Page 86 of A Song for Another Woman

Emmy’s hand drops to my shoulder, her nails pressing through the cotton of my shirt.

I look up at her. “And your mama is the strongest woman I’ve ever known.”

“Cade.”

“She is.” I kiss her belly again. “She’s stubborn, too. You’ll learn that.”

A laugh gets through her tears. I smile against her skin because I’ve missed that sound enough to live on the echo.

I rise from her belly slowly, kissing my way up: the curve beneath her breasts, the hollow of her throat, the underside of her jaw. Her camisole is still on, and I don't remove it yet. I don't remove anything yet. I just learn her again with my mouth, my hands, and the patience I should have brought to every single night of our marriage.

She reaches for my shirt, and I let her pull it over my head. Her palms flatten against my chest, warm and searching. I close my eyes because the touch of her hands on my bare skin after all these months is almost too much.

"Hey," she says softly.

I open my eyes. "Hey."

"You're shaking."

"Am I?"

Her hands slide over my shoulders, down my arms. She pulls me toward her, and I follow, carefully laying her back acrossthe cushions. The quilt bunches beneath her shoulders. Her hair spills dark against the pale fabric. Moonlight catches in her eyes.

I settle beside her first, not above. My arm goes around her, my mouth at her neck, and I feel her body against mine. She's familiar and changed all at once, softer in places, fuller in places, carrying a weight I wasn't here to help her carry.

"Tell me what you need," I say against her skin.

"You. Just you."

I unbutton her jeans, slow, watching her face. She lifts her hips, and I slide them down, taking my time. I press my mouth to each new inch of her I reveal.

Her fingers twist into the quilt when I settle between her legs. I look up at her once. She meets my eyes, and there's no hesitation in her face. Only want. Only trust.

I lower my mouth to her.

She gasps, and the sound breaks open something I've been holding locked in my chest for months. I take my time. I learn her with my tongue, slow and deliberate, listening to every sound she makes. The sharp inhale, the whispered fragments of my name, the broken moan when I find the place that makes her hips arch off the cushions.

I hold her steady. I don't rush. I let it build in her like it deserves to build, like she deserves to be wanted this thoroughly.

When she comes, her hand flies to my head, gripping my hair, and her whole body tightens and releases in a wave that I feel against my mouth. She says my name like a prayer and a curse in the same breath.

I press a kiss to the inside of her thigh and lift my head. "Are you okay?"

Her chest rises and falls. Her eyes are glassy. "Cade."

"We can stop." I say it because I mean it. "If you want?—"

"I want you." She reaches for me, her fingers curling around my arm. "I need you. Please."

I can't believe I've been lucky enough to get another chance at this. At her. At us. I won't ever do anything that jeopardizes that. Not again. Not ever.

I move carefully.

For once, I know exactly what to do, guided by some instinctual intuition that is likely older than any of us.

I position her on her side, facing the windows where the moonlight comes through. My arm goes around her, my mouth at the back of her neck, and I feel her settle against me with a sigh that sounds like coming home.

"Okay?" I whisper.