Blessed Beginnings (Hunter's Ridge Book 4) (31 page)

"Frances…"

"I'll go p-potty when you leave," she informed him.

"No, young lady, you'll go right now." She squealed when he lifted her off her feet and plopped her down on the potty. When she attempted to jump up, he placed his hands on her shoulders. "Of course, if you would prefer making your toilet while sitting on a hot bottom, I assure you that can be arranged."

Her eyes widened but he met them without hesitation.

"I-I can't," she said, her voice much softer than it had been when she had demanded he leave.

"You can," he replied.

"No, it's-it's embarrassing."

Squatting down before her, he placed his hands on hers, drawing them down from their crossed position. "Sweetheart, there is nothing about you that is embarrassing. I am not only your husband; I am your Papa. I will be taking care of you in all ways. It is not only my responsibility; it is my pleasure. Please do not deny me the joy of taking care of my beloved girl."

Though her eyes softened as he spoke to her, her body remained tense and unyielding. Holding back his sigh, Samuel leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "Of course, if you'd rather be put into a nappy instead of using the potty like a big girl, that can be arranged."

He had to fight back a smile as her mouth dropped open and her cheeks colored. "You-you wouldn't!"

"I promise that I most certainly would," he said. Standing, he stepped away to the washstand again. "And if I don't hear evidence that you are obeying me, you'll discover that I will never make you a promise that I won't keep." Moving the stool to the side of the tub and placing two towels and a washcloth on it, he heard her body overrule her stubbornness. He turned off the tap before straightening.

"Good girl." Holding out his hand once she stood, he smiled. "Come, your bath is ready."

Franny didn't know how she had been able to obey and release her bladder. She supposed it was due to two things. First, her body had needs that she could control for only so long, and second, the moment he'd mentioned nappies, she'd instantly visualized the stacks of neatly folded ones that sat on shelves under Lucy's changing table. The only thing that kept her from bursting into tears of embarrassment was the fact that her hus—no, her Papa, was not acting like it was anything but a normal, necessary activity.

Sinking into the warm water, she had to admit that being bathed was a totally different experience than bathing oneself. While she was certainly able to clean herself and had been doing so for years, there was something strangely soothing about feeling his large hand covered in the cloth as he scrubbed her gently. She even managed not to shrink away when he moved the sudsy cloth from her breasts to delve between her legs.

"No, don't squeeze, little one. Papa needs to make sure you are squeaky clean in all your little nooks and crannies."

She closed her eyes and then moaned as a finger escaped the cloth to slide between her labia, spreading her open, supposedly to make those nooks and crannies more easily accessible. As he had her kneel up and bend forward so that he could wash her bottom, and she gasped again when the cloth ran between the cleft of her backside, she knew that even though she'd asked Lucy, Louisa and Emmie several questions, evidently she hadn't asked the most basic. Did all women become wetter when sitting in a bathtub? Did their tummies flutter and their nipples grow hard even though the room was quite warm?

"Okay, we're almost ready to wash your hair, but first…"

Her eyes opened when he helped her to stand and then lifted her from the tub. She didn't understand when he patted the stool that now sat upon a towel he'd spread on the floor, thinking it would serve a far better purpose wrapped around her dripping wet body.

"Sit down, sweetie."

"May I have a towel?"

"Not yet. I'm know you are wet, but the towel would just get in my way." He walked to the washstand and as she took a seat, she watched him using a short, fat, bristled brush to whip soap into a foam in a ceramic mug. Remembering that she had felt the slight scratch of the stubble on his chin when he'd used his mouth between her legs, she blushed but had to wonder why he was shaving now, and why she had to sit naked and wet to watch.

Her puzzlement grew when he didn't apply the lather to his face but walked to her, the mug in one hand and a bowl holding his razor in the other. He bent and placed the mug and razor on the floor, dipped water into the bowl from the tub and then knelt before her, his hands now free. As he placed them on her thighs and began to pull her legs apart, she reached out to grab his arms. "Wha-what are you doing?"

"Shaving you," he replied calmly, as if it was not only apparent but words she'd heard a thousand times before. Despite the truth that was attempting to come into the forefront of her mind, she attempted to push it aside.

