Normally, William woke before Nora and was dressed for the day before she opened her eyes. In the first three mornings she’d woken as Mrs. William Frazier, when they’d spent the nights in wild exertions, he was still in bed with her, at least dozing, when she woke, and they’d started the day as they’d finished the one before it.
She enjoyed that very much. In the past few days, Nora had learned, she thought, almost everything there was to know about her husband’s body. And her own.
Almost everything. She meant to keeping learning. Exploring.
But when morning light made its way to her senses on their first and last morning in Southampton, she was alone in bed again. Not only that, but the room seemed to have a buzz about it, as if William had been busy while she’d slept.
She sat up and tucked the covers over her bare chest. He was fully dressed, missing only a suit coat, which hung over the back of the desk chair. He’d packed his small bag fully and sat at the desk, writing.
“What time is it?”
He turned in the chair and smiled at her. “Good morning, darling.” Pulling his watch from his pocket, he checked the time. “It’s seven twenty. I meant to let you sleep another ten minutes. I’ve had word that they want to meet us in the hotel lobby at eight-thirty.” The pretty, odd blue stone on his fob dangled as he put his watch away.
Nora groaned and dropped back to the pillows. “I think I made a mistake. Why did I tell them I wanted to see them?” She curled on her side and hugged William’s pillow.
He stood and came to the bed, sitting on the side, and set his hand on her hip. “Because we’re sailing across the ocean today, and you don’t know whether you’ll ever want to come back. They’re family, and you don’t want to just disappear. You want an ending.” Bending close, he kissed her cheek. “But I’ll send word that you changed you mind, if that’s what you want.”
It had been her idea to contact Christopher. In London the night before last, in their bed at the Dohring Hotel, after a warm and companionable dinner with Aunt Martha that had served as a celebration of their wedding and a bon voyage, she’d told him that she wanted to see her brother and father before they left.
William had been surprised, but she’d told him the reasons he’d just repeated to her: she wanted to say goodbye to them, to see them one last time—and for them to see her, to know she was well and happy, that making her own choices had made her strong, while they’d tried to keep her weak.
She hadn’t told William all of that; some of it felt too petty to speak aloud. But she’d told him that she wanted an ending, in the event that she never warmed to them again.
When she’d tried to write the message herself, the words would only come steeped in bitterness. So she’d asked William to write Christopher and tell him she was willing to see them—but only in Southampton, only on the morning of the tenth of April, on the day they were to depart. William had booked them passage on a brilliant new ocean liner. She was going to young, wide-open America. Away from this strangling old place.
“No,” she sighed and scooted over so she could lay her head on his lap. “I’ll see them. I want to. But also, I don’t.”
“I understand.” He stroked his fingers through her hair, playing with the loose curls. He seemed to like her short hair—perhaps not to prefer it, but not to detest it, either. For her part, Nora had come to terms with it. The curls—which were more than they’d been before—were pretty, and she enjoyed not having it put up with a pound of metal pins that left her head sore and itchy every night. Still, the second glances and strange looks she got when she moved through any public space unsettled her. Women simply didn’t have short hair.
A knock on the door and a bellman’s call of “Room service!” disturbed their quiet moment.
“That’s breakfast. And I had your dress steamed, so it’s ready when you are.” With a kiss to her cheek, he lifted her head from his lap and stood.
She sat up. “Thank you. You take good care of me.”
“I’m happy that I can do it.”
William went to the lobby with her. As the elevator operator drew open the doors, William took a step, but Nora held back, not sure she could face them after all.
“We’ll go right back upstairs if you want. I’ll come back down and tell them to go.”
“No.” She drew in a deep breath and stepped out of the elevator.
“Do you want me to stay with you, or step away?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then I’ll stay, until you say otherwise.”
“Thank you.” They came upon the wide space of the hotel lobby, and Nora scanned the clusters of elegant chairs. She’d chosen this place because it was so public, and she felt safer being around her father where he might not so easily lock her up. But now, the lobby felt too public a theatre for the pain she was bound to feel.
