He released her nape and took her hand, then wrapped it around the heated steel of his cock. “Do you need further proof of how much I desire you?” He guided her palm down, stroking him firmly once, twice. His voice was broken, strained when he spoke again. “Your touch is enough to bring me to my knees.”
He thrust into the circle of her fingers and choked, his head falling back as the tendons in his throat worked. When he brought his eyes back to hers, his pupils had blown wide and devoured the midnight irises. “Spit on your hand, love. Get it wet.”
A wicked thrill rushed through her veins, electrifying her as she obeyed, slicking her palm before wrapping it around his length again. He bucked his hips and moaned, his forehead falling against hers. “So good, Lily. So good…”
He enjoyed her attention for only a moment before sliding a hand between them, gripping her mound with enough pressure to make her desperate, wild. She gasped and ground against the heel of his hand as his fingers teased the swollen outer lips. “Keep going,” she hissed. “Please, Philip,please—”
“Don’t beg, Lily,” he interrupted, his thick middle finger finding her core and pushing inside, just enough to drive her mad with wanting. “Demand what you want, and I’ll give it to you.”
“I want your cock.” The crude words tumbled from her lips, and his fingertips pressed into the soft flesh of her backside as he pulled one of her knees up, opening her wide. She dug her heel into his lower back. “I want to come with you.”
She gripped his erection, arching her hips forward until the flared tip rubbed against her mound. He hissed at the slick contact, his jaw flexing as his eyelids fluttered.
“I’ll give it to you,” he ground out, his eyes fixed on where he rutted slowly through her folds, the sensitive skin parting as he coated himself in her arousal. “But I won’t fuck you, not yet.”
Each time the flared head rubbed against her throbbing clitoris, pleasure sparked down her spine, and she dug her fingers into his biceps to hold herself steady. “Why not? Aren’t you my husband?”
She’d hoped the moniker would push him into giving her the release she chased, the one just outside her reach, but he shook his head.
“Not until I know you’ve forgiven me. Not until you believe I won’t leave you. That I never truly left you.”
Her mind caught the last phrase, illuminating the words in stark contrast to the erotic haze surrounding her. But before she could question it, examine it as she needed, he began thrusting more earnestly. Her climax reached from deep in her belly, coiling around the space where they were nearly joined, but not quite. His hands held her hips in place, and she surrendered to the pleasure hewas giving her, drowning in it, far past the point where she could save herself.
“You’re going to come on my cock, aren’t you?” He punctuated the question with a gentle bite to her earlobe, and her internal muscles clenched on nothing.
She moaned and nodded, unable to form words while facing down the wave of pleasure.
Her climax crested then crashed over her, pushing the air from her lungs in a soundless cry as she ground against his rigid length, his thrusts sending aftershocks of bliss dancing over her skin.
With a pained groan, he arched his hips away from her and stroked his shaft, squeezing as his release erupted. His seed splattered against her mound, the slicked flesh of her upper thighs. When the tension finally left his body, her husband curled forward and gathered her into his arms, burying his face in her neck, his lips pressed against her hammering pulse.
“I love you,” he whispered, the words causing fresh tears to burn behind her eyes.
But she wasn’t ready to return the sentiment, not when so much remained unclear, hurt chasing the pleasure away. “Why—why wouldn’t you come inside me?”
He leaned back and cupped her cheek. “You haven’t forgiven me yet. And I won’t start a family with you until you’re certain I’m never leaving.”
The statement struck like a blow to her abdomen, but she couldn’t deny the truth in it. “I’m afraid.” She hated the words,the weakness they implied. But when he looked at her, there was none of the dreaded pity, only regret.
His eyes flared, and he spoke with the conviction of a warrior charging into battle. “You’re mine, Lily Marshall, my countess, my queen. I only wish you believed I was yours, because I’ve known it from the moment we met.”
“You can’t prove you’ll stay.”
“I can’t.” His thumb stroked over her cheekbone, a gesture he’d made so many times when they’d been courting. “But I’m asking you to have faith in me.”
She wanted to run away and hide; she wanted to remain in his arms, half-naked and covered in his release in a cold staircase. She wanted to be the woman she was eight years ago, madly in love with her husband and unafraid of anything the world could throw her way, because he would be by her side.
“That’s what faith is, isn’t it?” she said.
His brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”
Something light bubbled up in her chest, as though the tether holding her fears in place finally snapped. “Faith isn’t going to church or reading scripture. It’s believing in something you can’t prove.” She cupped his cheeks and felt the dimple in his cheek. “I believe in you. I have faith in you.”
His breath escaped in a rush, and he kissed her reverently, desperately, like a man who’d been granted his greatest wish. “I believe in us, Lily. I have faith in us.”
Chapter 14
SomethingaboutChristmasEvetransformed the simplest moments from mundane to magical. The flicker of candlelight inspired visions of sprites and cast a sense of whimsy on everything it touched. The smell of sugary confections wafting from the kitchens was sweeter, the scarlet ribbons dangling from flouncing garlands more brilliant. And for the first time in eight years—a lifetime, as far as Philip was concerned—he was surrounded by family.Love, and the myriad miracles that accompanied it.
