Page 20 of The Duke’s Man-At-Arms (The Duke’s Guard #11)

R aised voices echoed from the entryway as O’Malley helped Michaela remove her sling. He recognized that voice. “Bloody hell!”

“Michaela!”

She blinked and then frowned. “What in the world is my father doing here?”

“I told ye that I sent word to him that we planned to marry, but he did not reply, nor did he arrive in time to give you away.”

“Lower your voice, Colborne!”

Relief filled O’Malley. “Coventry’s handling the problem.”

“I demand to see my daughter!”

Michaela sighed. “Why on earth would he want to see me now, when he has spent the better part of a decade ignoring me?”

“You missed the ceremony,” they heard another voice claim. “But are welcome to return to greet the happy couple at teatime tomorrow.”

Michaela’s eyes were filled with merriment. “That sounds like Gavin King.”

“Aye. He’s a good man and friend to His Grace.”

Other low voices rumbled, and O’Malley knew that Michaela’s father was being handled by his cousin, Coventry, King, and Cameron. In the silence that followed, he sighed. “We will need to be ready to present a united front tomorrow at teatime, unless yer father plans to return in the morning.”

Michaela lifted her shoulder and winced. “How long does it take to remember that I was grazed by a lead ball and to not move that arm or shoulder?”

“A bit more time, lass. Now then, shall I undo yer buttons?”

Michaela turned her back to him. “If you would, please.” He quickly handled the task and bent to ask, “I can help lift it over yer head. ’Tis best if ye wait a few days before attempting to do so.”

“I normally don’t require help undressing. My maid is used to my coming and going at all hours and not requiring much more than her bringing my morning tea and breakfast tray.”

“’Tisn’t help I’m offering—’tis part of what a man and his wife share, lass. The uncovering of one another is a gift.”

His words shocked her, as he’d intended. He didn’t want her to start thinking of everything that would happen, bracing herself to expect a repeat of her other experience. O’Malley planned to obliterate that deeply entrenched memory.

“A gift?” she whispered.

“Aye, lass. Me face and manly form have caused more than one lass to swoon. And that was with me clothes on.”

Her gasp was followed by her lilting laughter. He went down on one knee and removed her half boots one at a time. Carefully running his hand from her ankle to her knee, he smiled up at her. “I’m thinking ye should keep yer stockings and garters on, lass.”

She bit her bottom lip, studying him, then said, “Let me help you undress. I think we should unwrap you first.”

“After I help ye off with yer gown.” He carefully lifted it over her head without jarring her injured arm. As she stood before him in her shift, he wondered just how he would navigate her broken ribs.

“At least let me help you with your boots,” she said.

“Nay, that will require ye bending at the waist, lass.” He took care of removing his boots and socks.

Michaela was staring at his feet as if fascinated by the fact that they were bare. To distract her, he said, “I’ll go slowly, lass. I’ll not put any of me considerable weight on ye. Ye’ve enough injuries without me adding to them.”

When she stood before him, he sighed. His wife, his heart, his love was a beauty beyond compare. He slipped out of his frockcoat, and she surprised him by brushing his hands to his sides while she undid the buttons to his waistcoat and helped him remove one sleeve. He took care of the other. When she dropped her hands to her sides, he removed his cambric shirt, delighting in her innocent reaction. “I’m thinking ye’re partial to me broad chest.”

She licked her lips, and he chuckled. At the look in her eyes, and the frown that settled on her face, he knew she was recalling what he needed to wipe from her memory. “Will ye do me a favor, Michaela?”

“I will try.”

“Remember where ye are…Grosvenor Square, about to lie down on a feathered mattress and soft bed linens. And who ye are with…the man who loves ye, values ye, and will for the rest of our lives.” A lone tear slid from the corner of her eye. He captured it with the tip of his forefinger. “Think of the pleasure I’m about to share with ye.” She gasped when he ran his hands from beneath her arms to her hips and back again. “Kiss me.”

He bent his head and pressed his lips to hers, urgently, possessively, heady with the knowledge that she responded with an ardor that matched his own. Mindful of her injuries, but not focusing solely on them—else he’d never be able to seal their vows—he traced the tip of his tongue from beneath her ear, along her collarbone, to the hollow at the base of her throat. “Ye taste of sunshine, lavender, and roses.” His lips followed the same path, nibbling and kissing a path once more to the hollow of her throat. “We need to get rid of yer shift, lass. May I?”

Her moan of pleasure nearly had him on his knees.

