Mary Balogh - Sullivan 02 by Dancing & Clara

Author:Dancing & Clara [Dancing & Clara]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2012-02-05T12:01:16+00:00

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

But she stayed awake waiting for him, hoping that he would come, doubting that he would. She wanted him with a terrible ache. She wanted him next to her. She wanted to feel his weight, the warm of his mouth, the deep and intimate joining of his body to hers.

After a few long and lonely hours she fell asleep.

Frederickpaced his room for more than an hour before lying down and remaining awake for another one or two.

She was his wife. He had a right to go to her, to take her. It was not as if she had ever shown reluctance about receiving him. Quite the contrary. Even on their wedding night she had been eager. Her enjoyment of their couplings had only grown after that. She had never failed to come to climax, even during those middle-of-the-night encounters when she had sometimes lain sleepy and only gradually awaking as he had mounted her.

It was easy to bring pleasure to Clara because she anticipated pleasure and never showed anything but delight no matter where he chose to put his hands or his mouth. She was totally without the ladylike shrinking from sexual titillation that he would have expected of her or of any other lady he had chosen to marry.

There was nothing to stop him from going to her. He wanted her, surprisingly enough. Even looking back on the experienced girls he had had in the past two months did not dim the fact that tonight he wanted his wife.

And yet the very thought of all those girls and women he had enjoyed with such vigorous enthusiasm gave him pause. He was not diseased. He chose his women with far too great a care to risk that. But even so, he had only a sullied body to take to his wife. He would be putting inside her what had been in another woman just two nights before. And another the night before that. And so on back over two months.

Clara deserved better.

Besides, she despised him. She knew him for the fortune hunter that he was and the deceiver that he was. She must hate him even while she treated him with quiet courtesy—so quiet and so courteous and so impersonal since his return just that afternoon. And even while she obeyed his every command without question.

She must hate him. How could she not? He hated himself badly enough, heaven knew.

He fought desire, something he was not accustomed to doing and did not do easily at all. He fought it and won. At the expense of several hours of sleep.

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