Free book JdM6x1406931-20978754 by Emily Tilton

spread it over the mattress, tucking it gently under Elisabeth’s beautiful, naked body. He got a plaid and laid it over her and tucked that in around her as well, and still she made no response to him at all, though he could see that her weeping was at an end for the moment at least. He donned his shirt, and picked up the sheet, and went to the door.

Chapter Nine
     
     
    There was a huge cheer when Angus opened the door. Elisabeth knew what he was doing, for her cousins had whispered to her about it, but she had never understood what they had meant by “maidenblood”. She had been sure it must have something to do with her monthly bleeding and that perhaps one’s husband did something that brought on a little bit of that, so that it somehow proved you were a maiden (though of course she had not until now even known what it truly meant to be a maiden).
    To be a maiden… not to have felt a man’s… thing (what had he called it?) doing… that (and what had he called that—that thing that he had done to her?).
    And it seemed there was a new word also for her own parts—the places she had been taught to call her private part and her secret part. Now it seemed her husband would call them that word he had said, which she turned over now in her mind, unable to help herself. “Cunny,” he had said. How could such a simple word, with such a delicate little sound, somehow be so shameful to think about, she wondered. Facing the wall, her eyes open now that Angus had gone for the moment, she mouthed it silently, “Cunny.” She put her hand down there, touched it—touched her cunny, the way she used to touch her secret part sometimes, when she was feeling very wicked. It felt strange, but the burning pain she had felt when he had entered her was gone, and it was soothing to caress herself lightly there.
    And then suddenly she remembered the other words with an intense blush. She whispered to the wall, “My husband fucked me. He fucked my cunny with his yard.”
    And I loved it, she thought, feeling a sob rise into her throat again. I loved it above all when he grew angry, and he took me, and deflowered me, and treated me like an animal to be tamed. I have never felt pleasure anywhere near as great as I felt when I struggled against him, and I knew there was no escape, and I felt those powerful muscles, and I knew that I belong to him, and he will fuck me as he pleases.
    What was she to do? She must let him fuck her, of course, for she knew that was his right, and although she knew she must never show it, she loved to make him happy, even now, already, on the day of their marriage. Surely it was a holy, good thing to make your husband happy? When he had… finished and his yard had done that funny slippery thing inside her (which she did not really understand), he had seemed so very happy. Indeed, it had seemed to make him happy to hold her down beneath him, and that feeling had awakened in her the terrible pleasure that seemed her own response to what his yard had done.
    So she would do her best to make him happy in his bed as in his little croft-house. She would try not to earn the strap, no matter how much her strange desires seemed to cry out for it. But she must not let him call that pleasure from her again, for it did not befit the Lady of Urquhart to be a slave to her body and to her husband’s yard, as Angus MacGregor had just shown her she might be unless she were very careful.
    When Angus returned to his bed, then, she had prepared herself to be agreeable. When she heard his footsteps approaching, with a firm resolve she turned herself back towards him with a smile and said, “Welcome back to your bride-bed, Angus MacGregor.”
    He greeted her with a smile so warm and loving it made her heart ache. “Are you alright, then, lass?” he asked.
    “More than alright, My Lord.”
    He laughed. “And how is your cunny, milady?”
    She felt herself color, and she knew her face had betrayed a moment’s displeasure