Unlike her father, his parents had raised him to believe he could control the outcome of his life, to believe that if something was important enough, and if he was willing to make the necessary sacrifices, he only required a little luck to ensure the desired outcome would come to pass.
She dropped the blanket from her shoulders, naked and proud—breathtakingly beautiful—and climbed onto the bed. Silken red hair caressed her shoulders, her back. Ruby lips parted softly and a soft flush blossomed in her cheeks. Sitting on what he now considered to be “their” bed, she lifted her arms and beckoned to him.
Not yet. He shook his head. “Let me look at you.” If he was an artist, he would paint her like this.
She gave a few slow blinks, but with just the slightest hesitation, she complied, reclining onto her back, one leg bent at the knee, her gorgeous hair splayed on the pillow behind her.
For as long as he lived, her beauty would go unrivaled.
Peter was optimistic, hopeful that come winter he could convince her to embark on a life with him, but something was holding her back. She was holding herself back. She’d been betrayed, not only by people in her life but by life itself.
To protect herself, she would try to forget him.
He would speak to her in the language she knew best. He give everything he had to make forgetting him impossible.
Rather than lie beside her, he crawled around so that he was kneeling at her feet.
“So pretty—everywhere.” He lifted one foot and placed a slow kiss on her delicate arch.
“Peter.” A low ‘F.’ Uncertain.
Aroused.
He kissed every toe, and then around her ankle, massaging the muscles in her calf, occasionally allowing his hands to drift higher on her leg. And then the other foot. Smoothing his hands along her heel. “Precious to me.”
She watched him, looking almost pained, until her lids grew heavy. “Peter.”
“Yes.” He dropped to his elbows, and she widened her knees in an invitation. Eyeing her thighs, he edged forward.
“As I said. So damn pretty.” She was pink and swollen and glistening for him. He licked his lips. Already, he sensed her yearning—aching. He would make her tremble.
Leaning forward, he dragged his mouth along her seam and inhaled. She groaned even though his lips barely touched her. “I love you, Miranda.” If it took him all night, he was going to make damn sure she didn’t doubt his feelings for her.
He trailed one hand low on her belly.
“You lovethis,” she said. Even now, she would argue with him.
He chuckled. Becausethiswas her. Because he knew her better than she thought he did.
He dropped his mouth to the skin just above her clitoris and agreed. “I love this withyou.” He drew small circles around her navel, and then dragged his tongue down to the swollen nub.
But before he became too absorbed, he dragged his mouth back up again.
“Peter,” she protested when he lazily explored the skin that stretched between her thigh and hip.
“I love you everywhere.” Rounded hips, a dimple on one thigh.
She squirmed beneath him and he cupped her sex, applying just enough pressure to still her. “Not just here.” He pressed against her opening, and his control nearly snapped when her juices covered his palm.
He rubbed harder. Friction. The perfect friction.
“Oh, God, Peter.” Her thighs trembled, and she would be bucking if he wasn’t holding her down. “Do it. For God’s sake, Peter. I want you now.”
She’d used it as an escape for too long.
Frustrated in more ways than one, he released his hold and crawled higher on the bed.
Don’t forget me.
