With a greedy tongue he laved her breast, delighting in her involuntary moan. He did not notice that her hands had crept back into his hair, not until her fingers tightened into fists and she whimpered.
A sense of ascendency surged—mutual ascendency.
He walked her back against the bed. She sank down and parted her legs.
Penelope.
His rough, muscled thighs contrasted against her pale ones. He held his cock, positioning it between her legs. He entered her slowly, inch by inch—stopping the sweet torture only when fully inside.
Penelope.
She hooked her legs around his back; he bent forward, claiming her proffered lips in a kiss he’d never forget.
She swathed him with her body, wrapping him up, arms, legs, heat, and heart.
Penelope.
He opened his eyes, synchronizing his breath with hers with every captivating thrust.
Only the two of them existed. Now. Forever.
Her thighs trembled around his waist, her lips parted, her thighs quivered, and she clenched around him with a vital cry.
He closed his eyes, covered her mouth with his and kissed her as he broke open, releasing, spilling into her body as if it were the very first time.
Chapter Seventeen
ONCE AGAIN,PENELOPEcould not find words. For thirteen years, she’d given everything she had to Pensteague and to Thaddeus. Tonight, she’d scraped together any remaining courage and poured her all into Cheverley.
She was exhausted and yet full. Completely drained and yet buoyant and floating on an ocean full of tenderness.
Her husband’s return to health would not be easy or short, but the connection they’d just shared made her certain they would find a place of happiness—create that new world he’d always promised they would create.
So long as Chev did not leave her again.
She glanced over at him. He lay on his back by her side, still breathing deep, his body flushed from exertion. He rested his injured arm over his face so that the crook of his elbow fully covered his eyes.
Ah, Chev.
He’d suffered so much in order to survive. Protective, maternal instinct panged in her heart.
Her husband.
Her beautiful, injured-but-not-broken husband. She could hurt anyone who’d done or did him wrong. She, who’d never believed in violence.
“Chev,” she said softly.
He lifted his arm.
How different he looked without his beard—the husband she remembered, just older and more weathered.
But had he become more wise?
She swallowed roughly. “You’re going to stay, aren’t you?”
His silence was a scourge. The longer he did not answer, the further up her throat her heart spiraled.
“You have a plan.” She spoke to reassure them both. “Just as soon as we have proof Anthony is smuggling, you intend to tell everyone who you are.”
