Free A Midsummer's Sin by Natasha Blackthorne Page B

not?” She stroked him through the woollen fabric. “You have done as much to me.”
    “That’s different. It’s not as great a sin.”
    “Don’t deny me.”
    He caressed her hair. “Deny you?”
    “Don’t deny me the chance to know you. To pleasure you.” She undid two buttons. “Nothing between us can be a sin, don’t you realise that?”
    She seemed so convinced. She had his breeches open and wrapped her hand about his erection. He leaked in anticipation.
    “Do you believe me?” she asked, stroking her hand up and down his shaft.
    He did. And to his surprise it felt right and good. Their marriage bed would be a sacred place where nothing could be a sin or repulsive so long as it pleased them both.
    She put her mouth over the head and slid down its length, swallowing him completely. She’d obviously done this before, many times. The thought threatened to intrude on his pleasure. But her past hadn’t been her choice. He must forget. He must help her to forget. And he suspected this was part of her healing, to engage in these acts that had been forced on her with someone of her choosing. Someone who would never force her to it.
    On a groan, he gave himself over to the pleasure she offered.
    She wrapped her fist about the base of him, working, as she loved him with her mouth. She moaned deep, sending vibrations through to his balls. Tremors began deep within his cock and his seed surged into her mouth as a kind of joy and bliss he’d never before associated with carnality overtook him.
    She pressed her cheek to his leg, staring up at him with open affection and feminine satisfaction.
    His head still spun with the after-effects but he had to tell her. This couldn’t wait any longer. “I am not the man you think I am. I mean, I wasn’t.”
    She regarded him thoughtfully. “Weren’t you?”
    “I was a horrible libertine in my college years. I was destroying myself with dissipation. I lived a very abstinent life with Patience and I have been afraid of falling back into my former sinful ways. But I see now that what we share is—”
    The barn door squeaked and she pulled away from him, wiping her face with the back of her hand, her eyes wide and alarmed. He turned away and hastily repaired his breeches.
    Rosalind walked out of the stall.
    “Ah, Mistress Abramson.” Reverend Shepard’s deep voice echoed up into the rafters and back down. “Have you seen Goodman Marlowe?”
    “No—I mean he was here, briefly but—”
    “Little Hannah is awake and asking for her Papa.”
     
    * * * *
     
    Out of the window the sun lay half-risen on the horizon, bathing the kitchen in tones of yellow that seemed strangely surrealistic to Rosalind’s sleep-deprived eyes. The rays of light brightened Thomas’ chestnut hair into sparks of red and gold. Before him sat a bowl of steaming corn mush that remained untouched. Yet his green eyes shone bright as a summer maple leaf.
    She shared his joy and couldn’t help but smile at him.
    Over the hours of the night, Hannah had continued to improve.
    He lifted his mug and took a long drink of coffee.
    She chose to do the same, letting the fragrant brew warm her empty stomach. She had found herself unable to eat for, despite the happiness of Hannah’s continued recovery, nothing remained truly resolved between them. The emotional intimacy of the night before seemed like a dream and his trunks remained packed by the door.
    Once Hannah had recovered completely, he would leave for Harvard College.
    He sat his mug down and regarded her closely. “Did you really mean what you said last night?”
    Her heart stilled then jumped into a rapid beat. She nodded slowly. “Yes.”
    His eyes seemed intent on stripping her to the bone.
    She shifted in her seat. “But I…I don’t expect…”
    She bit her lip.
    He pushed his chair back, stood and came to her, still studying her with a curious expression. He held out his hands. She placed hers in them and allowed him to pull her to her