Chapter 20
WARREN
I love you.
I want to be your wife in every way tonight.
Did she actually say that or did my mind just tell me what I’ve been dying to hear from her?
But with each passing second that ticks by as she waits for a response from me, I allow a bit of hopeful desire to escape the prison where I’ve kept it locked away.
I help her stand, only to pull her into my arms so I can better search for any traces of doubt. “You already are my wife in every way.”
Admittedly, my chest is burning with the need to say my vow to her—the vow that all Shay men say to their wives when they join for the first time—but that can wait until she’s ready.
A splash of color that can only be from the heat of a man wanting a woman and her wanting him back stains the curve of her cheeks, but she stares right back, allowing me to see the truth of her feelings for myself.
No doubt at all.
Made especially clear when she places her free hand on my chest and tortures me by dragging it down every single goddamn button until she reaches the top of my trousers.
Fuck.
My mouth dries as I fully harden, inch by inch. She truly is ready now, isn’t she?
“I want to feel you inside of me, Warren.”
Every muscle strings taut with need as my balls tighten, her words almost enough to make me spill in my pants. I know exactly the heaven that awaits me between my wife’s legs.
I’ve seen it.
Tasted it.
And now I’ll get to feel it.
Sweet mother of Christ, let me make this good for her without shaming myself in the process.
I take in each and every point we’re connected, savoring the sensation.
My hand on her cheek, and hers playing along my waistband.
Our other hands pressed palm to palm, fingers tangled together just like our legs could be in a few minutes.
God help me, but I have to ask one last time. “Are you sure? We don’t have to do anything more than what we’ve already been doing. You don’t owe it to me.”
Mara nuzzles into my hand, her touch drifting lower to lightly graze along my length. “Maybe it’s myself I owe it to.”
I grit my teeth as my cock pulses, seeking more of that tantalizing sensation. “Then who am I to stop you from collecting?” I brush my lips against hers before leaning back. Fuck, she’s a gorgeous sight to behold. “Let’s go to bed, Mrs. Shay.”
Her pupils bloom, but she follows me with only a quick glance to the unnamed dog to make sure he’s still sleeping.
He is. If I have my way, sleep won’t find the two of us for a while yet.
I tug her into the kitchen first, stopping at the sink and offering a lazy spread of my lips in answer to her questioning look.
“I need clean hands for the places my fingers are exploring tonight.”
The promise of such intimacy doesn’t scare her away as I cage her with my arms and turn on the water.
Her body is tense, whether with anticipation or nerves, I don’t know.
For myself, it’s both. I want to make this so good for her.
I already know it’ll be good for me, whether I last ten minutes or ten seconds.
But Mara deserves the utmost satisfaction tonight.
With the inviting softness of her bottom so close, I angle my hips away, much to the chagrin of my cock. But I can’t trust the bastard not to shoot off too soon.
Got to make it good for her.
“Pass me the soap?” I drag the words along the column of her neck in little kisses, chasing away the gooseflesh with heated breaths. “Please?” It’d almost be funny the way her hands fumble around for the bar if I didn’t have to tense up to prevent mine from being unsteady as well.
“Here.” Mara presses it into my waiting palm, then braces along the lip of the sink.
To support herself? To keep from reaching for me?
Regardless, I reward her with another line of kisses down the other side of her neck, smiling against her soft skin when I see the stiffened peaks of her nipples through her dress.
Christ, I can’t wait to have them in my mouth.
Maybe even taste some of her—focus, Warren. Focus.
“Much obliged, wife.” Not rushing, I work up a lather. As much as I want to be inside of her, I need to draw this out. Not to pounce the moment she gives me permission, but to entice every inch of her until we finally become one.
When my hands are clean, I reach for hers, fierce satisfaction settling into my chest when her breathing turns as uneven as mine.
I gentle my wife—my bride—to my touch, sliding my soapy hands over hers and settling my fingers in the snug valleys, learning the shape and feel of them.
Letting her learn mine. “I wonder how to please you best, hmm? Slow and steady?” I match my movements to my words.
“A bit harder? Or perhaps softer at first, teasing you with just the tip?”
She melts into me for one breath.
Two.
Then the tables turn against me. “Or maybe you could do it like this.” She captures my middle fingertip and runs small circles around the callused pad.
Fuck.
