Sweet Surrender with the Millionaire

She was sleek and wet when finally he nudged her thighs apart and entered her, moving slowly, carefully at first, conscious it had been a while for her and she would be tight. She was tight, but his ministrations had prepared her body to receive its satin-hard invader.

He filled her completely, the sensation extremely satisfying, and as he began to move with gentle thrusts to build her pleasure small rhythmic contractions began to grow deep inside, sending shivers throughout her body. And still he took his time, building passion until she no longer recognised who she was. Until she merged into him and he into her.

She knew the moment he surrendered to his own desire; suddenly he was moving faster and deeper, his voice hoarse as he groaned her name with each thrust of his body. They reached their culmination together, spiralling off into a world of colour and light and sensation that held no past and no future, just the glorious present. Morgan gave a single raw cry of fierce gratification, collapsing on top of her seconds later as he turned and drew her against him, still joined. They were both gasping for breath but slowly the frantic pounding of their hearts quietened and their eyes opened.

It was only then Willow was able to speak, her voice dazed as she whispered, ‘I never knew…’

It was ample reward for his patience and restraint and he smiled, smoothing her hair back before kissing her forehead. ‘You’re amazing,’ he murmured softly, kissing her again.

‘It—it was good for you?’

He recognised the thread of doubt, the need for reassurance, and love for her made his voice husky when he said, ‘It was better than good, my love. I fell off the edge of the world.’

Her voice carried laughter in it now when she said, ‘That good, eh?’ as she tangled her fingers in the soft hair of his chest.

He stroked her back, her waist. ‘You’re all I could ever have hoped for, all I could have dreamed of, and I will love you till the day I die and beyond. I would give my life for you and consider it well lost, and I will never betray your trust in me by thought or word or deed.’

She touched her fingers to his mouth, her face blazing with love. ‘I know,’ she said, and she did. ‘Because I feel the same.’ She snuggled deeper into him, feeling his body respond instantly. ‘Morgan,’ she whispered, ‘do you realise we might have made a baby?’

His voice held amusement when he said, ‘I have to admit that wasn’t high on my list of priorities for tonight, but, yes, we agreed we wouldn’t use precautions so I suppose it’s possible from now on.’

‘But we might not have done,’ she said after a moment.

‘No, we might not.’

She lifted her eyes to his and they were glinting with laughter. ‘So we could always increase the odds, couldn’t we?’ She twisted her hips and heard his sharp intake of breath as she rubbed against him.

‘Absolutely.’

They made love twice more before finally falling asleep in each other’s arms when it was light and church bells were celebrating the birth of the Saviour. Willow’s last lucid thought was that from now on she would spend her nights in this man’s arms and wake up in the morning to the sound of his breathing and the promise of making love with him and feeling his arms holding her. Her body felt sensuously satisfied, her mind was at peace and she wanted to stay like this for ever. She slept.

EPILOGUE

WILLOW didn’t get her wedding-night baby, but exactly twelve months to the day they married, on a snowy Christmas Eve, their twin daughters made their appearance into the world.

Willow and Morgan hadn’t planned on a home birth—with it being twins and a first pregnancy they’d been advised a hospital confinement would be advisable—but the speed of the labour took everyone, including Willow, by surprise. Morgan ended up delivering the babies with Beth’s help as Beth, Peter and little David had been spending the day with them.

By the time the midwife reached the house after Morgan’s frantic telephone call, it was all over. Holly and Ivy were tucked up in bed with their mother having their first feed, the strains of the carol that featured their names filtering up from the kitchen below where an ecstatic Kitty was making everyone a cup of tea.

‘Goodness me.’ The midwife’s face was a picture as she stood surveying the happy scene. ‘And you say you only had your first pain a couple of hours ago? This isn’t how it’s normally done, believe me.’

‘Oh, I do,’ Beth said in heartfelt tones.

Morgan, who was sitting on the edge of the bed with his arm round Willow and one hand stroking the downy head of one of his daughters, smiled. ‘We’ve something of a reputation for doing things our own way,’ he murmured lazily. ‘Isn’t that right, sweetheart?’