Because of You Read online

She almost laughed, his praise pleasing her. “You are too.”

  Against her neck she felt his lips curve into a smile. “I’d like to make love to you.”

  She almost melted into the bedcover. She struggled for common sense. “I…don’t…know.”

  “Ah, Sam. You want it too. See?” His hand caressed her breast and her nipple tightened into a hard bud. It felt good to have him touch her this way.

  She attempted to rise, but he leaned over her and kissed her again.

  This time, he didn’t have to tell her to close her eyes. Between her legs, she felt an answering tug when his tongue began stroking hers.

  She didn’t know what was happening to her. She no longer recognized herself. Her arms were up around his neck and she was pressing herself closer to him.

  When he broke the kiss, she made a soft moue and then he ordered, “Sam, unfasten my breeches.”

  His command should have shocked her, but it didn’t. If anything, she wanted to know more. His kiss had opened a Pandora’s box of new and exciting feelings. She was an eager student.

  Her fingers began fumbling with the buttons. They were almost impossible to twist open with him outlining her ear with the tip of his tongue.

  He didn’t seem to be having the difficulties she was. His fingers deftly unlaced the back of her dress. He nuzzled the neckline down over her breasts and pushed aside her light camisole. He pressed his lips over the tight nipple.

  Samantha cried out.

  She no longer heard the sounds of dancing and clapping downstairs. She could not imagine the bed, or the inn, or even the village. Her whole being centered on this man and what he was doing to her body.

  He sucked first one breast and then the other. His hands slowly pressed the dress down her arms so that she was more fully exposed to him. He began untying the tapes of her petticoat with practiced ease.

  She felt wanton. Wicked. Sensual.

  She began pulling at his coat, wanting his clothes removed too. He paused to help her, tossing the coat over the side of the bed and ripping at the knot in his neckcloth.

  She tugged his shirt from the waist of his breeches. She started to work on the buttons again, but he said, “Wait.”

  He stood and removed his shirt. He then sat on the edge of the bed and yanked off first one boot and then the other. He dropped them on the floor, where they landed with a clomp.

  Then he stood and began unbuttoning his breeches.

  Samantha watched wide eyed.

  He grinned, hooked his hands under the waist, and pushed them down, taking his socks off with them.

  When he straightened, her lips parted in surprise. She’d never seen a fully erect man before and she was impressed. Her body ached to feel him beside her. And yet—

  “Is something wrong?” he asked.

  Samantha hesitated and then admitted, “I am not certain how this all works.”

  He laughed, the sound sure and knowing. “I’ll show you.”

  He knelt on the bed and began undressing her. He took his time, keeping her warm with his kisses. He kissed places she’d never imagined anyone had ever thought of kissing, and she could do nothing but sigh with pleasure.

  When she wore nothing save her stockings tied with garters, he leaned over her and began nibbling the inside of her thigh.

  She squirmed. This was too much.

  He raised his head and smiled wickedly. “You’re not ready for that yet, are you?”

  She didn’t know what that was, but she wasn’t sure she wanted him to stop—and then his fingers brushed the downy hair between her thighs, before dipping lower and touching what seemed to be the very core of her being.

  Samantha reached for him, lost in a world that centered on this man and what he was doing to her body.

  She placed her hands around his shoulders, feeling the smooth skin of his back. Her legs parted, giving him fuller access to the deepest reaches of her.

  “Marvin,” she repeated again and again, his name a plea, a cry, a benediction.

  She ran her hands down his back and along his side. Her fingers brushed his erection and she was startled that he could feel so soft and yet so hard at the same time.

  “That’s the way, Sam,” he cooed to her. “Touch me.”

  His hand covered hers and he taught her to be bolder.

  “It feels good, love, when you touch me,” he whispered.

  He had called her “love.” The endearment almost brought tears to her eyes.

  He shifted, and she felt him against her. Strong, poised, ready.