She saw them when Christopher saw her and stood, and she felt the first sharp pang of loss. Oh, how she loved him. All her life, he’d been a hero to her. Ten years older, nearly grown when their family had been broken apart, he’d been almost mythic in her mind. Like Beowulf or St. George. But he hadn’t rescued her from the dragons. She remembered the night that he’d beaten on her bedroom door, that he’d shouted at their father to let her out, to let him in. She’d thought he’d rescue her then, but he’d turned away. He’d gone back to London and left her.
And before that, more than that, he’d sent William away.
Every part of her seized up at once, and she stopped in her tracks. William stopped with her. He turned, putting himself between her and her family, and lifted her chin. “There’s no time that it’s too late to go back. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. There’s nothing you owe them, or anyone.”
“I owe it to myself. I can do this.”
“I know you can.” He bent and kissed her lightly, then took her arm again, and they walked the rest of the distance to her family.
“Nono! Oh God!” Christopher surged forward, his arms out.
Nora shook her head and leaned away from the threat of his embrace. She offered, instead, her hand. “Hello, Christopher.”
He blinked dumbly at her extended hand, then finally took it, lifting it to his lips for a formal kiss. When he spoke, his voice took on a more formal tone as well. “Nora. I’ve missed you. You look well. Very much better than the last time I saw you.”
“I am well, thank you.”
Her father had stood as she and William approached; now, Nora turned her attention to him. He’d become an old man since last she’d seen him, six months earlier. “Father.” She didn’t offer him her hand.
“Hello, monkey.”
“No. My name is Nora, and you will both call me by my name, please. I am not a child.” In making that simple statement, that strong declaration, Nora found her strength for this meeting. She squeezed her arm around William’s and smiled up at him. “I’m all right. I’ll be all right.”
Understanding, he smiled and kissed her cheek. “I’ll make sure our bags are off to the docks. Chris, Lord Tarrin …” He offered his hand.
Christopher took it first and shook it warmly, with both hands. “Thank you, old bean. Please keep in touch. And keep her safe. Make her happy.”
“I will. I’m glad to call you friend.” He turned to Nora’s father. “Lord Tarrin.”
William offered his hand again, and Nora’s father hesitated. She squared her shoulders—if he didn’t extend that simple courtesy to her husband, then she would turn her back on him at once and forever. But he did, at last, reach out and clasp William’s hand.
“Some would say that you’ve saved both my children, Mr. Frazier. I suppose I owe you another debt. Take care of my only daughter. Do a better job than I did, please.”
“We take care of each other, my lord. But I do my part happily and with all my heart.”
“Very well. Good travels to you.”
With that, William took his leave. “I won’t be far,” he promised before he walked away.
Nora watched him go, marveling yet again at the miracle that he was truly hers, then turned to the men before her. “Shall we sit?” She did so, and they followed suit.
Christopher leaned forward. “Thank you for seeing us.”
Her father nodded.
“Yes. Well, since I’m leaving the country and don’t know when, or if, I shall return, I want to say goodbye formally. And I want you to know that I am happy and well.”
“Not goodbye, certainly. Not forever.”
“I’m not sure, Christopher. I need more time to understand if the way I feel now is the way I’ll always feel.”
“And how is that, Nora?” her father asked quietly. “How do you feel now?”
“Angry. Betrayed. Abused. And deeply, achingly sad.” Again, saying the words made the emotion rise up and roar inside her, and she found herself struggling to keep her vision clear and her words smooth. “Father, are you sorry?” If he were sorry, she thought she could find a way to forgive him. In time.
“I’m sorry I didn’t prepare you for the life you were meant to lead. I’m sorry I let you fill your head with wild fancies so that you couldn’t see the world you belong in. I’m desperately sorry for that. I love you, Nora. Always. I only want the best for you.”
That wasn’t nearly good enough. He was sorry for the woman she had become; how could she forgive such a thing, when she’d fought so hard to make a place to stand and be herself?
“Well.” She stood, and, ever the gentlemen, they stood as well. “Thank you for coming all this way. I wish you both well.” With that and a brisk nod, she turned away, willing her shaking knees not to fail her. Where was William?
“Nora!” Christopher ran up to her side. “Wait. Wait, please.” He pulled on her arm, and she stopped. Stepping before her, he looked down into her face. Their eyes were the same, a blue more like their mother’s than their father’s. Christopher remembered their mother’s eyes. Nora didn’t.