Fuck fuck fuck.
Both pleasure and pained restraint war for dominance in the effort to keep my hips from surging forward, but I remind myself to breathe. Breathe and let her play and make a failing attempt to remember that it’s my finger being touched right now. Only my finger.
“Slow, I think,” she continues in a ragged whisper, never stopping.
“To let me get used to the feel of you. And then, when you can tell I’m ready, push inside of me.
” She forms a vee around my longest finger with two of her own, then glides it downward in a slippery caress until my digit can go no further between hers. “All the way.”
“Hellfire, wife.” Hot and cold with raging desire, I tamp it down and massage that tender bit of skin between her fingers. The frothy lather drips from us just like my spend between her thighs will later. “The way you make me burn for you.”
“Warren,” she breathes out, giving me more of her trembling weight when my finger retreats and surges forward in a mimicry of sex.
“Soon,” I murmur as I rinse and dry our hands. “Soon.”
When we finally reach our dimly lit bedroom and see Emmaline sleeping quietly in her cradle, Mara turns to me as I begin unbuttoning my shirt.
“No.” The single word slips from her lips and cuts through the inferno of desire.
My fingers stall. “You don’t want to do this?” She doesn’t look scared. I don’t think, at least. A little uncertain, perhaps, with the rushed rise and fall of her chest, but I thought it was due to nerves. Not fear.
“No, I mean…” Slowly, her hands brush mine aside. “I want to do it for you.”
I drag in a rough breath of relief. It’d have killed me if she’d wanted to stop—and I’d have done it for her—but she only wants to undress me herself. I want her hands on me any way she wants to touch me. “I’m yours, wife. Do what you will with me.”
A delicate bob of her throat as she swallows and shows the barest hint of her teeth in a slight smile, then she focuses on her task.
It’s torture, really. The light pressure of her palms, the occasional scrape of a fingernail.
When the last button is freed, she spreads my shirt and studies my chest. Fire dances beneath my skin in each place her eyes linger.
Does she like what she sees? I know I love every bit of her that I’ve seen.
She’s goddamn perfect.
Then—fucking hell—her hands follow. Tentative at first, then more confident as she explores my chest. The center, right over my thundering heart that’s about to beat right through bone and muscle and skin.
Down my abdomen that jumps at the too soft sensation.
Further down to the waistband of my trousers where another part of me jumps.
“Damn it, wife.” My voice is gravel as I loosely secure her wrists with one hand. “I know I said I’m yours, but my shirt isn’t even all the way off yet, and already these hands of yours are about to make me come undone.”
Mara’s eyes darken. “Then where should I touch you?” Her fingers twitch, stretching towards me as if yearning for contact.
“Here.” I relocate them to my shoulders.
Shoulders are safe.
Shoulders are far away from my pants.
Shoulders are...
“Mara,” I groan as silky fingertips smooth over my biceps and remove my shirt the rest of the way.
…just as much of a danger zone as the rest of me.
Her touch the match to light me ablaze.
I’ve never wanted to think of Old Widow Hester any less than I do in this moment, but I might have to in order to keep my body in check.
Fuck.
Eyes lidded with hunger, I watch her warm brown fingers trail up my forearms. Up, up, up until they thread through my hair and drag my head down.
“Wife,” I whisper before pulling her close and claiming the offering of her lips in a searing kiss.
I drown in the taste of her surrender and let my hands roam the sweet curve of her hips. “I love you.”
I don’t know if she can understand the words as I murmur them into her mouth between breaths, but I need to tell her. Need her to feel how much I love her. How much I need her. My palms slide along her bottom, cupping it. So damn soft. “How about we take this pretty dress off now?”
Mara tenses for the smallest second, breath hitching.
I’ve only ever helped her out of her nightgown that one night months ago when she was soaking wet from the rain.
This is a new experience for both of us.
But then she nods, and when her dress pools around her feet in a quiet rustle, she’s left only in a white chemise with a matching ribbon that cinches her breasts together in the most delectable manner. She reaches for it, but I stop her.
“No. I want to do it for you.” Holding her gaze, I tug at the bit of silk, and it offers no resistance.
Then there’s only a line of seven buttons separating me from what I want to see most, and if the slight trembling of my hand is as noticeable to her as it is to me, she doesn’t mention it as I undo each and every one.