  She was eager for him. She felt as if she hovered on the threshold of the meaning of life. Other women knew it and now she would too. This act between a man and a woman was sacred. They were going to become one, joined in the great mystery of life.

  His tongue traced the bottom line of her lip before he nipped it lightly. “Sam, love, look at me.”

  Slightly dazed, she opened her eyes.

  “This may hurt a bit,” he warned. “If it hurts too much, say so, I’ll stop if I can.”

  “Oh, Marvin,” she said, smiling. “Stop talking.” She pulled his head down to meet her lips, felt his body slide into hers, and knew she would never be the same.

  Chapter 7

  At that moment, Yale had two immediate thoughts: this is heaven! And there is going to be the very devil to pay for this bit of business.

  He went still. With what little reason he had left, he wondered how he could be making such a fatal error…

  And then her muscles tightened around him—and reason evaporated. Dear Lord, she was delicious.

  “Sam.” He breathed her name on a sigh as he buried himself deep within her.

  He knew little about virgins. He’d never actually been with one before. He’d heard that some girls cried out for their mothers, while others broke into tears. Then there were those who screamed in pain.

  Sam did not do any of those things. Instead, she wiggled—and almost sent him over the edge.

  He moaned in ecstasy.

  “Have I hurt you?” she whispered in surprise.

  “No…it’s all right…now,” he gasped, struggling to put a check on himself. After all, he was the experienced one. He should be in control.

  He nuzzled her neck, drinking in the soft, warm scent of her, and praying fervently for mercy.

  “Now?” she echoed. “Did I do something wrong earlier?”

  He could feel her throat move as she spoke. He brushed his lips against it.

  She certainly didn’t seem ready to scream or burst into tears…or give in to unbridled passion.

  Yale lifted his head. Her bright, curious eyes met his. She appeared uninvolved in his lovemaking.

  Below stairs, a man bellowed out a tone-deaf solo.

  “It’s the squire,” she explained, as if he’d asked. “He always gets the urge to sing when he’s in his cups.”

  Yale nodded absently, not giving a damn about the squire. “I haven’t hurt you, have I?” he asked, bringing her back to the topic of what the two of them were doing together.

  “It was nothing. It just felt tight, like a pinch, and any discomfort is gone.” Her brows came together. “So, that was it? I mean, I thought there would be more, what with the poets going on about dying for love and all that.”

  Yale stared at her, slowly letting the meaning of her words sink in. She thought they were done? No, it was worse. She was ready to be done.

  And then the ridiculousness of the moment took hold of him and he laughed.

  Astonishment lit her golden brown eyes. “I felt you laugh. Deep inside of me.” Her voice softened. “It feels good.”

  Yale pressed his lips against her smooth cheek, tasting her, and whispered, “I do not think I have ever met a woman quite like you before.”

  She stiffened slightly. “Is that bad?”

  “No. It’s good.” He pulled himself back and then thrust, deeper this time, enjoying the feel of her, before adding, “Very good.”

>   “I felt that, too.”

  “And this?” He stroked her again.

  Instinctively, her body arched to receive him. “Yes,” she said breathlessly.

  He stroked her again and she whispered, “Oh, this is so much better.”

  Yale laughed in triumph. “Oh, Sam, you are a find. A real treasure.”

  “A treasure,” she repeated, her body starting to move against his.

  Yale nipped her ear. “A pearl beyond compare.” Then he couldn’t talk, because she was meeting his thrusts with a movement all her own—and it was very good movement.

  His sweet Sam was an eager learner. Who would have expected such a hot-blooded woman in the guise of a vicar’s daughter?

  The fiddler played a sprightly jig. The sound of it seemed to come up through the walls and Yale caught himself moving to the rhythm of the music.

  They were dancing, an intimate dance as old as time. He watched the changing expressions of her face, awed by her fresh, unguarded response to him. The music faded as Yale lost himself in the magic of her body.