"Girls don't shave, Papa."

"You're right," he said, continuing to press her legs apart until she was splayed open. He moved her easily to the edge of the stool despite her hold on him. "A Papa would never take the chance that his little one might nick herself. A razor is not a plaything."

She couldn't think of a single thing to say in response. Instead, she swallowed hard as he picked up the mug and began to slather the contents across the curls between her legs. He obviously heard her gasp when he picked up and unfolded the razor he'd brought with the mug.

"Relax, little one. You don't need to be afraid. I promise to be very careful." When she reached out to once more take his forearms, he smiled. "I love you holding on to me, sweetie, but I need to have my arms free. You may grip the edge of the stool if you need."

Need she did, as her hands moved to grip the rounded edge of the stool. Despite her shock and her unease, she could not stop herself from watching as he made the first swipe. When he dipped the razor in the bowl of water, she gasped at both the sight of her curls floating on the surface and the bare expanse of skin the razor had exposed. He didn't speak but made a soft shushing sound as he returned to his task. The razor continued to expose more skin until he had her lean back a bit and push her hips forward. Her eyes had closed earlier, no longer able to watch as he sheared her, her body heating when his fingers manipulated her labia in order to make sure that not a single curl remained. A wet, warm sensation had her opening her eyes again to see that he'd set the razor aside and taken up the washcloth. Once the remaining lather was washed away, she gasped. Years earlier, she had been a bit alarmed to discover hair growing in such a private place and now, years later, she was a bit alarmed to discover that not only was every curl gone, but her sex was rather lewdly displayed.

"Beautiful," Samuel said, running his fingers across her freshly shorn skin. She quivered when he leaned forward and placed a kiss on her bare sex and then, as his tongue began to lap at her, to swipe between her lips and over a tiny bud she could now actually see, understanding filled her. As she reached for his shoulders, he covered one of her hands with his and continued to kiss and lick her until she felt her culmination building.

"Pa-Papa… I, oh… I'm…"

"Come for me, Franny," he whispered, his warm breath mixing with the heat she would swear was emanating from her cunny.

"Bed… take me to… oh, Papa!" She saw his head shake but he didn't speak and as she began to contract, she didn't care that instead of soft sheets, she came apart sitting on a stool, her husband kneeling on the floor, his mouth, lips and tongue demanding that she give him her pleasure, which she did with her hands in his hair and her cries echoing around the room.

Samuel smiled against her sex as she continued to spasm with pleasure. She had done so very, very well while he'd removed her golden curls. He'd seen the look in her eyes when she'd first seen her freshly shaven mons, and was pleased that shock hadn't been the dominant expression. Instead, he'd seen understanding and desire, which he'd instantly rewarded by feasting again on her nectar. He finally stood and helped her back into the cooling water long enough to give her still twitching quim another quick wash as he added additional water to the tub.

She was relaxed like a very contented woman as he washed her hair, and when he lifted her again from the tub, he wrapped her in a thick towel. His bath took only a few minutes as she sat on the stool, another towel wrapped around her hair until he was done.

Drying off quickly, he donned his dressing gown and then led her back into the bedroom. After stirring the fire and adding a log, he sat on the chair and pulled her down to sit between his spread legs. He rubbed the towel over her hair before tossing it aside and picking up her brush. Her soft moans and purrs had him picturing a very contented cat, and he wondered if perhaps Sarah would need a feline companion. Chuckling, he verbalized his thoughts when she turned and asked what was funny.

"I know just where to find one," she said with a smile. "There are always new kittens in the barns. I'm sure Lucas won't mind us taking one off his hands." Evidently the mention of home had her concerned. "I-I hope Lucas isn't upset that we, um, aren't there already."

