Chapter 16
“It must be sacrilegious to say a prayer while undressing my wife.”
Philip’s words sent a shiver down Lily’s spine, and she shifted on her feet, desire chasing each brush of his fingers as he unbuttoned her dress.
“Perhaps we should consult the vicar,” she managed. On another day, she would hate the breathy quality of her voice, how it weakened her. But she had no need for that worry now. Her walls had fallen, at least for her husband.
Her husband.
Philip chuckled and bussed his lips against her shoulder blade. “With it being Christmas Eve, I suspect he’s otherwise occupied. I’ll just have to worship at the altar of my wife and beg forgiveness later.”
“I’ve forgiven you.” The words lifted yet another layer of grief from her shoulders, stripping her bare as he was with her clothing.
He pressed his lips against the side of her neck, pausing to breathe her in. “Say it again.”
“I forgive you,” she breathed. “I love you.”
He shifted the fabric of her sleeves down her arms, and the scarlet silk slipped to pool at her waist. With a low hum, he cupped her hips over her chemise, his wide hands making her feel impossibly slight. “No corset, love?”
She shook her head. “No need with this dress. And I despise corsets.”
“I despise them, too.” His palms moved around her ribs, his thumbs brushing the underside of her breasts. “This is much better.”
Her nipples pulled into hard peaks, and she barely suppressed her needy moan.
The poise and control that had defined her life for the past eight years fled her entirely, and now she wanted nothing more than to throw Philip on the bed and ride him until she found relief.
No, this was more than mere desire, though her lust was chasing all rational thought from her mind.
She wanted nothing between them—no secrets or shame, no distance or misplaced anger.
He released the tapes holding her petticoat in place, and it fell into a pile with her dress at her feet, leaving her in the delicate chemise she’d worn for the express purpose of seeing Philip’s reaction to it.
She wasn’t disappointed. A growl rumbled from his chest, over her ribcage, and he ground his erection against her backside. He lifted one gossamer-thin strap from her shoulder and ran his finger beneath it. “What is this delightful thing?”
Heat crawled up her chest and neck. “I thought it was pretty.”
When he moved away, she whimpered at the loss of his warmth.
But he caught her hand as he stepped around her and sat on the side of their bed.
Pulled her forward between his spread thighs.
“It’s more than pretty.” His gaze raked over the nearly sheer lawn, the delicate bobbin lace edging that brushed against her breasts as her breath sawed in and out.
“You’re more than pretty. You’re the answer to my prayers, Lily. ”
Her throat burned as emotion climbed from her chest. But now, she didn’t fear appearing weak or broken.
Her shattered pieces were falling back into place, and it wasn’t a time for sorrow, but joy.
For the love she’d missed for so long, a love that had continued to grow, albeit at a distance.
Her period of mourning—for the marriage she wanted, for the man she loved—had finally ended with a rebirth, a chance to capture what they’d been missing.
Philip exhaled in a rush. “You’re so strong,” he breathed, and she choked on a smothered bark of laughter.
“Strong?”
He nodded, his palm gliding over the swell of her shoulder, then her bicep. “I noticed your legs earlier, when I…” He cleared his throat as a self-satisfied smirk spread across his lips. “You’ve worked hard at your stables, and it shows.”
She bit her lower lip, wishing she could escape the potency of his gaze. “It’s not feminine to be muscular.”
His expression was murderous. “Who told you that?”
The brush of his lips against her shoulder pulled the breath from her lungs. “Every dressmaker I’ve met. Hence my preference for shirtwaists and breeches.”
“I can’t imagine anything more feminine than this.
” His exploring hands left her arms and now held her waist, skimmed down over the curves of her bottom, and pulled her closer.
The solid weight of his thighs kept her steady, something she was grateful for as her own legs had turned boneless.
“Strength used to help others,” he murmured, “to create something wonderful. Strength to keep going.”
She rested her arms on his shoulders and stroked the hair at the nape of his neck. How she’d missed the silky slide of his dark locks through her fingers, and her heart swelled with the knowledge she’d be able to do this whenever she wanted. “You were strong, too.”
