Cordelia had tumbled a way to keep him into her lap.
But now she knew exactly how deep the pain etched into him during the wars went, how much he needed to purge those battles from his soul. Asking him to give up his plans, to stay home instead of confronting his demons…
Could she ask him to make such a sacrifice?
Nineteen
December 25, 1822
Clara’s breasts gave Atlas life. And a throbbing cock. He woke with Clara’s perfect breast cupped in his hand and her perfect arse nestled against his cock. Her shift entirely disarranged. Or gone. And happiness felt like it started somewhere inside him. Not in the sky or in a lock of hair, a pitch-perfect note or a stroke of paint. It bloomed in his gut then traveled through his blood to move his hand against her lovely neck.
He should leave her be. They’d returned to their room late last night, exhausted. The entire evening had been filled with song and games and laughter. His sisters-in-law had quite stolen Clara away, and when he’d gotten her back in the quiet of their room, he’d pleasured her until she’d slipped into a deep and sated sleep.
She slept soundly now, and she deserved her rest.
Just a little caress, a little… appreciation. He squeezed gently, teased her nipple, drew a line down her middle to her navel and back up. She stirred, her lower back arching just theslightest bit, pressing her backside against him. God, what lovely torture. He closed his eyes and breathed her in, and when he opened them again, her shoulder, creamy and round, beckoned to him from beneath loose strands of her hair. Poor thing. It deserved appreciation as well. He kissed it, breathing in again, now that his nose was closer to her skin, his body tightening.
Appreciation. Bone-deep, soul-singing appreciation. That continued up her neck, placing kisses carefully before moving to the delicate curve of her jaw. He anchored his hand on her top hip, fitting her body more searingly close against his and rocked his cock against her arse. He, perhaps, was showing his appreciation too much now. He might wake her. But he could not seem to care. She needed rest. He should let her have it. But he wanted something else, needed to take it for himself. Could not seem to stop.
He smoothed his hand over the top of her hip and rounded belly, explored lower, finding the crisp curls where her legs met and cupping the very center of her. She rolled her body again. This time a small moan escaped her lips. And on the wave of that moan traveled his name. Her hand joined his between her legs, fingers threading with fingers, stroking.
Hell. He nipped at the soft curve where shoulder became neck then licked it, tugged her earlobe between his teeth. Slipped a finger inside her.
Another roll of her hips, another moan of his name. He dragged his cock between the globes of her arse as his thumb teased the little nub that would unravel her. She gave a hiss of pleasure, then all at once, she leapt into wakeful life, turning in his arms, hands flying to his shoulders and pushing him onto his back as she straddled him. She took his cock in her hand, the other hand pinning his shoulder to the mattress, and met his gaze with her own wild-eyed one as she stroked it up and down.
Pleasure wound tight in his gut, and he could not look away from her. Indeed, she demanded his focus, every move and look daring him to tear his gaze away, to close his eyes and block her out. What a fool he’d be to do so. Impossible to do so. She had conquered him with strong grip and talented fingers and—bloody hell—when her other hand cupped his balls, squeezed, just as her thumb flicked over the head of his cock… his skin became too tight to live in. He rolled his hips upward, thrusting against her, and the movement sent ripples through her body. Those beautiful breasts strained against her shift. Damn shift. He ripped it up and off her, producing a pleased smile that did not last long. He swallowed it in a kiss, surging up to wrap his arms around her and cup the back of her head with his hand to hold her tight. To kiss her. To keep her.
His wife.
Who had other ideas than kissing. The flex of her thighs, sleek with muscle, brought her up and then down, sinking onto his cock. She broke the kiss and pushed him away, and he fell to the mattress with a grunt. And gratitude. She followed him down, pinning him, kissing him, as she rode him slowly. He bracketed her hips with his hands, never breaking the kiss, to show her a new rhythm. Faster. Because his needy body demanded it. But she eased him back to a slower speed once more. When he ripped away from the kiss to groan into her neck, she chuckled, her breath whispering against his ear.
And destroying any restraint.
A whisper, so soft and tiny, a breath—the most important thing in the world—and he became a beast. He wrapped his arms around her and flipped them, pressing her back to the mattress, pinning her, his cock still deep inside her, and he claimed her lips once more, need moving his muscles. Fast and faster as her fingernails raked down his back, as she moaned his name, as hestared into her eyes and found them glowing with desire. And determination.
He was determined, too, to make her come, to make her scream. He slipped his hand between their bodies and stroked her curls as he thrust, stroked his tongue into her mouth. She arched and wriggled beneath him.
“Atlas, I can’t…”—panting breaths—“Oh, Atlas.”
“Fall apart, love. I’m here.”
She bit her bottom lip with a groan, eyes closing, and he pressed his thumb against her as he thrust home hard. She gasped, her eyes flying open, her hands claws on his back, hips bucking upward to meet him.
And his control snapped as her body shook in orgasm beneath him. As her muscles clenched around him, he fell apart too, almost forgetting to leave her heaven of a body before he spent. Almost. He pulled out and saved them both but left his body in a state of semi-dissatisfaction he had to brush aside. He was protecting her. His most important job to protect her. And that meant he could not risk getting her with child.
He collapsed to the side and brought her with him, wrapping his arms around her tightly as she nestled her head against his chest, their legs tangling. He rested his chin atop her head and felt the curve of her satisfied smile against his skin.
“Happy Christmas,” she purred.
He kissed the top of her head and rubbed it with his cheek. “Happy Christmas. My apologies for waking you.”
She laughed. “None needed. Wake me more often.” She took one hearty inhale and nuzzled her nose against his chest. Content. And warm and soft and…
And the world shifted the tiniest bit, the center of it changing. Not out in the world any longer, but in this bed beside him.
“Did you have bad dreams last night?” she asked, drawing circles into his bare chest.
“No.” The truth.
