“You’re built for bearing children. I won’t hurt you.” He was taking a vow, whether she comprehended it or not.

“I’m built for bringing forth children in pain,” she reminded him. “Angela says Scripture does not exaggerate.”

“And how many children does your sister have?”

“Three.” Her hand paused. “With another one on the way.”

“This won’t be awful, Vivvie.” He arched into her touch again. “I’m not moving my hands.”

“I didn’t say you were.” She stroked him again while her other palm passed over his nipple, and he had to fist both hands hard to keep from dragging her over him. “Why do women spank you?”

“How do you know it’s women?”

“All right.” She caught a rhythm, her hands synchronizing on the respective parts of his body. “Why do you let anybody hurt you?”

His wits had been ambushed by honest arousal, and he lacked the mental focus to dodge her question. “It makes them feel good, and it’s profitable. And it doesn’t hurt that much.”

She fell silent, thank a merciful god.

“If you keep that up,” he whispered, “I can spend, Vivvie. You don’t have to do this.”

She didn’t stop, so he tried again.

“If you just want to play”—his hips were moving in counterpoint to her hand—“I can hold off, but…”

“It’s sharp now, isn’t it, the yearning?” she said, her tongue grazing his nipple.

“And sweet.” His hand ached to caress her hair, to smooth the curve of her shoulder, to guide her breast to his mouth. “Very sweet.”

“Spend,” she whispered the word just before she passed her tongue over his nipple once more, and though he forced himself to hold off a few moments more, that was truly all he could manage. His balls drew up tight, his spine tingled, and pleasure, hot, fierce, sweet, and achy welled out from his groin as he came.

“Jesus… God…” He shivered with it, bowed up, pushed hard against the snug pressure of her fingers, and let it drown him, the sheer relief of it bringing a lump to his throat even as his body went limp and sated against the bed. “For that, you have to kiss me.”

She let go of his cock. He felt her balance on her hands and knees over him then give him her mouth. It was good this way, with her above him so he could sip and kiss and take from her while his heart slowed its pounding and his breathing calmed. And the blindfold comforted too, giving him a kind of privacy, keeping his eyes and the secrets they’d reveal safe from her scrutiny.

“Darius, are you all right?”

For that question, he gave her a little of his heart. There was concern in her voice, and her hand smoothed his hair back, the first spontaneous caress she’d offered him. God, she was dear…

“I’m undone. Wonderfully undone, but my blindfold could be put to use elsewhere, if you’ll allow it.”

“Of course.” She sat back, and he missed the proximity of her without even being able to see her. He sat up and felt her untying the knot at the back of his head.

“Water?”

She passed him a glass from the night table, and he dribbled some onto his stomach then used his handkerchief to wipe himself clean.

“That’s your seed?”

“It is,” he said, recalling that he was abed with a curious, wonderfully ignorant woman. “And I’ve lost my erection, thanks to you.”

She looked worried, and he had to smile. “Don’t worry, Vivvie, it will come back any time you want it to.”

“That’s normal, isn’t it?” She worried her lip, regarding the softening length of him with a frown.

“Of course.” He kissed her cheek, just because he could. “And it’s normal to cuddle up for a bit afterward.” For some lucky people, in any case.

She looked uncertain, and Darius had to wonder what was wrong with William Longstreet. Even if the man couldn’t get his wife pregnant, even if his elderly vanity required the candles snuffed on every occasion, surely he wasn’t denying the woman all the marital intimacies?

“Normal for me,” he clarified, and her expression eased, then her brow puckered again. “No.” He drew a finger down the middle of her forehead and over her nose. “I am not going to get dressed just to climb into bed with you, silly woman. Let me bank the coals, and we’ll talk, if that’s what you want.”

He hoped she wanted to talk, wanted to have discussions with him she’d not had with anybody else, including her brilliant statesman of a dim-witted husband.

She shifted to let him off the bed. He knew she was watching him as he hunkered naked before the hearth, poked the logs to the back of the andirons, and secured the fireplace screen. She was watching as he ambled back across the room, and she watched him as he blew out the candles one by one.

“I can hear you thinking,” he mused as he blew out the last candle. “I’m not a diviner of thoughts, Vivvie. What has your mill wheel turning at such a great rate?”

“Do you intend to sleep here?”

“Ah.” He scooted across the bed and drew the covers up over them both. “We can negotiate this if it bothers you, but yes, I think that makes the most sense.”

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to go to sleep with you here.”

“Naked, don’t you mean?”

She yelped as he drew her into his arms and hauled her back against his chest.

“You’ll sleep,” he assured her, kissing her nape. “You’ll sleep a lot better without this lawn tent between us.”

“I get to keep my lawn tent for tonight,” she replied. “What are you doing?”

He’d spooned himself around her, settling one hand over her breast, snugging his groin up to her buttocks.

“Cuddling.” He bit her neck this time. “And, my God, you are a delight to cuddle with.”

“Don’t do that.”

“What?” He gently squeezed her breast again. “This?”

“That.” But she sighed after she said it, giving herself away.

“All right.” He relaxed his grip. “You’ve had an adventure, after all, so I should let you get some rest.”

“Yes, you should.”

He took pity on her, rubbing her back, her neck, even her scalp and buttocks until he felt her slipping away into sleep. He lay with her in his arms for the longest time, marveling at the peace he felt, in his body, and in his mind—and a little wary of it too. Sex had become a commodity for him, something he traded in, up to a point, for gain. Vivian couldn’t approach it like that, hadn’t the sophistication to see it thus—yet.

But she felt wonderful in his arms, her curiosity and inherent integrity a refreshing change to a man too used to trading in dark and spoiled emotions. She was right: Duty and pleasure could overlap, delightfully so.

In the morning he might pleasure her, he thought as he drifted off, might bring her the same glorious relief she’d given him. It would be his duty, and the sporting thing to do.

They passed the night easily enough, sleeping in tandem, with Vivian sometimes burrowed against his back, sometimes cradled against his chest. She was a natural at sharing a bed, another thing to like about her. He drifted off on that thought and slept for hours, peacefully for a change.

As a cold, gray light filtered through the curtains, Darius rose to awareness slowly, feeling the heaviness in his groin he usually began his day with, but also a sweet, feminine warmth against his body.

He propped himself on one elbow, brushed the hair back from Vivian’s brow, and kissed her cheek. “Arise, Lady Vivvie. Sweet Philomel calls us from our beds.”

Vivian’s eyes opened, focused, then narrowed. “What, may I ask, are you still doing here?”

Everlasting God, she had to get him out of her bedroom—out of her bed. And there he lay, scratching his chest and stretching like that worthless cat.

“Good morning to you too.” He offered her a sleepy smile and flipped back the covers to cross the room in all his oblivious nudity. Vivian turned away, but not before she caught sight of his arousal, and she had to swallow back a howl of sheer… upset.