“Not when I left.” He pressed his lips to her sternum, the scruff of his beard scratching at the delicate skin of her breasts and sending her nerves into a frenzied dance. “I couldn’t have been weaker.”
“But you’re here now.” She tugged at the hair at his nape until he looked up and met her gaze. “You were strong enough to come back and face what you’d done.”
His hands on her bottom flexed, squeezed the ample flesh and sent a bolt of desire rushing through her. Then his lips closed over one peaked nipple and sucked, and an answering tug pulsed deep in her core.
She moaned, shameless and greedy, as he laved his tongue and teeth over the furled bud until the lawn of her chemise turned transparent before shifting his attention to her other breast. She drove her fingers into his hair, tugging and holding him close, desperate for more and overwhelmed by the sensation, how her knees trembled and chest ached.
Lord, she couldn’t come like this, could she?
But the pressure building between her legs had her teetering on the edge of release, and she shifted, strained to spread her thighs and seek the friction she needed.
He drew his knees closer, pinning her between his solid thighs, and spoke against her breast. “Do you need something, wife?”
“I need to come,” she grumbled, “and I can’t like this.”
He tugged at the delicate ribbon holding her strap together at her shoulder, and the fabric slipped free, falling to expose her breast. Her breath caught as the chilled air tightened her nipples further. Then he did the same with the other side, and the airy garment tumbled to his thighs.
His lips curled into a roguish smile, his eyes dark pools surrounded by a thin strip of the darkest blue. “Would you like me to make you come?”
“Yes.” She should be embarrassed by how desperate she sounded, and his brow quirked with amusement. But she was past the point of conceit. He saw through everything she put between them, and there was no sense in denying herself. In denying what they were together.
He dragged his hands up her waist and over her breasts, lingering long enough to brush his thumbs over her straining nipples before sweeping down to her hips.
Spreading his legs wider, he watched her chemise tumble to the floor before bringing his gaze back to her.
“I could stay like this forever,” he whispered, “watching you. Kissing you.”
Lily scoffed as she pressed her hands on his shoulders, shoving him onto the bed. “I can’t wait. I’ve waited long enough.”
“You have.” He shifted up the bed until he lay prone on his back, his head on a single pillow. With devilish ease, he flicked open the fastenings of his trousers and pulled his heavy erection free. “Come here.”
Her mouth watered, and she scrambled onto the bed. “What do you plan to do?”
His eyes flared, a fire glowing behind the irises. “I plan to have you ride my face until you spend all over my tongue.” He licked his lower lip as though he could already taste her. “Then I’ll make you come at least twice more before I fuck you. Is that amenable to you?”
Her mouth worked for a moment before she nodded dumbly. “That—yes, I think I’d like that.”
His grin was wicked. “I thought you would.” He flicked his hand, gesturing for her to come forward. Her heart thundering in time with the pulse of desire between her thighs, she climbed towards him, straddling his hips and moving up his chest.
He stopped her, holding her hips in place as he looked up at her. “Not like this. Turn around.”
She obliged, allowing him to position her with her arse over his face.
When he wrapped his arms around her thighs and pulled her down, she cried out, slapping a hand over her mouth to keep from disturbing the entire household.
“Oh God, oh God,” she hissed as he swept his tongue over her center, stroking her clitoris until the pressure overwhelmed her, too intense to bear.
And her husband seemed to love every moment of what he was doing to her, humming and burying his face in the valley of her thighs. Driving her higher and higher, beyond the point of reason.
She was too close, and when he drove his tongue into her wet channel, her climax overtook her. Philip moaned as she ground down on him, milking every drop of pleasure from her release.
But he did not let go of her, not even when she slumped over and braced herself on his thighs to keep from collapsing entirely.
“Philip,” she sobbed in half-hearted protest, but he began working her again with his tongue.
His fingers spread her folds, exposing her bud of nerves to his relentless attention.
“Use me,” he said, his voice like gravel. “Fuck my face, wife.”
She held herself braced on his thighs as she rocked against him, finding the perfect place for his lips to curl around her clitoris and suck, the precise pressure that had her hurtling towards another climax.
When she ground on him, he groaned, shifted beneath her. His erection bobbed against his stomach, organ swollen and leaking from the tip.