Free Sweet Awakening by Marjorie Farrell Page A

Clare lay there under the covers, very still, wondering when he would touch her. She wasn’t sure what part of her body wanted to feel him most: her lips, her breasts, or that unexplored territory between her legs.
    Her lips must have wanted him first, for that was where he began, gently at first, and then more insistently. She lay still for his first kiss, but when he teased her mouth open, she found she quite naturally put his arms around him and drew him closer.
    One of his hands was now on her breast, cupping it, circling the nipple with his thumb. And then, wonderfully, he slid down and took it into his mouth, teasing the nipple with his tongue, the same way he had with her mouth. She moaned with delight as he leaned over her.
    The bedcovers were hampering him, so he threw them off and crouched down above her, looking down into her eyes with such passion and tenderness that she had to close her own or be overwhelmed.
    She slid her hands down along his back and traced the line of his waist and hips. She could feel his manhood brushing her belly, but only had the courage to lightly touch it with her fingers, marveling at the combination of satin softness and hardness. Then he was kissing her belly and using his gentle fingers to part her thighs. She was embarrassed that he would feel how wet she was down there; she seemed to be turning into liquid.
    “Please, Justin,” she moaned.
    “Not yet, Clare. I want this to be as comfortable for you as possible.” And so he first brought her to an exquisite climax with his fingers before finally pushing himself very gently at first, and then harder, into her innermost self.
    It hurt for a few minutes, but then she was caught up in the rhythm. Her own pleasure had been so great that she was amazed at how wonderful it felt to have him come in great shudders inside her.
    They slept with Clare cuddled in front of him and made love again almost before they were fully awake the next morning. This time it was even better, if that were possible, and Clare lay there afterward, her body still, but feeling as though the ocean was moving through her, pushing her gently, flowing and ebbing as the rhythms of his loving had.
    * * * *
    They reached Rainsborough late in the afternoon, and Clare first saw her new home just as the sun began to strike the upper windows, lighting them up and making the faded red brick look pink and warm.
    “It is lovely,” she said, after Justin helped her down from the carriage.
    “I am glad you like it, Clare. I was worried you would feel a bit isolated here in Devon.”
    “But how could I feel that way when I have you, Justin.”
    He leaned down and gave her a quick kiss before he led her over to be introduced to the servants lining the drive.
    And indeed, for their first six weeks, Clare felt as though she and Justin were living in a world as golden, warm, and sweet as a globe of honey.
    “This is our honeymoon,” Justin had said one night as he scandalized and delighted her by drizzling the sticky sweetness on her breasts and in her navel and then licked it off. She blushed and giggled, saying: “Turnabout’s fair play,” and did the same to him. They were sticky with honey and sweat as they finally made love and then took turns washing the other, which led to another hour of lovemaking, this time on the carpet, since the sheets were too sticky.
    “Whatever will the maids think?” Clare whispered as she lay in his arms.
    “Do you care?”
    “Perhaps not. You are turning me into a wanton, Justin.”
    “Good, so long as you only play the wanton with me.” It was an odd thing to say, thought Clare, but she forgot it immediately, as Justin kissed her into oblivion.
    They spent most of their time together, exploring the countryside on horseback or on foot, for it was almost as new to Justin as to Clare. He ignored estate matters, turning everything over to his manager, and when Clare protested that she should be learning her way around the house, he