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Michael kissed her.

Perhaps she’d intended to echo his declaration, but this… this was infinitely better. Kissing was a language all of its own. He’d coaxed reluctant kisses from Gwen, shared aroused, desperate ones, but this was entirely different. This kiss gave everything—no hesitation, no part of herself held back for safekeeping. It was hopeful and adamant and so perfectly earnest.

Breaking the kiss, she glared, then laughed, and in practically the same breath threw her arms around his neck.

Perhaps soul-bearing wasn’t all bad.

“Come to the meeting tomorrow, Michael, and not because I’m afraid you’ll leave.”

She tightened her grip.

Michael wondered if it was safe to assume there was a direct correlation between the near-violence of her embrace and how very much she wanted him beside her tomorrow. He decided there must be, took her at her word, and enjoyed her bone-crushing hug. If Michael had known all it took to earn such an enthusiastic embrace was to disgorge his insecurities and lay his heart at her feet, he might have attempted it ages ago. Because this... this feeling of being so very wanted was worth every moment of discomfort. And truly, aside from the terrifying novelty of it all, once he got started, it had been remarkably easy to speak freely. He was safe with her.

Truthfully, he was likely safe with any number of people, but Michael’s own willingness to twist other people’s words to his advantage had the unfortunate side effect of making him suspicious of everyone else.

She drew back, and the full force of her wide, radiant smile crashed into him. Then she promptly swept down to capture his lips.

She was amazing, his wife. So certain. So unapologetically herself. And what a goddamned miracle that was. That Gwen could still believe she knew her own mind better than anyone… still trust her own intuition, and possess the courage to pursue what she wanted after a lifetime of men insisting they knew better. Her father. Walter. Him.

What a pompous idiot he’d been to imagine she’d be happier surrendering the yard to a man.

Gwen gripped his face with both hands, angling his jaw. Then, when his kiss remained unhurried, she shifted to straddle him, close enough that she brushed against his half-hard cock, which, like the rest of him, seemed to be struggling to keep pace with the astonishing succession of topsy-turvy emotions he’d just endured. It was just as well, because after so many weeks of wanting—of worshiping her body while ignoring his own clamorous need—he had grave concerns about his self-control.

Gwen apparently had no such worries. She tore her mouth from his and dragged a rough, wet path of sucking kisses down the curve of his neck. Michael hissed in a breath, his muscles locking tight to keep from grabbing her hips and grinding her down on his cock… a cock which was becoming increasingly aware of the situation and forming alarmingly decisive plans of its own.

He would have a devil of a time pacing himself if she went on like this, but Christ, he liked her… just like this. Liked how every touch felt eager and intentional, as though even while her affection had been bound in heavy twine, some part of her had strained against the containment, already mapping the ways she would touch him when the cord snapped. He could feel it in the strike of hot, heavy breaths against his chest, the curl of her fingers into the muscles of his shoulder, the answering hum of pleasure when he groaned her name.

She inched down his body, her lips ghosting the dip of his collarbone before turning more purposeful, kissing her way to his nipple.

“I want…” Her words trailed off as her mouth closed over the flattened bud.

Michael let out a strangled sound, his back flexing, hand coming to cradle her head but his fingers instantly burrowed into the thick tresses instead, kneading as she licked then suckled him. There was no uncertainty in her touch, no shyness whatsoever. Even in this, his Gwen was unflinchingly bold.

Michael’s gaze drifted lower, and having made the mistake of looking, he found he could no longer seem to look away. The sight of her, so intent, sent a fresh pulse of heat through his veins, but his body was locked in a sort of dazed stupor where he could do nothing but feel. She seemed to delight in exploring him, tracing the contours of his muscles and lingering whenever his breath caught. Sometimes she followed the same path with her mouth when his reaction proved more pronounced, as though he were laid out before her like a treasure map and she was carefully marking sweet little X’s wherever she uncovered something worth finding. She’d run out of ink long before she ran out of places he wanted her hands. His muscles clenched and quivered as she continued her slow, deliberate caress, pleasure tightening in his belly and spiraling through his limbs.

She shimmied lower, scattering kisses along the curve of his heaving ribcage, just beside the jut of his hip bone, then she tipped a wicked, wonderful smile at him, her fingers trailing lower.

Michael's thoughts dragged, thick as honey, too slow to brace himself—no time to temper his body’s response when she cupped him through his smalls and squeezed.

“Jesus.” The word emerged as little more than a broken moan, his body sinking deeper into helpless submission. Lost to sensation, he had neither the will nor the desire to restrain the desperate encouragement spilling from his lips. But even those jumbled words dissolved into gasping breaths at the first touch of her warm breath against the head of his swollen cock. He watched her gently parted lips trace the shape of his crown through the thin cloth and his head fell back against the pillows.

“Gwen.” He groped for her hand but caught her wrist instead. She stilled, though he could still feel every humid breath and the faint vibration of her murmured response against his sensitive flesh.

“Hmm?” she purred, the throaty sound thick with arousal as her palm slid lower to cup his balls.

He swallowed hard. “Oh, God that’s…uhh.”

This was not at all what Michael had imagined for their first time together, but nor was it at odds with his plans, when his only clear intention had been to give her exactly what she wanted. His imagination had simply not stretched far enough to account for the possibility that Gwen might want… this.

His throat had gone dry as ash. “Do you want to kiss me there, love?” Her spine uncurled, the muscles of her neck stretching to nuzzle deeper into the vee of his thighs in a sweet, instinctual way that made his cock throb.

“Shall I spend on your pretty pink tongue, or hold back while you have your fill?”

Another thought pressed unbidden into his head. Would she even want him to spend inside her when the time came? He would not assume that, just because he’d begun to make things right, that she was at all prepared for the possibility of a child. And he’d be damned before he’d make that kind of choice without talking to her first.

Michael repressed the thrill that coursed through him at the thought of spilling inside her. Tried to ignore the erotic sting of her nails and the restless movement of her hips as she rubbed against the rucked up blankets beneath her, but God help him, his resistance was fraying.

Michael held himself perfectly still. “When we make love, I can spill outside your body. If you want…if you’re not yet ready…That is to say, If you…”