But his were sad now, and set in a face creased with torment. “I am sorry. Terribly, miserably sorry. You are a marvel, Nora. My sweet, strong, brilliant sister. I’ve always loved you for who you are. I thought you would find a way to be yourself here among us, once your future was set. But I see I was wrong. I thought I could protect you, but I didn’t see where the danger was. I was wrong in that, too. I’m so sorry, Nora. You’re braver than I. You’ve always fought for what you need. I only hide from it.” He picked up her hands and clasped them tightly. “Please forgive me, Nora.”
“I do.” She forgave him. Trust was another matter, one for the future. “I love you, Christopher.”
“And I love you. Please don’t let this be goodbye.”
“I’ll write.” William considered her brother a dear friend. Perhaps they would extend an invitation to him someday. She couldn’t bring herself to suggest it now.
His smile was sad but sincere. “Might I hold you for a moment, as a farewell?”
At her nod, he swept in and held her snugly. Over his shoulder, she saw William, standing at the edge of the lobby, his hands clasped behind his back, watching like a sentry.
The motorcar wended its slow way along the docks, through a tightening throng of people and vehicles, and massive stacks of bags and boxes. Nora tried and tried to see where they were headed, but the hat she’d found and declared just perfect! for their departure—a rich blue with red and white flowers and a white chiffon ribbon—blocked most of her view. William chuckled annoyingly each time she dipped and dived, trying to see.
By the time the view of the ship should have been unobstructed, they were too close, and all she could was a vast expanse of black before them. The car stopped, and the driver came round and opened the door. William stepped out and reached back to offer his hand. Nora took it and eased from the car. She stood on the dock and looked up, tipping her head so far back she had to set her hand on her hat to keep it in place.
“It’s enormous!”
“The largest ship afloat.” William hooked his arm around her shoulders and looked up with her. “I thought it was fitting. Her maiden voyage, and yours as well. Across the ocean, and into a life of your choosing.”
“Oh, how I love you!” She turned and flung her arms around him, pulling his head down under her hat so she could kiss him well and truly.
He lifted her off the dock and kissed her back, voraciously, as if he meant to have her right there, before God and half the world. Nora thought just then that she might let him.
But the driver cleared his throat loudly. “Excuse me, sir. I’ll be needing to move the car and clear the way.”
William set her down with a frustrated chuckle. “Yes, yes. Thank you. Come, darling. Our bags should already be in our stateroom.” He took her arm and led her to the first-class gangway. At the base, Nora stopped again and looked up. She’d been to Dover many times, and seen many ships. But she’d never in her life seen anything like the one before her.
“There are more marvels and delights inside, love.” He tugged gently on her arm.
Nora smiled and stepped onto the gangway. The first step on her journey to a life of her own choosing. What she left behind only mattered as much as she wanted it to. Everything important was before her. Before them.
His smile beaming the same happiness she felt, William drew her close, and they boarded the RMS Titanic.
Nora had been born to a life of splendour. She’d been presented at court to the King of England. She’d dined with foreign dignitaries. She was the daughter of the Earl of Tarrin, and even in her stunted experience of the London Season, she’d been privy to the greatest luxury Society could muster.
And yet she was spellbound by the Titanic. Their stateroom was as luxuriously appointed, and as large, as any fine hotel suite, and far grander than her own bedroom at Tarrindale. The Grand Staircase, and especially the fantastical dome of glass above it, was as beautiful and elegant, as substantial, as anything she’d seen on land.
And the very best part of oh-so-much beauty and grace? It was new. Brand new. Every surface gleamed—not from years of polish, but from the lack of it. Never in her life had she seen or smelled, even tasted, such a pristine world. She could still smell the sawdust. The scent of new paint was so thick it seemed to settle on her tongue with a sweet tang. There was not a chip or a scratch or a tatter anywhere she looked.
They left the port at noon. William took her to a high deck—she couldn’t keep the names and letters of the different decks straight yet—and they stood at the rail with a throng of passengers so she could watch them pull away. There was no one, she thought, on the dock seeing them off—unless Christopher and Father had stayed to do so—but she waved anyway, caught up in the excitement. She was short, and the rail was high, so she stepped up on a crossbeam to see. William stood behind her, holding the rail with both hands, framing her with his body. She felt happy and safe and warm as she watched the dock shrink away. With it, all the pains and disappointments of her life on that soil seemed to shrink as well.
