“The first time?” Her delicately arched brows drew together. “How many
times do we do this?”
“Often,” he replied. “It's quite… pleasurable.”
She raised one eyebrow.
“You see, love?” he told her gently, “You're not ready. I married you to save
you, but now you're my wife. It's for life, you know? Adultery disgusts me.
Therefore, from now on, you're my only source of sexual satisfaction. I don't want you to become… unwilling because we were intimate before we gave
desire time to develop.”
Though confused and embarrassed, she still pressed. “There's no choice. We
have to. I won't be safe until we do it.”
“I know,” he replied, trying to explain his vague discomfort, “but it's also our
first time making love together. You're giving me your virginity. All of that matters. I want it to be good for you, so you'll like it.”
She considered his words. “Even if this time is… difficult, I promise I'll let
you keep doing it until we get it right. I'm a wreck right now, but I don't want to
stay this way forever. I want to be a good wife.”
Christopher grasped her hand and squeezed it. “Thank you, my dear. That
might make the difference.”
“Shall we proceed then?”
She was right, and despite his grave doubts, he knew it. “Very well.”
He helped her onto her feet and led her into his bedroom. Like the rest of the
apartment, it was small, barely room inside for a modest wardrobe and a bed—
simple and unadorned—with good quality sheets and covers but no hangings or
side curtains.
“This is normally done nude, you know,” he told her.
She blushed but nodded. Turning, she let him open her borrowed dress. He
dropped it to the floor, lifting her bloodied chemise over her head.
In the daylight, the wounds on her back looked even more terrible, and they
extended almost to her knees. How many times has she been beaten bloody and
no one tried to help? Even once is too many.
Abandoning this line of thought, he pushed back the covers on his bed, glad
to note the cleaning woman had changed the sheets.
He extended a hand and she gripped it for support, climbing onto the
mattress.
“Get into a comfortable position, love,” he instructed. “I'll work around what
you can manage.”
She lay down on her uninjured side, facing him, her arm under her head.
From the front, she looked less desperately damaged, and he could focus his attention on her blushing cheeks, her pretty breasts and her soft thighs, and ignore the yellow and purple bruises on her abdomen. He undressed quickly and
joined her, face to face, leaning in for a long, sweet kiss.
“You like kissing, don't you, love?” he asked, his lips inches from hers.
“Yes. Is that good?”
