She took a shuddering breath. That sounded like he did not mean to become overcome.
He kissed her hair again, his hand coming up to cradle her chin. “I’m never going to hurt you, Celia. I’m never going to frighten you. You know that, don’t you?”
Never is an awfully high expectation to set for oneself, Celia thought. “I’m not afraid of you,” she said out loud, because she thought he needed to hear it. Besides, it was true.
She put her hand over his, his knuckles rough and broad, and pulled it down. Back to her chest. She was making a choice, and her choice was trust.
“How many kisses are we up to, now?” Peter kissed her forehead, teasing her. He undid another button, splayed his fingers across her upper ribs, stroked her skin.
“Five and a half dozen.” Celia settled herself closer, her cheek against his chest. He wasn’t a lustful beast, he was still Peter. Peter’s playful voice, his ever-moving hands, the warm smell of his skin. “You’ve got a long way to go.”
Peter chuckled, low and soft, and undid another button. “I’ll have to get creative.”
“Good thing you are very creative.”
“Good thing you are very beautiful.”
Beautiful! Celia’s heart burst into song, and she couldn’t stay still. She wriggled in her husband’s arms and kissed that place she had been thinking of all evening. Right below his jaw. It was as good as she had wanted, warmth soaking through her, his hand spreading firm on her lower back.
“Your skin is soft. Here, I mean.” She stroked his cheek. “Not like last night.”
“Yes. Well.” He kissed her fingers lightly. “I shaved.”
“Tonight? Just now?”
“Mm. Yes.” He undid her cuff and kissed her wrist.
“Forme,” Celia said, delighted. “No wonder you were late.”
“I, um, always shave before bed,” Peter muttered.
It was patently absurd, but Celia understood that’s what you can expect from a man who only knows how to love with guns and fists. She giggled and kissed that place again, liking it even better now. His hand went back to her buttons, his knuckles warm against her belly.
“Peter? Can I ask you something?” Celia was nervous, and eager, and something else, and giggled.
“Of course.”
“When you said kisses in a thousand places…did you seriously…I mean, really, are you going to kiss me in these places? That you’re undressing just now.”
“Celia.” Peter chuckled, deep in his chest. “I most certainly hope so.”
Celia sat up so he could slide the night rail over her shoulders, down her arms. The air hit her bare skin and the chill reminded her of things that frightened her. She burrowed quickly under the covers, against Peter’s chest, but her skin wasbare against his shirt and it felt different now. His arms came around her, his hand cradling the back of her head.
Don’t think about that night, Celia thought fiercely, not sure if she meant it for Peter or herself. Don’t think about it.
Peter stroked her hair, and his hand slid onto the naked skin of her back.
It felt good. Celia wanted to feel good, she wanted her own body for her own joy. She wanted that joy for Henrietta, she had been thinking it all spring, and she wanted it for her own self too. All in a rush, Celia was out of patience with her own fretting. It had been a long day and a long month and she had said the words that were so hard and here they were and she justwanted—
Celia wiggled and tugged at Peter’s hand and pulled his head towards her and made a little impatient noise and probably everything was wrong and awkward, but Peter met her halfway and rolled them together. He was kissing down her shoulder, his hand sliding up her chest. Celia knew where he was going and she was not thinking of anything but this exact moment and when he would touch her nipple, and she wiggled and cried out. Peter slid his leg over hers, holding her snug and solid under him and against him and Celia felt wonderful, and then his hand cupped her breast and lifted it to his mouth and Celia felt more wonderful than she had ever imagined. He went slowly, licking and touching and playing, and Celia sank into her own self, her own body, her own sensations. The world had disappeared, gone except for Peter’s body and his breath and the way he cradled her like she was precious.
“Celia.” He grunted, slid himself up her body. Kissed her mouth. Hard.
Every inch of Celia was contained and protected and vibrant with being loved.
“Celia.” He kissed her cheek, put his lips by her ear. “I want you. Iwantyou.”
He had heard. He had listened.