Her past disappeared, left behind, far away, where it couldn’t hurt her. Nora watched as long as she could.
After that, William told her they’d be stopping in Cherbourg, France in a few hours to collect more passengers and cargo. She’d seen enough of the English Channel to last her whole life, so she didn’t care until they were on the open sea. Instead, she dragged William below and explored everything she could, made him tell her about everything he knew—which was, from her novice perspective, a fairly substantial body of knowledge. He was a railroad man, but there seemed to be some shared elements to the vastly different modes of transportation.
Everything was beautiful. Even the working parts of the ship, those few places she could see, were like works of art. Even the uniforms, and the people in them.
“It’s all so beautiful!” she declared at the base of the Grand Staircase, looking up at the gleaming glass and brass of the dome high above her head. “And it smells so good!”
A few elegant passengers nearby—all the passengers were elegant in this part of the ship, and a few were wealthy enough to be famous for it—chuckled indulgently at her exclamation, but Nora wasn’t abashed. She was happy, and excited, and she didn’t care if her enthusiasm was unseemly. William held her and laughed with joy, and that was all she cared about. She felt free.
“Thank you, Miss. …” An attractive gentleman, older than William but younger than her father, came close with a smile.
William stepped in. “Mr. Thomas Andrews, may I introduce you to my wife, Lady Nora Frazier.”
“My lady! Please forgive me.” Mr. Andrews took her hand with a courtly nod.
She smiled politely. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Andrews.”
“Thomas designed the Titanic, Nora. This is his ship.” William extended his hand, and the two men shook warmly.
“It’s good to see you, William. I had no idea you’d married.”
“It’s new. We’re just back from Gretna Green.”
That earned a hearty chuckle. “And the best way to do it, if you ask me. Well done.” Mr. Andrews turned to Nora again. “My best wishes to you, my lady.”
“Thank you, Mr. Andrews. And congratulations on your ship. It truly is magnificent.” He’d made this wonder! She felt like a swoony girl meeting her first dashing gentleman, but she managed, she thought, a politely reserved tone.
“Thank you sincerely, Lady Nora.” He turned back to William and clapped a hand on his arm. “How’s your father? And your beautiful mother?”
“They’re very well. And you’re doing well. This ship—Nora’s right. She’s a marvel, Thomas. I’m astonished.”
“Thank you. There are years of work represented here. I’m proud of what we accomplished. Will you dine with me tonight, at the Captain’s table?”
William turned to Nora. “What do you think, darling?”
She’d wanted the voyage to be intimate, and only about William and her. It was their honeymoon, after all, as well as her journey to a new life. But she found herself charmed by the man who’d designed this wonderful thing, and by the honour of dining at the Captain’s table. There was, perhaps, a little sliver of a Society lady in her after all. “Thank you for the invitation, Mr. Andrews. We’d be delighted to accept.”
Dressing for dinner as Lady Nora Frazier was a far more satisfying and pleasant experience than dressing as Lady Nora Tate ever had been. She required the services of a lady’s maid, provided by the Titanic staff—or were they all called the ‘crew,’ even if they didn’t help sail the ship?—but she didn’t mind.
For dinner on this first night, at the captain’s table, Nora wore a silk gown in a deep, sapphire blue, with a black chiffon overlay accented with crystals. The neckline plunged low, front and back, showing wide spans of skin, and the sleeves were only fluttering caps of sparkling black chiffon, leaving her upper arms bare to the tops of her long gloves.
As an unmarried lady, she might have caused talk to appear at dinner in such a dramatic gown, but as William’s wife, she could wear nearly anything she wanted, as long as certain parts were covered.
This was what her aunt had meant, Nora knew. The shield of marriage protected a woman from many kinds of judgment. She’d never disbelieved her aunt’s wisdom; she’d only been unwilling to marry for nothing but protection.
After she was dressed and made up, her cheeks and lips rouged and a touch of kohl at her eyes, the maid took her leave. Nora sat at the table in her little dressing room of their suite and fussed with her hair. When it curled just right, it was almost pretty.
