Claiming Catherine (Montana Maiden Series Book 1) Read Free Page B

Beecham had expected of a virtuous woman. Once he'd verbally slandered me, I avoided even the consideration of undoing the top button. That would be scandalous.
    "I agreed to no fucking." He kept his eyes on what his fingers were doing. "Taking off your clothes is not fucking."
    Swallowing, I closed my eyes as my shirt parted and I felt the cool air on my exposed skin. I could smell him, a mixture of some kind of soap, leather and a hint of maleness. I'd never had a man close like this. Ever. I'd never even been touched in this way. Could he see my heart beating frantically against my chest? Mr. Bridger's fingers worked the buttons lower and lower, his knuckles brushing over my corset covered breasts. My nipples tingled and tightened into hard tips at the contact.
    "Take down your hair." His voice was deeper. Demanding. I did as he bid, lifting my fingers into my tresses to pull the pins free. My hair tumbled down my back.
    “So lovely,” he murmured against my ear. His breath was warm against my skin. He pulled the blouse from my shoulders, letting it slide down my arms and off entirely. I stood in front of him in my black skirt and white corset, the snug ties lifting my breasts up so they were bountiful mounds. I was large bosomed, something that was impossible to hide. It didn't bode well for the trimmer lines of today's fashion, and I could only tighten my corset so far to diminish them before I couldn't breathe at all.
    He ran a hand over the exposed flesh, goose bumps rising in his wake. I shivered at the gentleness of his rough finger. His skin was so dark compared to the paleness of my flesh.
    The buttons on the side of my skirt were quickly undone and I was stripped of it with efficient ease. I took the proffered hand as balance as I stepped out of my skirt. Mr. Bridger lowered himself to his knees to undo my boots, slide down my stockings. Next, he stood once again, went around behind me and undid the tie on my drawers and let them drop. Mr. Bridger helped me step from those as well. Now, I stood solely in my corset. He walked around me once, taking his time to look me over, remaining silent, before working the corset hooks free down the front one at a time with expert precision. All at once it parted, causing my breasts to tumble out.
    I covered myself as best I could, one hand crossed over my breasts, the other to cover up my woman's mound, but it was impossible to avoid his gaze. There was just too much of me revealed, my hands too small a protection. I looked at the gleaming floorboards beneath my small feet, unable to look up as my mortification built to epic proportions. I squirmed, finding it impossible to just stand there while he looked his fill at my naked form.
    “You are so lovely, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice dark. "More than I had ever hoped for in a wife."
    His words were meant to soothe, but nothing would assuage my discomfort but the return of my clothing.
    “Come, stand over here.” Mr. Bridger led me by the hand to a mirror that hung a few feet from the bed. I had no choice but to acquiesce. Hiding was not an option. I couldn't flee—I was unclothed. I could throw a fit and cry, but I would still be naked. So I took his hand and let him lead. Beneath the mirror was a short bar attached to the wall, similar to a short section of hand railing for a stairwell, about two feet in length. “Hands on the bar.”
    I did as he asked, thankful to be facing away from him, although he could see my bottom. I knew he was looking there because I could see his handsome reflection gazing upon it in the mirror.
    “As I said, it is my job to protect and care for you,” my husband espoused. “As my woman, you are the center of my world now. We are bound together as a family. But there are rules you must follow, things I expect of you as a wife.”
    His gaze was serious as he said all this, a hand running gently up and down my back in a soothing way. He was the epitome of calmness. My husband did not