Inside the box was a silver chain and medallion. St. Michael, the patron saint of warriors. To wear his medallion was to call upon his benevolence.
He licked his lips nervously as she lifted the chain from its bed of velvet and released the catch. He leaned into her and let her secure it around his neck before lifting it, turning it. ALL MINE, LOVE, HALEY. His heart nearly burst at the words, his throat thickening as he stared back at her.
"Open yours," he whispered.
She opened the bag and froze. Her eyes lifted to his, and he saw the hope that filled them. She drew the little box out, her hands shaking, and opened it slowly. A single tear fell from her eye.
"Will you marry me, Haley?"
She covered her lips with her fingers as he drew the diamond solitaire from its place, lifted her left hand, and pushed it onto her finger. The fit was perfect. The diamond glowed with a rich cascade of color, just like her tree.
"Are you sure?" she finally whispered. "You want to marry me?"
"Haley, you're mine," he told her softly. "My heart, my soul. Your laughter, your tears, your sorrow and joy. And your beliefs. I want every tie I can put around us, so everyone knows that you're always mine." She kissed him. A hard, tearful kiss before she jumped from the couch and ran to her room. Noble blinked in surprise. He stood up and followed her, stepping into her bedroom and following to the open bathroom door.
She was digging through a little cardboard box. Tears were dampening her face, worrying him, until she evidently found exactly what she was looking for.
She turned and held them out to him.
Wedding bands. One thick gold band. The other smaller.
"My grandparents'." She looked back at him uncertainly. "Can we wear them?" He touched the rings and stared back at her before sighing. "Haley, you could put a collar on me, and I'd wear the damned thing with pride. These? Baby, these I'll wear with joy." She laid the rings carefully back into place, closed the box, and turned back to him.
"I love you."
And nothing had ever sounded sweeter.
He touched her cheek, lowered his lips to hers, and let himself feel her kiss, the love, the acceptance, the joy she found in him. The joy he found in her.
Haley parted her lips beneath his, licked at his, pressed until he gave her what she needed. What she craved. The mating heat was just a low simmer inside her, but his kiss, his taste was something she would always crave. The wild, hot taste of him fed her senses. His touch as he pulled her dress from her body fed her lust. His need for her fed her love.
She pushed his shirt from his shoulders, tore at his belt, at the buttons of his jeans until she released the weight of his c**k into her hand.
It throbbed, fierce and proud, as-she stroked it. The engorged head pulsed at her touch, and his groan fed her need for him.
"The bed," she whispered.
"Not moving." He nipped at her lips. "I've waited too f**king long now." He turned her, and Haley found herself staring into the mirror, watching his face as he moved behind her. He bent her over the cabinet, holding her hips as he bent his knees and tucked the head of his fierce erection between her thighs.
He'd only pushed his jeans to his thighs, she felt the scrape of the fabric against the backs of her legs. She stared into the mirror, saw the gleam of the medallion she had given him against one of the dark spots across his chest.
Then her gaze lifted to his, and she was caught, snared, trapped within the heated black depths of his eyes. There, emotion swirled. Love, tenderness, sometimes confusion, and through it all was pos-sessiveness. Her back arched as he moved inside her. Slow, easy strokes, stretching her internal muscles, burning them, raking across tender nerve endings with exquisite pleasure.
His hands slid from her hips to her br**sts, stroking them, playing with her ni**les as they watched each other, loved each other.
Haley curled her arms behind her, held on to his neck and tilted her head, baring her shoulder. She knew what he needed when he looked at her like that. When the pleasure was growing between them like a ravening hunger, tearing at their senses, at their control.
"Haley." He groaned her name, his head dipping, his tongue stroking over the small mark at her shoulder. His tongue laved it, his lips caressed it.
His strokes inside her became harder, deeper, the slap of flesh, the earth moans that filled the bathroom gaining in volume until Haley felt herself come alive in his arms.
This wasn't a little death, as the French called it. It was life. It exploded within her. It lit her senses with a rainbow hue of colors to rival the brightest Christmas tree and filled her with an ecstasy that she knew she could no longer live without.
It completed her.
And when the barb locked him to her, and his release spilled into her, it finished that completion in a round of fireworks that she knew even the Fourth of July couldn't compare to. When she could see again, when she could think again, it was to watch his head lift from her shoulder, to see his face relaxed and infused with pleasure.
Merry Christmas, Noble," she whispered, touching his cheek, their gazes meeting in the mirror once more.