Bound to Be a Groom Read Free

indulged.
    Sebastian followed her. That in itself was remarkable. He could not recall willingly following a woman. In bed, of course—more than willingly—but not like this. Anna was a lady, no matter how lowly a miss she claimed to be, and it was as if his two distinct worlds were colliding. Social obligation and base desire were finally making one another’s acquaintance, like two people who turn a corner and hurtle into each other.
    She was trailing her fingertips lightly across the bindings of a complete set of Shakespeare.
    “So you can read, I take it?” He came up behind her and circled her waist with his arms. She leaned back into him, but again, it was almost absently, as if he offered a convenient perch for her to use while she perused the library. Nothing more. The idea pleased him, the idea of making it his purpose in life to be of use to this woman.
    “I can. I love to read.” Her finger came to rest on The Tempest . “But I’ve had very little access to . . . so many things.”

She turned in his arms, staring into those blue-green eyes of his, wondering how honest she could afford to be. Some version of the truth would free her to ask all sorts of relevant questions, to make him an accomplice of sorts. He seemed like he’d be game.
    “Sebastian . . .” They’d been properly introduced, but it was wholly improper for her to call him by his first name. Then again, she was already alone with him, unchaperoned, having recently lost herself in the sensation of sucking his fingers until her sex was throbbing so hard she’d forgotten her own name. Calling him by his Christian name did not seem to sit quite so high on the long list of improprieties. What with one thing and another.
    “Yeeessss . . .” he drawled. He’d begun swaying her gently in his arms, as if they were on the deck of a slow-rolling ship.
    “I . . .” She hesitated and then cursed her unfamiliar cowardice. He was quite right in letting her know she couldn’t very well play the blushing virgin when she’d more or less lured him into their current embrace. He was staring at her mouth again—making love to her mouth with his eyes, really—which made it easier to blurt out a portion of the truth. “I would very much like to . . . do things . . . with . . . to . . . I would . . .” Well, this is going abominably.
    He smiled and kept up that gentle motion, pulling her nearer with each sway. “That all sounds positively delightful,” he said, “but perhaps a bit vague.”
    “Vague?” she prompted.
    He inhaled. “I tend to prefer very clear directions.” He was quite close by then. In fact, the hard pressure of his cock was resting against her stomach at that very moment.
    “You do?” she asked, surprised and delighted at her good fortune.
    He nodded and then looked adorably sheepish as he pressed his length along her belly.
    I can do this , she thought.
    He felt big, but certainly no bigger than anything she and Pia had used to penetrate one another. Fingers at first. Then tongues. Then more fingers. Anna’s whole hand one time, after much patient, delectable coaxing. Anna felt the heat pool in her belly at the memory, at the way their shared desire had ultimately opened Pia up to her so completely.
    She closed her eyes, overcome with memories.

    Abbey of Santa María la Real de Las Huelgas, Burgos, Spain – September 1807
    Initially, they had tried to ignore the heat that flamed between them. For many months in the spring and summer, they would catch one another’s eyes and quickly look away—in vespers, in the library, at mealtimes. They would speak of art and nature and herbal remedies, books and political ideas and astronomy . . . but never of feelings.
    Anna had tried to quash her feelings through petition and penance, with prayers for forgiveness and relief from her agitation. She had tried to deny how deeply she loved Pia, to convince herself that she only loved her as a friend. She had tried to persuade herself