She placed her finger against his lips. “Until my last breath.”
“Until my last breath,” he vowed, and kissed her.
Chapter Thirteen
Cecily found that now it had come to it, being intimate with her husband for the first time in a long time, she did not want to wait. As he kissed her, she moved against him. Her experience had taught her certain things—no matter how unwilling to learn she had been, she could not have missed his preoccupation with her breasts. The way his gaze had lingered, feasted. The way his hands always came up to cup them, fingers swiping over her nipples in an attempt to induce her to respond.
A wave of shame flooded her, but not because of what they were doing. Rather, because of how she’d been with him.
The instant he felt her tense, he pulled back and away. His eyes glittered, his breath already coming fast, but he held her gently, as though she were made of glass. “We don’t have to,” he said, a frown touching his eyes as he searched her expression. “Or we can go slowly. I—”
“I don’t wish to go slowly.” She took his hand and placed it on her breast, feeling the way his fingers flexed, the slight hitchin his breath. Heat pooled in his eyes, matching the heat that throbbed between her legs.
Want.
Everything about this felt new, even though they were dancing to an old, familiar tune. All because she no longer resisted the response of her body to him.
“I’m sorry I made you feel as though I didn’t want you,” she whispered.
“Sweetheart—”
“Today will be different.”
He trailed his finger down her neck, pausing at the neckline of her gown. “Today, I would like to teach you what—what it can be like.”
Teach her.She liked the sound of that. “I’ll prove a willing student.”
“If you would ever like to stop, you must tell me.”
“I will, but Percy, I won’t want to stop.”
“An easy promise to make before we’ve begun.”
She smiled, pressing up against him so his hardness pushed against her stomach. “I want you,” she said, watching at the way his eyes darkened at the words. His tongue moistened his bottom lip, and she shuddered at the thought of its liquid heat against her skin. “And I think—IknowI love you.”
The corner of a smile tilted his mouth as he kissed her jaw. “Are you certain, Circe?” he murmured, and something warm erupted in her chest. “Are youcertainyou love me, sweet witch? Or are you saying whatever is necessary to lure me into bed?”
She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Is it working?”
“I think you should say it again.”
Happiness. She hadn’t known it would be so potent, or make her feel sogiddywith it. “I love you, Percy Somerville.”
He nipped her collarbone in reward. “Good.”
“I love you, husband.” His erection throbbed against her, and she smiled. Evidently he liked the way she said that alot. “Husband,” she repeated, and he twitched again.
“I love you, wife.” He picked her up and carried her to the bed, plopping her down on the mattress with surprising ease. Then again, she had always been particularly small against him. She loved that feeling of smallness now. Her softness against his solidness. His weight on her. Between her legs.
Then he flipped her, so she lay on her stomach. “Wife,” he murmured. “Wife.”
“Husband.” Cecily gasped as his fingertips brushed her spine. Slowly, slowly, he undid the back of her dress. Then the laces of her stays. She expected him to turn her back around, but instead he kissed the back of her neck, moving her hair aside until he reached skin. At the same time, a hand explored her legs, sliding underneath her skirts.
Infuriating pressure. Infuriating man to take so long to give her what she’d finally admitted her body wanted.
“You are so beautiful,” he said against her skin, and briefly allowed her to feel what she was doing to him, his hips grazing her backside.
“Then why are you taking so long?” she complained.