William opened the door on a quick knock. He stood in the doorway, leaning rakishly against the frame. Oh, good heavens. He was so handsome, dressed for dinner in his white tie and tails, she could hardly believe he was real. And hers.
“You are stunning,” he said in a quiet, serious tone. Reverent. He sounded reverent.
“So are you.” She began to stand.
“Don’t get up. I have a gift.”
“Another? Do you mean to give me a gift every day of the voyage?”
He handed her a small box. “Every day of the voyage of our marriage, yes.”
Inside the box was a pair of earrings—long drops made of sapphires and diamonds. “Oh, William, they’re beautiful. And they’re perfect for my gown!”
“I know.” He kissed the top of her head. “I pay attention, you know.”
“Yes, you do.” She put the earrings on and shook her head, delighting in their weight and the way they brushed her neck. “They’re perfect.”
“So are you. Shall we go to dinner?”
“Thomas helped my father design the Scot-Western Cruise Line,” William explained, remembering after quite some time that Nora wasn’t knowledgeable about railroads or ships. The guests at the Captain’s table on this night were mostly dignitaries of the White Star Line or deeply involved in the creation of the Titanic itself—or guests and wives of those men—and the conversation had been far from the usual prattle of an elegant dinner. Nora had been simultaneously lost and fascinated by the technical talk.
She knew what the Cruise Line was—William’s father’s pet project, an elite transcontinental train designed to bring all the luxury of an ocean cruise to railroad travel. Now she understood exactly what that meant. “Oh! Well, that’s wonderful.”
“I enjoyed working with your father very much. Henry Frazier is one of the greats.”
As Mr. Andrews continued, extolling the virtues of William’s father, Nora felt a light pat on her arm. An elegant woman, old enough to be her mother, was seated beside her. Nora hadn’t quite remembered her name. The wife of one of the White Star men, she thought.
Masking her irritation at being distracted from interesting conversation, Nora turned a proper smile on the woman. “Yes?”
“Your hair, dear. It’s quite … unusual. Is the style from Paris?”
All she had to do was smile and say yes. Simply tell a small fib and start a harmless conversation about Paris trendsetting. But Nora had been in Society enough to understand the code underneath people’s words in this world, and she heard the insult the woman intended.
So instead of preserving the social niceties, she grinned darkly and patted her curls. More loudly than the question had been asked, she said, “No, not Paris. But it’s all the rage in Bedlam. Do you like it?”
The table went quiet, and Nora regretted her mouth at once. She cast an anxious sidelong glance to William. If he reacted by apologising for her, her heart would crack apart.
All he did was set his hand on her thigh. Just comfort, support.
“Lady Nora,” a British woman across the table mused. “Are you Lady Nora Tate?”
Nora kept her back straight and her eyes and voice steady. “I am Lady Nora Frazier. But yes, that was my maiden name. My father is the Earl of Tarrin.”
The Americans at the table, save William, seemed confused. But every British face paled.
“For those of you wondering why so many at the table seem scandalised, it’s this: I was arrested last year in a protest for women’s suffrage. I spent time in Holloway Prison, and then more time at Bethlehem Hospital—what you all, I’m sure, know as Bedlam. I am a suffragette.”
For the first time, she believed that claim. Saying the words aloud, avowing them, made them true.
Mr. Thomas Andrews, designer of the RMS Titanic, raised his glass. “I know your story, Lady Nora. And I am all the more honoured to have made your acquaintance.”
She smiled and gave him a grateful nod. Only William raised his glass with him, but it was enough.
“You take my breath away.” William’s arms tightened around Nora’s nude body as he lifted her and put her on their bed. “My God, what a wonder you are.”
He lay beside her, and she rolled to her side at once to face him, pressing her chest to his. Oh, the feel of his chest against her breasts, the soft kiss of hair brushing over her nipples, the hardness of him, the breadth—she hooked her leg over his hip and melded herself to him everywhere she could, took his heat in, felt his strength.
His hand grasped the back of her head, and he covered her mouth with his, plunging his tongue to find hers. His beard scrubbed over her lips, her cheeks. She dug her fingernails into his back and swallowed his grunt.
