Preston's Honor(95)

I let out a breath on a quiet laugh. Maybe I had made it into her good graces. I hoped so. I’d never wanted to have a stilted relationship with Mrs. Saw—, Camille.

Preston touched his forehead to mine, and we simply breathed together for a few minutes. “I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you, too.” I leaned back so I could look into his eyes. “Make love to me, Preston. I need to feel you.”

His eyes widened. “Are you sure? Have we dated enough—?”

I laughed. “You’re not going to stop dating me after we make love, are you?”

“No. God, no. Never.”

“Then, yes, I’m very sure.”

He brought his hands to my face and held me tenderly as he moved his lips to mine and kissed me, slowly and thoroughly. I pressed myself back against the pillows and wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him with me as I broke from his lips and tipped my head so he could move his mouth down my throat.

His lips whispered over my skin, causing me to moan and weave my fingers into his hair.

He brought his mouth to my ear and said quietly, hoarsely, “I burn for you, Annalia.”

“Preston,” I gasped as wetness gathered between my thighs at the feel of his warm breath at my ear and the words he’d uttered. I burn for you.

Preston stood and turned down the lamp, pulling the blinds closed though there was only farmland outside the window. I watched as he performed the functions slowly but deliberately, preparing the room for what was about to happen, and excitement lit inside me making me feel hot and slightly breathless. Oh, I burn for you, too.

He pulled his T-shirt off, and I took a moment to admire him, the deep, golden glow of his skin, the sleek muscles of a man who worked outside all day. A man who used his body to provide for his family, wiping sweat and dirt from his brow at the end of each long day.

Some primitive part of me found deep satisfaction in that. I wasn’t sure I’d share the thought with anyone, supposed it might be an antiquated idea in this day and age. But it wasn’t just a thought or an idea, it was a feeling residing deep in my bones, a rush of undeniable feminine pride for such uncomplicated masculinity. Other women who had men who used their bodies as well as their minds to put food on their dinner table would understand. This was the idyllic dream I’d never imagined possible. This wasn’t small. This was where my heart had always yearned to be.

“Come here, farm boy,” I whispered, a husky quality to my voice that spoke of my arousal, the deep abiding love in my heart for this man.

He glanced at my foot as he came toward the bed. “How’s your ankle?”

I looked down at it. I’d forgotten all about it. “It’s good.”

He rejoined me on the bed where we undressed each other slowly, Preston laughing with strain as his hands fumbled at the buttons of my shirt. “You’ve gotta stop wearing buttons.” He took in a big breath, slowing his fingers, apparently determined not to rip them off this time.

When he’d completed the task, I grinned and then sighed as he brought his mouth to the swells of my breasts and dragged his rough jaw over them. I groaned, clutching his hair at the goosebump-inducing sensation of his scratchy skin on my tender flesh.

Our eyes met as Preston reached behind me to unhook my bra and the dark look in his gaze made me shiver. The garment tossed aside, his eyes lingered on my naked breasts for a moment, and then he leaned back and dragged my underwear down my legs until I was completely naked. I stilled slightly, nervous at being completely exposed to him. But if he sensed my sudden reserve, he didn’t say anything. He moved slowly back up my body, stopping at my lower belly and using his tongue to trace the marks left by pregnancy.

Oh.

As he kissed that part of me I’d been hesitant for him to see, I felt his penis twitch and grow fuller where it lay against my thigh, only the thin cotton of his underwear between us. He let out a sound that resembled a low growl and I lifted my head slightly to watch him. “They turn you on?” I asked in wonder.

“God, yes,” he said between kisses, moving upward until he held my face in his hands, his whole heart in his serious blue eyes. “We made a baby in love and you carried him inside your body. Those marks are the proof of that—the physical testament that you’re mine—and there’s nothing sexier to me. Nothing.”

I let out a breath of relief and welling emotion. He brought his lips to mine, kissing me deeply for several moments as my blood heated once more, desire blooming inside me.

After a minute, he leaned back and removed his underwear and I watched as his erection sprang free. He came back over me, positioning his knee between my thighs and forcing them apart slightly.

I gripped his shoulders as his face lowered to my breast, sucking one sensitive nipple into the wet warmth of his mouth. Oh. I arched my back and reveled in the delicious sensation that made me moan as sparks of electricity shot from my nipple straight between my legs. I writhed on his thigh and he groaned. “Annalia,” he said, sounding so tortured, it made my chest swell with love and a small bit of amusement.

“I want to touch you. Will you show me how?”

His answer was a groan as he brought my hand between his legs, turning over and lying on his back so I had access. So I could learn how he was made. “Oh,” I said in wonder as I leaned over him, gripping his solid length. “It’s so soft. Hard but . . . like velvet.” I ran one finger slowly up the underside and watched in fascination as wetness pooled at the tip. I used my thumb to spread the liquid over the purplish head of his erection and then took his heavy testicles in my palm, testing their weight, enjoying the soft feel of them in my hand.