Wedding night nerves

*Calliope*
My bath had been quick, because I continually expected Zac to saunter in as he had that first night when he witnessed my nightmares. I slip on the nightdress the princess has given me, then ruin its allure by wrapping a blanket around myself and curling up on a corner of the sofa in front of the fireplace.

I know I have nothing to fear from him. But tonight I will know the full measure of his coupling. As much as I desire it, I can’t help but fear I will be fumbling and disappoint him. He expects me to know what he likes, to know how to receive him.

The Gods help me. I am going to make a mess of this.

My virginity had been brutally taken from me. It had hurt and it had been quick.

Zac has shown me passion, he has shown me the wondrous sensations that a woman should find with a man. But when it is time for him to push inside me ...

I don’t know if I will be able to bear it. Nor can I bear to tell him why. If he knows I have been with another man, he might doubt Zane. Even if he doesn’t, surely he will look upon me with disgust. It is better if he thinks he was the only one.

My heart leaps in my chest when I hear the door that joins my bedchamber to his opening. I stare intently at the flames. What if he is naked? What if he is already fully aroused?

Will he expect me to leap on him? To be demure? Even if he doesn’t remember their night together, he must have expectations.

His hands come to rest heavily on my shoulders. Such large hands. So strong.

“You're trembling,” he says quietly.

“A bride’s nerves. I didn’t think I’d have them, considering … but here they are." I dare to glance back at him. He bathed as well. He smells clean and spicy. His hair is curling more than usual, as though he has left it to do as it would. The ends that are still damp are darker. He wears trousers and a deep blue velvet dressing gown.

Lowering his head, he takes my mouth, slowly, luxuriously, as though we have all night. Which I suppose they do. His hand comes up to cradle my face, his thumb stroking my cheek. He is like a fine liqueur, pouring through my veins, warming my limbs. So simple an action, so great a response. I can hardly believe it as I find myself wanting to melt against him. Why does he not move around so we can press our bodies together?

Drawing back, he smiles at me. “You see? Nothing to be nervous about.”

He does move around then, to a corner table where wine waits. His movements are unhurried, relaxed. Confident. He may not remember two years of his life, but he remembers all that had come before, and if legends were in fact based on truth, he had conquered half the boudoirs in Capital. Sarah had certainly known tales of his exploits, which may have been the reason I sought him out as soon as he began regaining his strength. One of the nurses had pursed her lips and called him ‘notorious.’ Then I had refused to go anywhere near him, as though I would catch something from him.

But like me, most of the nurses had been mesmerized by his easy charms.

I watch as he wraps a hand around a bottle of wine, a hand he will soon wrap around me. After pouring the dark red liquid into two stemmed glasses, he ambles back over, offering me one, and sitting on the other end of the sofa. He stretches out his trouser clad legs and lazily extends his arm along the curved back until his fingers could toy with the ends of my hair.

“What was it like between us the first time?" he asks, and I nearly choke on my wine.

I set the glass in my lap and run my finger around the rim. “What does it matter? "

“For me, tonight, it will be like having you for the first time. I’m not sure what you expect.” He admits.

I dare to peer over at him. “I'm not expecting anything. Besides, it’s not always the same, is it?”

“I like variety, so seldom is it ever the same. Still, I feel at a disadvantage." He skims his finger along my cheek. “Was there anything you didn't particularly like?”

“No, not as I recall." I say, shaking my head.

A mocking smile twists his lips. “And here I was arrogant enough to believe every moment spent with me was unforgettable.”

Drat it! Here he is, a man I have dreamed of and fantasized about. My husband. To take me to bed. Perhaps to even get me with child, and I am slashing at his pride.

I scoot toward him until my knees touch his hip and his hand slides around to the back of my head. “The night we were together, I mostly remember the wonderful sensation of you holding me near. Your comfort and your strength. You always send the monsters to perdition. Why don’t we simply pretend that it’s our first time together for both of us? I can lock the memories of our previous encounter away, and not even think about them tonight.”

“Can you?" He asks.

“Yes.” With ease. With relief. Let him think my upcoming clumsiness is my pretense not to remember. Let him not wonder why I have no idea how to touch him to bring him pleasure.

Jeanette has provided me with some information, some suggestions for what I may do, how I may touch him, but I can’t see myself kissing anything beyond his lips. His neck maybe. Perhaps his chest. But what his trousers hide? Touching it with my tongue? Tasting it? No. And he will not require that of me, I am certain.

But has he not done something similar for me before? Had he not used his mouth to bring me to unheralded heights of pleasure? Is Jeanette's suggestion so very different?

“If you love him, there is nothing you will not do for him," she had said with her French accent. But her husband loved her. What does Zac feel for me?

But does it truly matter? What I feel for him is enough.

He downs what remains of his wine and finishes off mine as well. Setting both goblets aside, he turns to me and pulls loose the blanket surrounding me until it falls to my hips. I feel a strange urge to cover myself, even knowing he has seen me the night of nightmares. But I have been in the dark then, protected by shadows. He skims his knuckles over the cloth behind which my nipples pucker and strain. His eyes darken as he leans forward and takes one in his mouth. The cloth serves as no shield against the heat as his tongue swirls and damps it. His lips close securely around it, tugged. I moan as the molten heat flows lower, to settle between my thighs.

“Did I touch you like this before?" he asks.

This time I groan. “Please don’t talk of the past. Please." I cup his strong jaw, hold his gaze as though my life depends on it. “I don't care that you don’t remember it. I see no need for you to remember. We shall make love so many times in the coming years that surely we will not remember them all."

A wicked glint enters the warm hazel. “How many times, do you think?”

“A hundred. A thousand. I don’t know. More than we can possibly count." I say.

He grins. “I like the possibility of that. You’re right. No more harping on the past. And no more wearing of a nightdress."

“Or a dressing gown,” I say, laughing as he pulls me to my feet.

His velvet hit the floor only a few seconds before my silk. He draws me near, kissing me deeply, while his hands roam over my body.

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” he asks.

I have never considered myself as such. I have never thought myself hideous, but beautiful is reserved for women like Sarah or Jeanette. Women men notice immediately.

“Especially your legs,” he says, lifting me into his arms. “I want them wrapped tightly around my waist.”

“Right now?" I ask

He laughs. “No. When I'm buried deeply inside you."

I press my blushing face into the curve of his neck so he won’t see how his frank remarks bring my blood to the surface. I have to appear as though I am accustomed to him speaking so bluntly about lovemaking, when in truth it shocks but titillates me.

He lays me on the bed as one may a gift that is being presented. Then slowly, tauntingly, standing there, his gaze daring me, he begins to unfasten his trousers. I have never seen him fully, completely aroused, but what I have seen is enough to let me know that he is larger than many men she has tended to. My mouth goes dry with the thought and it takes every ounce of strength I possess not to lower my lashes.

“No need for worries," he says. “Morton told me that after having a baby, you are likely to be as tight as a virgin. He had some experience in that regard.”

His words bring me a measure of relief. As far as I am concerned, even though I no longer am in possession of my maidenhead, I am a virgin.

“But you’ll be ready for me by the time we get to that part.” He promises.

He lowers his trousers… and doubts assails me. He is not like most men. I am not certain how I will ever be ready. But he thinks I have once been, so by God, I can’t let my insecurities show.

The bed dips as he stretches out beside me. He skims his hand from my shoulder to just below my knee, as far as he can reach, as though branding all that belongs to him.

“How the devil did I ever forget this..." He mumbles.

I slap my hand over his mouth, cutting off the ravaged words. “No more talk of the past.”