His hand caught her nipple and plucked, and Nora threw her head back with a cry as his touch strummed all through her, deep inside.
“God damn. I need to feel you,” he groaned.
When he rolled, taking her to her back, and settled between her thighs, she pushed her hands between them and held him off. “William, wait!”
He grinned slyly. “You want to try something new?”
In the days they’d been married, he’d shown her many different things she’d never known about. He’d taken her from behind, while she was on her hands and knees before him, and while they lay on their sides with her back to his chest. He’d brought her to orgasm with his mouth and his hands. They’d had sex in the bath. And standing up, with her legs around his waist, her back against a wall. And, of course, in the usual way, with him above her, his eyes locked with hers, his body sheltering hers. It was her favourite way, because she sank into his beautiful eyes and felt she was inside him as much as he was inside her.
He’d given her so many kinds of pleasure in such a short space of time, but she wanted to do the same for him. She knew he felt pleasure, obviously he had. Another of her favourite things was his tender, sensual care of her as he cleaned the evidence of his pleasure from her skin. But she wanted to give him pleasure, to turn the focus on him. She wanted to touch him and watch what her touch did. She wanted more than that.
“Yes,” she answered, smiling. “Is it … do men …” She was shy to ask, now that the question loomed ahead. She huffed her hesitation away and started again. “I would like to touch you. And … taste you. Do you like that?”
He frowned, and she regretted her question. Clearly, he didn’t like it. “Nora, what do you mean?”
“Never mind.” Caught beneath him and unable to make distance for her burgeoning shame, she turned her head.
He slid his hand over her cheek and pushed her head back to face him. “Darling, tell me. What would you like?”
“I was … what you do to me. With your mouth? Can I do something like that to you? I mean, I know it would be different, but is it something that’s done?”
His frown shifted to a mask of utter shock. “Jesus.”
She’d crossed a line. Was she a deviant? “I’m sorry.”
“Nora, don’t apologise for saying what you want. I’m just … I didn’t expect you to ask.” He smiled, and she was somewhat eased. “My love, yes. Dear God, yes, it’s something that’s done, and it’s something I like. Very much. Would you like to do that?”
Breaths came freely again, and she sighed. “Yes. I want to give you pleasure like that. It makes me … wiggly to think about it.”
He laughed and rolled to his back. “I like you wiggly. Use me as you like, Mrs. Frazier.”
The frantic rush of blood that had been embarrassment became power instead. Nora sat up at his hip and crossed her legs. He lay before her, stretched out, spread like a banquet, and she didn’t know where to start. His beautiful chest? The appealing contours of his belly? His carved arms? His strong legs? Or the proud erection standing tall at the centre of him? She’d touched it all, but never like this, just her touching him, just her in control.
She started with his hand, because that was where he was touching her, his hand on her knee. Lifting it, she massaged his palm, his fingers, then set it on the mattress and worked her way up from his wrist, caressing, feeling the tickle of his hair on her fingertips, her palms.
“Fuck,” he muttered, and she flashed her eyes to his in surprise at the splintered edges of that coarse word. It was alluring, in some strange way, to hear talk like that, gruff and vulgar, at a moment like this. He rarely used coarse language around her, and she didn’t think she’d ever heard him use that word before.
At his shoulder, she fanned out her hands and ran them over his chest, moaning at the feel of him. His belly quivered under her touch, and she lingered there, letting her fingertips dip into the thicker, coarser hair around his erection.
Thinking of that venal thrill she’d felt to hear him curse, she tried something like it herself. “You have a beautiful cock,” she whispered. The few times she’d used that word before, she’d shocked her audience—including William.
He grunted, and his hips rocked, as if the word had been a touch. She swept her hands over his hips, down his legs—hard as stone, chiseled like marble. Back up to his hips, to his centre.
She stopped, resting her hands in her lap.
“Nora?”
“I don’t know what to do.” She’d taken hold of him before, but nothing more. When he pulled out of her, if he didn’t come right then, he circled himself with his hand and pumped it up and down a few times. Should she do that?
“As long as you’re gentle, any way you touch me will be good.”
She began to reach for him but hesitated again.