“I’ll take that to mean aye .”

His wife was lost in the sensations he aroused with his lips and tongue—’twas time to add his hands. Though they were callused, he’d never had complaints before. Striking that thought from his addled brain, he cupped her face in his hands and took her lips in a kiss, laced with his desperate desire to claim her.

She was wide-eyed and panting when he lifted her chemise up over her uninjured shoulder, then her head, and gently maneuvered it off her injured arm. He let his gaze follow the line of her throat, to the bounty of her breasts, to her stocking-clad legs and back again. “God in heaven, lass, ye’re perfect. I need to caress and kiss your breasts.” He lifted her chin so he could look into her eyes. “May I? I promise to stop whenever you ask me to.”

She stared at him for a few moments before giving a brief nod. He gently lifted her in his arms and laid her on the bed. “Because of our height difference, the only way to properly kiss yer breasts, without putting any weight on ye, is to straddle ye. Yer ribs are still healing, and I don’t want ye to feel caged in.”

“I trust you, Emmett.”

He knelt on the bed, one knee on either side of her, and brushed his palms over her breasts. He felt her nipples pebble at his touch. “I can feel yer body reacting to me touch, lass. How does it feel to ye?” She sighed his name, and he asked again. “Does it pain ye, lass? Should I stop?”

“Don’t stop.”

“I’m going to taste ye before I kiss ye. May I?”

The guttural sound she made hit him like a ton of bricks. The need to plunge into her had him by the throat, but he tightened the rein on his need. “First I’ll use me tongue to test the skin beneath yer breasts. Then I’ll work me way up to yer nipples and suckle ye.”

Her gasp was not one of pleasure, but shock.

“Aye or nay, lass?”

“Aye.”

Brave lass. Her passion simmered just beneath the surface, begging him to set it free. He bent his head and poured himself into the task of sampling and testing the weight of first one breast and then the other. “Brace yerself—I’m going to suckle ye, and if I’m doing it right, ye’ll feel a pulling sensation low in yer belly that will add to the need screaming through ye.”

He licked around her nipples, pleased by the moans and intermittent gasps as she started to relax and give herself over to him. Pulling her breast into his mouth, he suckled her as if he were starving. She writhed beneath him, lost in the sensations his lips coaxed from her body. Brushing the tips of his fingers over her other breast, she bucked and locked gazes with him.

He stopped, and she whimpered, “Don’t stop.”

“Ye feel it building inside ye. Let me give ye more.” He worshipped her other breast and teased the one he lavishly kissed with his fingertips. He knew she had to feel the bulge hardening where he was pressed against her core, but she did not demand he move—she lifted her hips and brushed herself against him.

It was the sweetest torture. “Lass, I don’t know how much more I can take.”

Her eyes met his. “Are you in pain?”

“Aye, lass.”

“How long have you been in pain?”

He answered honestly, “A few weeks now.”

“Weeks, but we… That is, I haven’t…”

“Ye’re a beautiful woman inside and out, Michaela-mine. If ye think ye’re ready, I need to stretch ye. It’ll lessen the pain, and yer body will accept all of me.”

She bit her bottom lip and stared at the bulge pushing against the placket of his trousers. When she licked her lips, he moaned and she whispered, “I’m ready.”

“Ye’re a brave lass, wife of mine. I’ll go as slowly as I’m able.”

*

Her husband stood, swiftly divested himself of his trousers, and climbed back onto the bed. His hands skimmed from her ankles up to her knees. The silk stockings must have added to what he was feeling, because he locked gazes with her, desire darkening his gaze. He smoothed a hand from her knees to her thighs and then to the very heart of her. Gently, pausing when she couldn’t catch her breath from the combination of fear and pleasure, he waited, then asked her permission. Finally, she relaxed and gave herself fully to his ministrations.

O’Malley’s hands were magic. His callused fingertips and palms elicited a response from deep inside of her—no matter where he touched, she could not help but respond. It was the same with his beautifully sculpted lips and talented tongue. The things he did, and made her feel, had her body on fire for more…even though she knew the end result would be the tearing pain of his invasion into her body.

He trailed one finger up the inside of her thigh and beyond, brushing against her core. Instead of revulsion, she felt a heat so intense, she wondered if he felt the burn. And then he was inside of her, testing her inner walls with one, and then two fingers, as he claimed her lips in a devasting kiss that had her panting for more. Lifting her hips, she felt his fingers plunging inside her as he drove her to the edge of reason. Then she flew off into the unknown.