  She set the pace now, rising eagerly to meet his thrusts. It was everything he could do just to maintain control—and then he felt her tighten and knew she was there, at the pinnacle. She cried out in surprise, hugging him close to receive all of him.

  At last, Yale sought his own release, and none had been sweeter. Thoroughly spent, he collapsed on top of her.

  Slowly the world came back to order. Squire Biggers still bellowed downstairs. In fact, he now had a chorus singing behind him.

  A chill tickled Yale’s backside while the heat of this willing woman beneath him kept his front toasty warm.

  He opened his eyes. Her eyes were closed. Dear Lord, he must be crushing her with his weight. He started to roll off but her arms tightened and cradled him closer.

  “Sam?”

  She opened her eyes. They were dreamy with satisfaction. “That was the most incredible experience.” She rubbed her breasts against him. “Is it always like that, Marvin?”

  “It’s never been like—” He broke off abruptly; her use of his fake name signaled a return to common sense.

  What had he done?

  Yale practically bolted off her. He sat up on the edge of the bed, trying to collect his scattered wits.

  Her hand caught his. “I’m cold.” She smiled at him sleepily—and Yale thought he’d never seen a more beautiful woman than his vicar’s daughter. A few pins still held a lock or two of her hair in place, but the rest was pleasantly mussed. Her lips were swollen and red from his kisses.

  Suddenly, his doubts were unimportant. What was done was done.

  He pulled the bedcovers out from underneath her and stretching out beside her, covered them both. He cupped her breast with his hand. She had lovely breasts. They were full and tight. He longed to kiss them again.

  “No,” he admitted, “it’s never been like that.”

  She sighed with satisfaction and snuggled her nose against his chest. “And will it always be like that?”

  Yale gathered her close and promised, “The next time, it will be even better.”

  She kissed his shoulder. “You smell like autumn, with its fresh winds and changing leaves. I like it.”

  Her description flattered him. “You smell of the spring, of ripe opening buds, and a rich blue sky.” He’d never been a man given to poetic words, but Samantha Northrup inspired him.

  Her arms came around his neck. She pressed against him. “When can we do it again?” she purred.

  Yale grinned self-consciously. “Sam, you have to give it a little time—”

  He broke off. She’d started nibbling the sensitive skin beneath jaw and he felt himself stirring again.

  Still, he had to think about her. “We’d, ah…we’d better wait.” But his body didn’t want to wait. He was already as stiff as an iron pike. Worse, she knew it.

  She touched his nose with the tip of hers. Her lips curved into a smile. “Must we?”

  “Sam, it would be best for you.”

  She reached down between them and ran her finger experimentally up the length of him. “It’s amazing, isn’t it? I’d never imagined. I knew people liked to do it and now I understand why.”

  He captured her errant hand before she explored farther. “It’s too soon for you.”

  She tried to pull her hand free, her legs brushing against him. “But Marvin, I ache.” She rubbed against him. “Inside of me I feel a need.”

  Oh, and he hungered for her too. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Her eyes widened. “Does it hurt you?”

  “No, it doesn’t hurt me at all.”

  “Then I don’t think it is going to hurt me.” She kissed him.

  He knew they shouldn’t. He started to push her away, but she turned slightly and his hands came down on her breasts…and his will to resist disappeared.

  After all, what man could resist such a sweet invitation—especially since he was definitely ready for it?

  Positioning himself on top of his wife, Yale reflected that perhaps marriage wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

  “I do not think the name Marvin suits you,” Samantha said. She lay on her back, her head on his flat stomach. It was late evening and she felt sated and content. She wore nothing. She didn’t think she’d ever wear clothes again.

  The poets had been right! Love was worth dying for. They’d made love three times this afternoon. She now knew what bliss was. It was the feeling of her husband’s body joined with hers.

  The hand he had idly been running back and forth along her arm paused. “Why do you say that?” he asked.

  She rolled over and lifted her head to look up at him, tossing her hair over one shoulder. “Because it doesn’t.”

