“I don’t want to think about a life without you,” he confessed. “If you ran away, I don’t know what I’d do.”
“I won’t run away,” Wye told him. “If I give you my word, I’ll honor it.”
If. When would that turn into a when?
Tomorrow?
Emerson pushed that thought out of his mind, content to stay present with today. As Wye moved above him, her breasts swayed. He brought both hands to her hips, lifting her, pressing against her, wanting her too badly to take much time.
Wye nodded, and he pushed inside her, both of them breathing out in a sigh.
“Why do you feel so damn good?” Wye asked him, taking him all the way in, then lifting and rocking her hips again. “I could do this all the time.”
“Good. I can’t think of a better way to spend our days.”
“Me, neither.”
She closed her eyes, and Emerson took that as encouragement. Hands still on her hips, he guided her movements, and her breasts rocked forward and back. He tilted his head to claim one nipple, thrusting deeper inside her while sweeping a hand up to cup the back of her neck.
He needed all of her. Needed to feel her above him, feel the press of her breasts on his chest, her knees against his hips. Needed to push inside her again and again until—
Emerson came with a groan, and Wye cried out above him, arching her back, pulsing around him until he bucked against her, unable to hold back. They kept their rhythm until both were spent, and Wye curled around him, still holding him inside her, clinging to his shoulders as if she’d never let go.
Emerson stroked her body, every curve and dip firing him up again already. With Wye, he felt invincible, and slowly, ever so slowly, he rolled her over and began their dance all over again, taking his turn on top.
He took his time, pushing into her with long, slow strokes, teasing and caressing her body with his hands. When she began to move with him, he linked his fingers with hers and raised her hands over her head. Now he had control, and he wielded it patiently, coaxing pleasure from Wye until she begged him for more.
“Emerson, please,” she said, nipping his chin, then kissing it.
“You want more of this?” He stroked into her firmly, and she sighed.
“Yes.”
“More of this?” He circled his hips, and she moaned.
“Yes, please.”
“More of this?” He pushed up her thighs and encouraged her to link them behind his back. Now he could thrust deep.
“Yes!”
Emerson took mercy on her and began to move in earnest. Wye tossed her head back and let him ride her, putty in his hands. Her trust moved him more than anything else, and Emerson promised himself he would never let her down. He’d spend his life living up to her expectations. Would—
Wye came with a gasping cry, and all thought fled his mind as her orgasm drew him over the edge. Emerson let his body take over, bucking against her, tensing and flexing until both uttered a final cry.
He gathered her close beneath him, kissed her jaw, her cheek—her mouth.
“Wyoming Smith, I don’t care anymore if it’s too soon. I love you, you hear me?”
“I hear you. I… love you, too.”
She’d said she loved him.
Wye woke up next to Emerson on Christmas morning knowing her life would never be the same. She’d never declared her love to a man. Had never dared to. Her father had laughed at her childish expressions of love for him. Had disappeared the moment she stopped following his every dictate.
When she told Ward she loved him, her brother usually grunted or muttered the words back to her as if under duress. She knew somewhere deep down he cared for her, but he had his own struggles with trust and love.
Since leaving home, she hadn’t let herself get emotionally involved with any of the men she’d dated. Her pattern was to go out a few times, maybe even become intimate with a man—and then quickly find a reason he didn’t measure up.
Whenever she broke off a relationship, she felt—relief.
Wye sat with that thought a moment as she let her gaze run over the man sleeping next to her. Relief, because… because steeling herself for disappointment or pain all the time was exhausting, and she’d preferred to remain alone rather than to maintain those kinds of defences.
As she watched the rise and fall of Emerson’s chest and took in the way his features were relaxed in sleep, her heart warmed.
Last night she’d let her defenses down, and Emerson hadn’t hurt or disappointed her. He’d looked her in the eye and declared his love for her.
And she’d said it back.
Part of Wye wanted to hide under the covers. The other part wanted to leap out and dance around the room.
He loved her.
And she loved him.
Could things turn out differently this time?
She didn’t see why not. One thing she’d realized about Emerson—he was consistent. He said what he meant. He did what he said he’d do. He was dependable. Trustworthy.
Hers.
A baby’s cry alerted her to the fact her niece was already awake, which meant Ward must be, too. Remorse flooded her as she realized she’d been so happy about her own circumstances, she’d forgotten what a sad day this would be for her brother. She didn’t want him wandering around in a strange house on Christmas morning, so although she would have been happy to lie in bed with Emerson, wait for him to wake up and talk over what had happened between them, she slipped out from under the covers and reached for her robe.
“Not so fast.” Emerson whipped out a hand and grabbed her wrist,
