When their lips parted, he shifted on to his knees, never taking his avid gaze from hers, while he took his cock in his hand and pumped it. The head strained dark purplish-red, the shaft flushed with colour, hard. She couldn’t take her attention away from it, watched the bead of liquid emerge from the tip and reached out to claim it as her own. He let his hand fall away, gave her control.
“You’re so handsome,” she murmured. “I had no idea, although I thought I did. I used to dream—“ Startled, she broke off and her stare flipped to his face.
“Thank you,” was all he said, but his tongue flicked over his lower lip, and she wanted it again. “I don’t want you to change. I never want you to look at me as if you didn’t care, or worse, as if you despised me.”
“I’ll never do that.” She couldn’t be more sure. “I swear it.”
He shook his head slightly, as if he found it difficult to believe.
“The best part of this was coming home and finding you here. A ready-made wife. I couldn’t have chosen better.”
It meant so much to her that he didn’t resent what she did. He had every right to. Her guilt had been so overwhelming when he’d come home that she’d have done anything to amend for it. Now she’d do anything, with no reason except she couldn’t bear to see him hurt or in trouble. Another woman might have resented the necessity, but not once she’d seen him. Then she had to consider herself lucky.
“Make love to me, John,” she said. “Fuck me.” She’d never used that kind of language in the bedroom before, not thought it attractive. Now, with him gazing at her like he wanted to devour her, preparing his erection so he could enter her, she appreciated the physical side of marriage as never before. She’d always imagined the mental part, the partnership, practical surviving the important part, but now she couldn’t think of anything more urgent or imperative. She wanted the physical, longed to see his need for her body as hers for him.
Curving her legs around his, her arm around his neck, she drew him down. His cock only needed a little guidance, and then, poised at her entrance, it pierced her and she cried his name when he slid deep. He kept his penetration slow and sure, so they could both experience every bit of his entry completely. Every fraction of an inch. When he grazed the spot inside her that held the key to her sensuality, she concentrated and knew when he touched it. The responding shivers racked her, and Faith closed her eyes to experience it better.
“So good,” he whispered, his voice holding awe. “So wonderful.
The way you take me, I could stay here forever.”
She chuckled, low in her throat. “No you couldn’t, though we could try. Maybe this summer?”
The last vestige of her resolve to sneak away disappeared then and there. How could she run from this man? She couldn’t leave him. She needed him, to know he was happy. He’d made it as clear as possible he wanted her by his side, so she had no choice but to stay there. When she wasn’t under him, taking him deep into her body, hearing his groan as he pulled out and pushed back in. She opened her eyes, smiled at him.
He kept his movements slow. No hurry and he adjusted his position a little, lifting on to his elbows so he could watch her face as he fucked her. No, no he was making love, she was sure. Every touch he gave her was a caress. She loved when he lifted one hand to cup and stroke her breast, then bent to take it into his mouth. He licked around her nipple, sucking in time with his thrusts.
Her back arched, thrusting her nipple into his greedy mouth.
She responded to his urgent drives by bracing her hips and backside against the mattress. That provided resistance so he could plunge deep, and deeper still.
She drew her nails down his back, not enough to pierce the skin, but to stimulate him. The action gave her some relief from the tension building inside her, readying her for the inevitable. Her culmination, the moment when everything stopped before the rush of emotion and sensation that froze every nerve, forced her to cry his name.
Her channel clenched around his shaft, repeated the motion in a series of ripples, and he lifted his head from her nipple, choked her name and—pulled out of her. His seed gushed over her belly.
He hadn’t done that since he’d brought her to this house and his action devastated her.
As overcome by his rejection as she’d been by his possession, she felt him regain his breath. He rolled away from her, leaving the bed to go into the dressing room. She watched numbly when he returned with a cloth, attended to her, wiped her stomach and then lower, between her legs.
She half expected him to dress and leave, but instead he slid between the sheets and lay next to her, his head propped on his elbow. He didn’t touch her. She didn’t reach for him, didn’t dare, in case he moved further away.
“Why?”
He didn’t pretend to misunderstand her. “A last minute decision.” He smiled wryly. “I thought it was wrong. I shouldn’t trap you in any way. If you’re not expecting now, I shouldn’t keep trying to ensure you were.”
“Is that what you did? Tried to impregnate me?”
He kept her gaze, didn’t flinch from the condemnation in her eyes. “No. Yes. I want you, never forget that fact. The moment I saw you when I came home, I wanted you. I’d seen you last before the battle. You didn’t appear as before but I felt exactly the same.”
She recalled the clothes she’d had. Although she owned two decent outfits, she didn’t use them often. Like most other women she wore practical garments in drab colours, darned and mended when needed. She’d screwed her hair up into a tight knot, and sometimes, when she couldn’t get water except to drink and cook with, she’d stayed grubby. Not the respectable widow she’d taken care to appear as when she lived in Red Lion Square. “I didn’t, did I?”
He touched a curl. “You’d had your hair cut.”
She burst into laughter, shock as much as amusement. “That’s what you noticed?”
“Yes. I like it. I desired you first, and only after did I recognise you.” He withdrew his hand and she felt the urge to grab for it, and hold it close to her heart. Foolish, especially as anger and bewilderment still simmered through her.
“So why reject me?”
He frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“You pulled out.”
He huffed. “I wanted to give you choices. You have your bag packed in the dressing room. I don’t want you ever to feel obliged to stay, or to sacrifice something you need for anyone else.”
“For you.” She knew what he meant. “I’ll do it for you and it’s not a sacrifice. So long as you don’t do it again.”
He shook his head, the light from the window flickering over his sharp-cut features. “I don’t understand, but if it makes you unhappy, I won’t do it again, I promise.” He lay down and opened his arms. “Come here.” He paused. “Please.”
She went, felt herself welcomed. She never wanted to leave and she didn’t feel she’d sacrificed anything.
Chapter Thirteen
Sweating, John cried out and sat bolt upright. “Jesus!”
Beside him, Faith stirred and mumbled, then she was awake too.
“What? John, what’s wrong?”
He closed his eyes, recalling what had woken him, shocked by what he knew wasn’t a mere dream. How could he tell her? He couldn’t, that was all. He couldn’t watch her while she realised the full implications of his revelation. “Nothing,” he said. He lay down and reached for her. She’d know he was shaking, but he couldn’t help it. He needed to hold her. Dawn was filtering through the clouds outside, illuminating her as she lay there, hair adorably tousled, eyes sleepy, her body warm. “A nightmare,” he told her. “I was at Waterloo.”