“Do you want me to show you?”
“Please.” She felt silly and stupid. Ignorant.
“Give me your hand, darling.
She did as he’d asked, and he cupped his around hers and circled them both around his shaft. Holding her lightly, so that her hand held his shaft closely but not too tightly, he eased up, over the soft tip of him, and down, into the hair at his base. Again, and again, and again, until she had a steady rhythm, and his hips rocked and flexed. His hand dropped away from hers, and she kept the tempo going alone.
“Yes,” he groaned. “Like that. God.”
After a minute or two, or more, his breathing chugged through the room, carried on groaning exhales, and his hands clenched into the covers. Sensing that he sought something he couldn’t quite reach, Nora tightened her grip and tried to speed up, but her hand didn’t slide as she expected and instead sort of caught and skidded roughly over his shaft.
“Ah! Ow!” he gasped as his body tensed and his shoulders came up. “Easy, darling.”
Oh, she’d hurt him. “I’m sorry!”
“No, no, I’m all right. Just surprised me. The friction can be a bit much when it’s dry like this.”
She knew a way she could make him wet. If she could do it. She took him in her hand again and folded forward until she could kiss his tip. He was hot, and tasted a bit salty. She licked away a tiny tear of liquid hovering on the hole in the centre, and William sucked in a noisy, erotic breath.
“That’s good?”
“Yes, love. God, yes.”
Pleasure and need swirled around his words and made her bold. She sucked his tip in, past its ridge, and his hips went taut and lifted off the bed.
Elation surged through her, and she wrapped both hands around him and sucked deeper. Unsure, but following an instinct that had awakened in her, she began to move up and down on him, simulating the rhythm of his thrusts, and how he’d shown her to use her hands.
“Like that, yes. Just like that!”
Each gasp and groan from William emboldened her, and Nora shifted a little so she could cast her eyes up and see his face while she sucked him and licked him. He was watching her, his eyes hooded under his furrowed brow. She flicked her tongue over the ridge of his tip, and his back arched high. What a sight—her man lost in the throes of pleasure she made for him.
Sailing on that wave of power, she sucked him as deep as she could, until she thought she’d gag if she went further. His hands slammed onto her head, both at once, with such force she flinched.
“AH!” he shouted and pushed her away.
She’d bit him. She could even see the mark of it on him.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Never had she been so ashamed in her life. All that he’d shown her, and she’d repaid him by hurting him. “Oh, my God, I’m so sorry!” She let go and clenched her arms around her waist. “I hurt you! Again!”
Panting, still obviously reeling from her assault, William turned to his side, propped on his elbow. “Nora. Stop. I’m fine. Up to that very last second, which was my fault, I liked that very much. Very much.” He pulled her arms loose. “So much that I’m in a state here. Don’t close up on me. Can we try something else?”
“I don’t want to hurt you again.”
“I don’t want to be hurt. But I like you in charge.” He lay back again, and tugged on her hand. “Nora, come. Straddle me.”
“What?”
“Sit on me. Ride me.”
“Like a horse?”
The question made him laugh. “Exactly. But the way you like to ride. Astride.”
She shifted to her knees and came to him. He helped her into position so that she knelt above him. His hand skimmed over her hip, around her thigh, and pushed between her legs, brushing through her folds. She shivered at the sparks around that light, sweet touch.
“Ah, there’s the wet I need. Hold me steady, and sit down on me, Nora.”
Not feeling at all in control, Nora did as he asked. The slide of him into her forced a long, sighing moan from her throat, and her head fell back. At the same time, William groaned so deeply she felt the rumble of it against her thighs.
When she settled her weight on his thighs, he was so deep inside her she felt impaled. He’d reached a new place, a place so new and sensitive that each touch, each shift stunned her. She opened her eyes and looked down at him. He stared up at her, blazing need from his beautiful hazel eyes, eyes that were like she imagined California to be—wild and unfathomable, full of sun and life and sea.
Now she understood the power she had in this position, the control. Setting her hands on his magnificent chest, she rocked her hips, gasping at the shock of deep bliss, and making William’s eyes flame bright, and his brow furrow with desperate concentration.
