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“What do you want, little one?”
“More. More of you. I want to please you.”
Philip grew calm. “This may hurt.”
“Why? What you did earlier did not—”
“That was not...” He seemed to struggle with the words. “This will be different.”
She kissed him. “I trust you.”
He studied her face a moment, then nodded. He lay at her side, braced on one elbow, as the other hand stroked her thighs, then moved to her core. “Close your eyes. Just feel.”
She did, those splendid sensations taking her again, the pure pleasure of his hands on her flesh, stroking, exploring. The desire for him expanding as the wetness between her thighs spread, as his fingers dipped inside for more. She squirmed, aching for more, when she felt him shift, moving on top of her. He pushed her legs farther apart and began to settle against her.
She felt the unexpected pressure at her entrance as well as the strokes of his fingers around it. It rekindled the fire within her, and Emalyn opened her eyes to find Philip watching her with a fevered intensity, his face flushed, and the muscles in his neck and shoulders straining.
Without truly understanding why, she drew her knees up, which spread her thighs wider. Philip gasped, shifted, and the pressure increased as she felt his entry. Then more, the pressure becoming uncomfortable as he moved slowly, then slightly painful. Her breath caught.
“Does it hurt?”
She shook her head, a lie, but she desperately wanted him to continue. Emalyn wanted this, all of him, whatever it meant to be with him as a woman is with a man she loves. To encourage him, she raised her hips. His eyes shot wide and with a hoarse moan, he sank into her, seating his hips against hers.
Pain spiked through her, a dull, sudden ache that made her body shudder and her muscles tense. Emalyn bit her lip, tasting the blood, but as she grasped her arms around his back, holding to him, that ache began to ease.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, watching her.
“Never be.” She moved beneath him, and he drew in breath, beginning the slow thrusts she expected. His face and chest flushed even redder as his hips moved with more speed and fluidity. Gradually, her own pleasure returned—without the intensity of the first time—but enough so that that her muscles released their tension, and the ache vanished. Then he abruptly cried out, his back bowing. Two more sharp thrusts, and he collapsed against her, burying his face in her neck.
His voice muffled by her hair, he repeated his earlier words. “I’m sorry.”
“But now I am yours. And I always will be.”
Philip eased out of her, then raised his head to gaze at her face. “You are incredible.”
Emalyn stroked the back of his head, her fingers intwining in the soft locks. “Yes. But you have known that for years.”
He grinned. “Indeed. Ever since you called me a lanky hound out beside the rosemary tree.”
“Our own Christmas tradition.”
Philip kissed her temple, then her eyelids. “Oh, I can think of a Christmas tradition I like much better.”
“One we can re-enact every year?”
“Without a doubt. And even a few times throughout the year.”
“Afewtimes?”
“Wanton minx.”
“Yes. But I amyourwanton minx.”
Philip drew her into his arms, cuddling her against his chest. “Now and forever.”
Epilogue
10 December 1805
