To create new ones for them to explore.
No matter what transpired, he was that same man.
And she was that same girl.
He pulled away, panting. She savored the sweet ache in her lips.
“Husband,” she said with a sigh.
~~~
Husband.
Not Captain. Not Chev, nor Cheverley. But husband.
Something he’d been only to her. Always.
“Penelope...” Her name was a gruffy query. A plea. “Wife.”
He wanted her.
The evidence of his desire pulsed thick, hard, and aching against her stomach. He savored the pressure, the tense, heavy soreness.
He denied relief, battling the feeling he must take her or die.
He would not roughly thieve what she willingly offered.
She wove her hands into his hair, pulling the strands back into a plait so they hung down his back. He wanted this. He wanted to sink inside Penelope’s body.
Yet couldn’t bear her touch.
He held himself up by his elbow and tore her hands from his back and pinned them over her head. She whimpered in protest.
His humiliating memories had no place here—but they would not be denied. They haunted like a question. Like a challenge.
He squeezed his eyes closed and drew back. The pirate and her evil whispers closed in.
Tu n’es rien.You are nothing.Je te possède maintenant en entier.I own every part of you, now.
With a low-pitched growl he drove Penelope back against the bed. Covering her with his body as if he could shelter them both.
Anger rioted though his desire.
“Chev—”
“No! Just let me—” Let him what?
Ravage her as he’d been ravaged? Restrain her from touching him while he indulged the restless, demanding ache in his cock?
Be no better than the pirate?
“Touch me,” she offered, “if you cannot allow me to touch you.”
He released her wrists and crudely went for her breast. He felt her shock skitter through her body. In her shiver, he knew she resisted recoil.
He dropped to his other elbow and rested his forehead against her chin.
“No.” She gripped his hips, drawing his body fully onto the bed between her thighs. She threaded her hand through his and placed it back against her breast.