"Sweetie, I'm positive your brother understands that newlyweds need a bit more time." He had to chuckle when he heard her stomach rumble. "Of course, I was rather selfish, enjoying my own feast and making my little one wait far too long to break her fast." Her quickly indrawn breath had him smiling as he ran the brush once more through the drying strands and then helped her to stand. Ignoring her flush, he pulled the towel from her and patted her bare bottom. "One day very soon, I'll teach you how to enjoy a feast of your own. But for now, let's get you dressed and I'm sure that Mrs. Harris can scrounge up a little snack for the trip." Ignoring the puzzled look on her face, he grinned, his cock twitching at the promise of the lesson to come.

Chapter Twenty

"You look beautiful," Samuel said after he'd finished dressing her.

Franny blushed at the compliment. She'd never considered herself as such, but loved hearing him say those words. Standing in front of the mirrored door of the armoire, she was still adjusting to her reflection. The clothing she was wearing had definitely not been in the satchel she'd hastily packed the day before. When her husband had handed her a large box tied with a pretty red ribbon, she'd smiled at receiving her second gift of the day. Opening it, she'd been momentarily speechless, looking up at him.

"Merry Christmas," he said as he reached to lift the dress from the box and gave it a little shake in order to allow it to unfold—but she'd instantly noticed it didn't take long to do so. Instead of a gown that would fall to the floor, she realized this dress was one she'd most likely see either of the twins or Emmie wearing. For a moment she had stood frozen, her heart beating faster until she remembered that this was exactly the sort of dress that she would wear in her choice of accepting the dual roles of her life.

"It's beautiful," she finally whispered, reaching out to touch the dress. It was white, with the thinnest lines of red running down its length. A wide red sash would tie into a bow at the small of her back. When he pulled not one but two petticoats from the large box, she knew they would lift the skirt of the dress, turning it almost into a bell. Suddenly, she couldn't wait to try it on.

Samuel had smiled as he had her step into her new drawers, pulling them up and tying the ribbon at her waist before running his hand over the rows of ruffles that covered her backside. White stockings tied with red ribbons followed. No corset would constrict her breathing. Instead, just a pretty chemise concealed her breasts, additional ribbons tied carefully up the front as his fingers moved to caress her nipples until she was practically dancing and felt moisture once again filling her sex. Her body seemed to respond to this man's touch whether it was as light as a feather's brush or heavy, as when he cupped each breast and gave them a squeeze.

The petticoats were next, and when he pulled the dress over her head and tied the bow at the back, her hands stroked down the skirt that was now full. He'd given her hair a final brush and tied it back with another red ribbon. Soft red slippers had been slid onto her feet and, looking into the mirror, she smiled.

"I look like a candy cane," she said with a little giggle.

"Yes, and one good enough to eat," Samuel replied, making her giggle louder when he smacked his lips and bent to nibble on her neck.

"Papa, you said we had to hurry," she reminded him. He gave a dramatic sigh and finished his own dressing by pulling on his coat and tucking a handkerchief into his pocket. Taking her hand, he smiled down at her.

"Ready?"

"Yes," she replied and then looked away for a moment before returning her eyes to his. "Um, Papa, does-does your—does Mrs. Harris know that I'm your child/bride?"

"Yes, sweetie. All of my staff knows that you are both my wife and my darling little one. You don't need to be nervous, Franny. As I said, this is your home and you will always be safe here."

Trusting him at his word, she nodded again and allowed him to lead her down the stairs.

"Merry Christmas," Mrs. Harris said when they stepped into the dining room. "Oh, you look precious, Miss Franny."

"Thank you, and Merry Christmas," Franny replied, her nerves easing a bit.

"I know you are returning to Hunter's Ridge for the day, but surely you'll take a bit of time for breakfast?" the woman asked and then smiled. "Though it really is much closer to lunchtime."

"I'm afraid not," Samuel said. "Just coffee for me, and a glass of milk and perhaps a scone or muffin for Franny. And could you ask Cook to prepare a basket with a few items for our drive?"

"Certainly," the housekeeper said. "I'll ask her and bring your coffee." Samuel led Franny to a chair and she took her seat. The coffee and milk were delivered within minutes and she bit into the warm muffin, giving a satisfied moan.

Samuel drank his coffee and ate his own mini breakfast as she finished hers. The cook, whose name was Katie McDonald, but she answered to Cook more often, brought in a basket and placed it on the table.