Each time she rocked her hips, she thought she’d die from the intensity of it, and William groaned like she was killing him. This was different to anything they’d ever done. This was … it was earthy. It seemed almost dirty, and gloriously so. Maybe she was a deviant after all, because this pleasure so deep it ached, it hurt, was the best thing she’d ever felt.
She rocked harder, seeking an even deeper blast of ache, and she found it and cried out. William shouted and sat up, grabbing hold of her bottom with both hands, crashing his head to her chest and finding a nipple, sucking it hard, strafing it against his teeth. Wrapping her arms around his head, she rode into the ache, the pain that was pleasure. She rode him as hard as she could until she bounced on his thighs and cried out each time she landed on him, until ecstasy cut through her like blades and she screamed.
As soon as she did, William roared and flipped them over, pulling out of her so quickly she screamed again, and he came at once, over her breasts and belly, gripping her thighs with such force she could feel each ridge of his finger joints impressing in her skin.
When he was done, he collapsed onto the bed, his face buried in the pillow beside her head. It seemed far too long before he turned his head to take a breath.
“What did we just do?” Nora asked, knowing it was different.
He chuckled and rolled to his side. “That, my darling, was fucking. We just, as they say, fucked each other silly.”
“Oh. I like that.”
“So do I. So do I.”
As usual, as soon as he could, he got up and went to the bathroom, coming back with a warm, wet cloth. Nora watched him as he cleaned her, wiping gently, letting the cloth excite her sensitive flesh. Sometimes, this ritual of washing leg to another round, and another need to be cleaned, but tonight, they were spent. When he rinsed out the cloth and came back to bed, Nora cuddled close, nestling her head on his chest.
“Am I a deviant?” she asked as they’d begun to quiet for sleep.
“Hmm?” His voice was drowsy. He asked again, more clearly. “What?”
“Liking the things I do. In sex. Is it normal?”
He lifted her head and stared into her eyes. “First, why do you care?”
“I don’t know. I don’t seem to like what other people like, or do what they do. It’s like tonight—I shouldn’t have said what I said at dinner. I knew I shouldn’t say it, but I said it anyway. It wouldn’t occur to most people to say such a thing.”
“Nora, it occurs to everybody to say such things. Most people just restrain themselves.”
“Then I am deviant. I’m not normal. Because I don’t restrain myself.”
“If normal is women like Mrs. Barker, then no, darling, you’re not normal. And thank God for it. Speak your mind. Think what you endured to gain the right to do so. Be true to yourself. Nothing that you like in bed has been anything but wonderful to me, and I can’t imagine anything you’ll like that I won’t like, too.”
“Is there more?”
“There’s a wide world of more, but there are things I won’t show you, because I don’t like them myself. But trust me when I say, in the scheme of sexual interests, you are nowhere near deviant.”
She lifted onto her elbow and met his eyes. “Like what?”
His smile had just enough condescension to cement her interest. “No, love. You don’t need to know.”
“Don’t decide for me what I need to know.”
“You’re deciding for me what I need to say.”
Without a rebuttal, but wanting an answer anyway, she simply stared him down.
He sighed grumpily. “Okay. Here’s one. Some people like to be whipped and beaten for sexual pleasure.”
Shock dropped Nora’s jaw. “What? You must be joking. That’s terrible.”
He shrugged. “It’s not my party, and I’m glad it’s not yours. But some need pain to feel pleasure. I don’t judge.”
It was hard not to judge something so extreme, but Nora tried. She remembered the pain inside the pleasure she’d felt tonight. But that had been an ache, like a deep, sore itch. Not like the crack of a whip. Not like the pain she’d caused him. “How do you even know that?”
Again, he shrugged. “I live in San Francisco, and I’ve spent a lot of time with roughnecks. Also, I was a single man for a long time. I’ve seen the inside of a whorehouse or two.”
“Just stopped in for a spot of tea, I expect?”
He gave her a very broad caricature of an innocent face. “Of course. On my way to church.”
She laughed and kissed him. His sexual experience didn’t faze her. He had knowledge to give her. “I love you. No more whorehouses, of course.”
He grinned slyly. “No need. I’ve got a sex fiend for a wife.”
She hit him in the face with her pillow, and it was rather a long time before they settled in again for sleep.