He jumped to his feet and dusted his hands on his pants, calming his heart and winging his arm for her to take her through the rough grasses ahead. But she would have none of it. She arched a brow over her shoulder and took off at a run, holding her shoes and stockings in one hand and her skirts high in the other. She was laughing at him by the time they came to the low gate of the white fence around the house.
They went in the house together and looked at each other.
“Go somewhere and rinse the sand off of your person. Bring more of that champagne, if there is any of it,” she said and took herself up the staircase. “Mrs. Elliot showed me the bathing room, and I intend to soak a few minutes.” She glanced over her shoulder at him, her lashes dropping. Sultry was the only word to describe her look. “You may join me in forty-five minutes.”
She should have been blushing and embarrassed, she thought as she looked in the long mirror at herself in the lacy nightdress and robe she’d purchased for just this occasion. She was not. She saw herself as she hoped Alexander saw her: as an attractive woman, as a survivor, as his wife and mate forever. She felt strangely confident and anxious to be with Alexander in the most intimate of ways. She opened the door of their suite when she heard a tap.
“You hardly need to knock, Alexander,” she said and smiled. “It is your house, and Mrs. Elliot said there would be no one else here until tomorrow morning at eight.”
He continued to stand in the doorway, and she realized he was not looking at her face, but rather at her breasts, barely covered by satin and lace, her nipples hardening under his perusal. He was holding a bottle and two glasses.
“May I take the champagne?” she asked him.
“Oh yes. Yes, of course. May I come in?”
She took the bottle and the glasses from him and went to a small table near the door to the balcony overlooking the ocean. She had left the door partially open, and the long curtains swung in the breeze around her bare feet. She poured a glass of champagne and pushed the bottle down into the ice in the silver bucket.
“Would you like some champagne?” she asked and turned to look at him. He was just inside the room, leaning against the closed door. He shook his head.
“You are so beautiful,” he whispered.
He was wearing a long dark red robe, untied, and she could see a sliver of his chest and white shorts below. He was magnificent.
“I don’t want to frighten you,” he said.
“I’m not afraid of you, Alexander. I love you.”
He took a deep breath then and walked toward her slowly. He dropped the robe from his shoulders as he came. He was all muscle and manliness and masculinity, she thought, the perfect complement to her burgeoning femininity. She sipped her champagne and set it down on the table behind her. She slipped the lacy wrap that matched her nightgown off of her shoulders. He watched it slide away but did not move.
Elspeth walked the final few steps to him and pressed herself against him, her breasts against his warm, naked chest, her arms around his neck. She ran her fingers around his ears and down through his hair. She could feel him, hard and throbbing, against her stomach, and she felt herself respond. Her breasts grew heavy and a sharp pulsing began between her legs.
“Alexander?”
His head shook slightly, and he looked at her face and down at her cleavage as if he’d just come out of a trance. He ran his hands up her arms and around her back, pulling her close to him and staring at her mouth.
He kissed her then. She could have swooned with the romance of it, the waves crashing in the background, the candles’ flames swaying as the ocean air came through the curtains, the bed with its covering pulled back to reveal crisp white sheets, the smell of him, the feel of his skin under her fingers, and the broad hand at her back holding her against him. He deepened the kiss but pulled away to speak to her.
“Will you come to my bed, Elspeth?”
She nodded and touched her mouth to his. She drew away and walked to the bed. She knew he was nervous, scared of hurting her or frightening her. In this, she thought, she must ignore Aunt’s advice and take the lead. She bent down and pulled the nightgown up and over her head. He swallowed and stared at her, letting his eyes drift down her body.
He cleared his throat and pushed his shorts down his legs. She’d not been prepared for just the sight of him to affect her so much, but it did. His broad shoulders, slimmer waist, the dark nest of hair, and of course, his hard sex jutting out, did strange and wonderful things to her insides. She sat down on the bed, lay back, and reached her hand out to him.
Alexander lay down beside her, a hand on her hip, and kissed her open-mouthed. Her breasts grazed his chest as he did, eliciting a moan from them both. He touched her breast then, cupping it, and she arched against him and murmured his name. She turned on her back as he leaned over her, kissing her neck urgently and finally settling as his tongue swiped her nipple and he closed his mouth over it, sucking gently and letting his hand wander down her body. She squirmed with need when his fingers moved through the curls at the juncture of her thighs.
“I don’t want to hurt you, love,” he whispered and pushed one finger inside her.
She groaned and tilted her hips. “I know there’ll be pain the first time. But I want it,” she said against his ear. “Please. Please, Alexander.”
He climbed over her and spread her legs with his knees, kissing her and touching her breasts. He pressed his sex against hers and pushed inside slowly.
“I love you. I will always love you,” he said, looking down at her. “Why are you crying?” he said suddenly and began to pull away.
One tear fell, and she put her hands on his hips, holding him tightly in place. “It is so beautiful. So beautiful. You and me together. Joined. I love you, Alexander.”
He pushed fully inside her then, through her maidenhead, until he was fully sheathed inside her, and he began to move slowly, letting the fleeting pain drift away. She was looking at him, at his blue, blue eyes and the constricted muscles of his neck and shoulders as he held himself over her, moving himself inside of her, in and out, gaining speed with his harsh breaths and her equally uneven breathing. She could feel a fevered flush on her chest and arms, tilted her head back and her hips up, and let a wave of pleasure crash over her. She heard a guttural cry and felt his weight bear down on her.
“Not yet,” she said when he began to lever himself off of her. She liked the feel of him, spent, sweat-glistened, and totally relaxed on her, and the sounds of his harsh breathing quieting. After a few minutes, he moved off of her, pulling her against his side.
A warm breeze blew through the curtains, and she rested her head on his shoulder. There was peace in his arms. Peace and safety. And love. She was his for all time.
“You are mine,” she whispered against his chest.
His hand tightened on her shoulder. “And you are mine as well, dearest love. Forever.”
Afterword
I hope you have enjoyed Alexander and Elspeth’s story, the first in the new Thompsons of Locust Street series. Please follow me on FaceBook, Twitter, or on my website hollybushbooks.com, for announcements about the next book in this series, The Bareknuckled Groom, due out in March 2021.
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