  His eyebrows came together in a frown. To her surprise, he got up from the bed, the movement sudden. He reached for his breeches on the floor and started to pull them on.

  “Marvin, is something the matter?”

  For a second, she didn’t think he was going to answer. Then he smiled. The expression seemed forced. “I’m hungry. Are you?”

  He didn’t wait for her response but opened the door and shouted for the innkeeper to deliver their supper. Samantha dived under the covers, pulling them up to her neck. “What are you doing?”

  He leaned against the door frame. “We’ve got to eat, don’t we?”

  She frowned at his flippant reply. “I don’t want them to know what we’ve been doing.”

  His teeth flashed in a grin. “I think they have an idea.”

  “No! They couldn’t have,” she returned in a horrified whisper.

  His expression turned suddenly serious. “Do you have any regrets?”

  His question surprised her. “No, no regrets.”

  They might have said something else to each other, but at that moment she heard the maid coming up the stairs. In a second she appeared in the short hallway, a tray loaded with food and drink, leftovers from the wedding breakfast.

  Samantha pulled the covers up over her head. She might not have regrets, but she was blushing down to her toes with embarrassment.

  “Thought ye’d never call,” the maid said, once she came into the room. “If ye’d taken much longer, I would have come up and pounded on the door. Mr. Sadler says I can go home once I deliver your supper. He and everyone else are off to their beds or over at the smithy’s, wagering who can drive an iron spike into the ground with one blow.”

  “Who do you think will win, Emma?” Marvin asked, surprising Samantha in that he knew the maid’s name.

  Emma snorted. “It’s hard to tell. They are all drunk as lords. Squire Biggers is the worst of his lot, but his nephew, the new vicar, drove him and his wife home.”

  “Well, thank you, Emma, for staying for us.” He flipped her a coin that he’d pulled out of his pocket.

  She bit the coin to see if it was good and grinned. “Y’er a gentleman, sir. Call me in the morning when ye want yer breakfast.
I’ll bring it to you.” She paused in front of Marvin and lowered her voice. “Mind ye, I think Mr. Sadler will expect the two of ye out before the sun rises too high.”

  “We will be gone before then,” Marvin answered. “By the way, put all this on Squire Biggers’s tab. He owes us a wedding gift, don’t you think?”

  Emma giggled, thoroughly charmed. “Aye, yer right. And if ye can get him to pay, I’ll have more respect for ye.”

  They both laughed like old cronies and then Emma left the room.

  Samantha waited until Marvin had shut the door. “How do you know her name?”

  He walked to the tray of food. “From when I was here before. She’s the one who brought me the first bottle of brandy.” Pulling a leg off a roasted capon, he offered it to her. When she shook her head no, he took a big bite out of it.

  Sitting up in bed with the sheet covering her breasts, Samantha plucked at the bedcovers, not wishing to reveal her jealousy—and she was jealous of Emma’s familiarity with her husband. The maid hadn’t done anything wrong, but Samantha had felt a strong possessiveness about Marvin. She hadn’t liked the two of them sharing a jest, even such a small one.

  “Sam?”

  She didn’t answer, too busy sorting out her confused feelings.

  The bed ropes bounced as he threw himself down on it beside her. He grinned up at her, a foolish, unself-conscious smile full of teasing—and it went right to her heart.

  Her husband was a handsome man, but his rugged good looks were no longer the only thing she found dear about him. No, what pulled her to him was something special and unique to him alone. That, and the fact that he had done so much for her. Because of him, she felt like a complete person.

  The idea surprised her. But it was true. She’d been waiting for something in her life and now, here he was.

  “Would you like a glass of ale?”

  She shook her head no.

  He leaned closer. “Sam, why are you so serious?” He slipped a finger beneath the sheet she held over her breasts and attempted to tickle her.

  It was an invitation…and she wanted to answer it. She wanted him more than food and drink. More than anything she had ever known.

  She reached up and captured his wandering hand, her fingers closing over his.