The Marriage He Must Keep

A real, true, fresh beginning.

Lifting her hand, she hesitated, briefly unsure, but didn’t let herself overthink it. The line of his spine begged to be traced and she did, nudging the sheet a little lower on the curve of his buttocks, then coming back up to the edge of his fresh haircut and the shadow that had come in on his jaw.

He drew in a long breath, big body stirring as he opened one eye. “Is he crying?”

“No,” she said softly, feeling defenseless as she said, “He’s fast asleep.”

And because he was a very smart man, he didn’t ask her why she’d woken him. He read the want that she didn’t try to disguise and lifted his arm to gather her and pull her half under him. “Is he?”

She felt him thicken against her thigh as he pressed over her. He hadn’t even kissed her, but he was instantly aroused. His body was smooth and hard and strapping, his neck still faintly scented with his cologne, his chest hot and hard against her kiss.

Liquid heat rolled through her veins as they shifted to lie stomach to stomach, chin to chin. The contact made her sleepy muscles feel even more like melted wax. As they kissed lazily and moved against each other, her nightgown climbed. He slid his hand up her thigh and stroked her hip, her waist, her lower back and bottom, her spine and rib cage and then, ah, yes. Her breast.

He was gentle and possessive and it felt so good she had to moan and bring her knee up to his hip and press with her calf against the back of his thigh, encouraging him to position himself to rub against her.

“I have always thought you had beautiful breasts, but, cara...” He dragged her nightgown up and off. “Oh, bella.” He kissed the swell and admired how it overflowed his hand, thumb circling her nipple so it was a firm, eager point.

The sweetest nerve endings tightened in her inner thighs as he played, making her ache for his touch. His thrust.

He was wearing his silk boxers again, but she could feel the insistence of him against her as if one move was all that was needed and he’d rip through silk and be inside her. She could hardly breathe she was so gripped by anticipation, but...

“I should tell you,” she murmured, self-conscious, but unable to keep from caressing his chest, tracing the pattern of hair and splaying her hand down his waist. “The books said it might hurt at first, so, um, can you be careful?”

He drew back. “I thought we were just fooling around. It hasn’t been six weeks.”

“It’s close enough,” she grumbled. “That was just a recommendation. The doctor said if I felt like it sooner, I could, but to use condoms. There are some in the drawer.”

His brows went up and he rolled away to look, almost as if he didn’t believe her. When he came back with the little square in his hand, his eyes were pure green and brilliant with desire. “If I’m dreaming, I’d better not wake up.”

She smiled until he kissed her again, then she couldn’t do anything but respond to the deep, drugging way he made love to her mouth. They kissed for a long time, as if this was all they were planning to do. He wove his fingers into her hair and she traced light fingertips over his throat and shoulders and up to where their lips devoured each other.

She loved that he wasn’t rushing her. In fact, it was as though he was returning to a place he’d almost forgotten and had to make a point of touching each inch of her skin, inhaling deeply near her ear, licking at her neck and backing off to watch as he stroked his hands over her. He was focused wholly on her, bringing her hand to his heart, kissing her temple and collarbone, then the inside of her elbow. He glanced to see if she liked his lips on the underside of her breast, against her scar, on her inner thighs and against the lace of her panties.

She swallowed, moved and aroused, trembling as she met his gaze, so steady and yet so emotive. She’d thought him adept. A playboy. A practiced seducer. He was, but this wasn’t a routine. He wanted to pleasure her. She saw earnestness in him. A desire for forgiveness.

This was more than a physical reacquainting. It was reconciliation.

She touched his face, memorizing his features with her eyes and her touch. He pursed his lips against her thumb pad, seeming in agreement that they had time, lots of time. That reassured her in a way nothing else could.

When he started to peel her panties away, she lifted her hips, modesty tossed away with the blue silk. Unashamed as he admired her.

Kneeling between her legs he pushed off his boxers, sending them to the floor before he covered himself and lowered to settle over her. She lifted again, seeking and inviting his penetration where she was wet and so needy.

He groaned as he kissed her and started to press into her.