“Emmett!”

“That’s it, lass—trust me and let go.”

Unable to do otherwise, she relaxed, and sensation after sensation bombarded her until she felt as if she were spiraling up to the heavens. His mouth found hers, and he drank in her cries of ecstasy, shifting until he was settled between her legs, poised at the entrance to her warmth.

“Michaela, open yer eyes.”

She struggled, but managed to obey. The need in his eyes called to her, and she knew in that moment that she would do whatever he asked—to alleviate the pain he was in. “Let me ease your pain, Emmett.”

“I’ll try not to hurt ye.” He slid inside of her, pausing when she stiffened. “Ye need to trust me and relax, lass.” His kiss was all it took for her to respond and relax. As soon as she did, he began to move slowly at first, then increased the tempo until he was plunging in and slowly withdrawing. Arms locked, holding his weight off her, he drove her back to the edge. Wanting, no, needing to fly again, she lifted her hips and met him thrust for thrust. As the tension and lure of what she’d experienced moments before drove her higher, he filled her to the hilt and they leapt off the edge together. Spiraling higher, she felt liquid warmth as he emptied his life-giving seed inside of her and they slowly drifted back to earth.

She drifted awake and felt the warmth of her husband’s big body wrapped around her, sheltering her, cocooning her with his love and protection. She drew in a breath and slowly exhaled. Shifting, she was caught off guard, as her ribs reminded her they were far from healed.

O’Malley moved so that she was lying on her back and he was brushing a tangle of hair out of her eyes. “Easy, lass. Ye need to remember yer ribs are healing.”

She met his worried gaze and could not keep the truth from him. “You made it beautiful for me, Emmett. I will never forget the time you took to make it so. I’ve never felt like that before.” Cupping the side of his face in her hand, she smiled. “Thank you.”

He grinned. “’Twas a pleasure, lass, as we both shared in the giving and the taking. Equal partners in the marriage bed.” His smile faded as he reminded her, “I’ll be keeping me word. And as much as it will pain me, I will not press ye to make love until ye ask me to. I will never forget the gift ye’ve given me today, mo ghrá .”

She marveled that the man who had taken her to the stars would be able to put off taking her there again because of his promise to wait until she was ready…until she asked him to.

“Are ye hungry, lass?”

Michaela sighed and trailed the tips of her fingers along the breadth of his shoulders, dipping down to skim them over his pectorals down to his abdomen. “I am.”

As he eased away from her, she slipped her good arm around his neck. “I think I’d like to taste you this time, Emmett. Is that permissible?”

His eyes glazed over as he choked out his reply. “Aye, though it just may be the death of me, lass.”

She bit her bottom lip and stared at his broad chest and small nipples, planning just where she wanted to taste him first. Her gaze dipped low and his shaft twitched in response. Marveling at what the human body could do, she asked, “How did you do that?”

“’Twas the look in yer eyes. I’m thinking maybe we should wait a bit longer before I let ye fully explore me. Ye need to heal first.”

“Are you saying no to me, O’Malley?”

He rolled his eyes and groaned. “Faith, I knew ye were going to be a trial. Aye, that is what I just said… ’Tis nay for now.”

“What about what we just did?”

“’Tis called making love, mo chroí .”

“Do we have to wait until my ribs are healed before we make love again?”

His smile soothed her ire. “Nay, lass. But until yer ribs and yer arm have healed, we won’t be able to try other positions.”

“Positions?” Images of her beautifully muscled husband, naked, poised to make love to her, had her licking her lips. “What other positions are there?”

O’Malley smacked the palm of his hand to the middle of his forehead. “I’ll tell ye while ye feed me. I’m feeling weak from satisfying yer needs, lass.”

Michaela was laughing as she let her husband lift her into his arms and carry her over to the table. “Aren’t we going to put our clothes back on?”

He tilted his head to one side and asked, “Why would we, when we’re going to get right back in bed?”

She tilted her head back and stared into his brilliant green eyes. “Will you make love to me again?”

His deep laugh rumbled, settling around her like a hug. “Aye. Food now. Loving later.”

It was late when Emmett shifted Michaela until she was in a position that would not put weight on her ribs or wounded arm. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and slipped his arm across her belly. As she drifted off to sleep, she wondered if the Lord would grant her a second miracle. Emmett O’Malley was the first miracle in her life, and the possibility of a babe with blond hair and green eyes would be the second.