she’d identified earlier as desire, and in a rational moment she’d equated it to lust. According to what little she’d learnt of the subject, lust wasn’t necessarily good because it could shame her family. Still, he was shortly to be her husband. Surely, if she felt lust, it was best directed at one’s spouse?
Abigail reminded herself that she did not need to find him repulsive. It was better if she was fond of him—their marriage would be more enjoyable if they were affectionate. And even if Meriden’s touch was unpleasant, Abigail had the idea that if she said she disliked it, he might actually be hurt.
The mere thought made her gasp. If Abigail was sure of anything, she knew she didn’t want him to be angry, or to hurt him. She wanted him to touch her, to ease the strange new ache in her body.
“No,” she whispered in hesitant confession.
She turned her head in time to see his mouth quirk as he looked down on her again. “Come then,” he urged, lifting his arm and helping her to rise and stand between his legs. “I shall happily forgive and forget both the insult and the anger, and you shall please me and be in an improved humour by returning to your room in a few moments and resting until you must dress for dinner.” Meriden traced his hands boldly from Abigail’s hips up over her breasts and cupped her cheeks, one in each hand, even as she reddened and looked at the floor, trying her best to suppress the sudden shiver that racked her.
“No, don’t fight it,” he whispered huskily, noting her helpless response to his touch, and deliberately using his thumbs to caress her jaw on each side. “Let yourself shudder, moan, gasp, arch, clutch onto anything, squeal,” he went on, then shocked her by leaning forwards and pressing a caress with his lips to the upper curve of her breast. “I want to know how I make you feel, how your body reacts. There’s no shame in it, Abigail, not between us, not ever.”
Cautiously, Abigail reached out and touched his cheek with her fingers. “Thank you,” she whispered.
He blinked and met her eyes. “You’re welcome,” he returned promptly. “But what, may I ask, are you thanking me for?”
Abigail
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