He waited, then did it again, until she lay there trusting and helpless.
When he came into her with his hips pressing her deeply down into the bed, she knew why sex had the power to drive people to do what wasn’t rational.
She understood love that caused wars and a love so powerful that a small human mind had no way to stop from needing to experience it.
Never did she think that a man and a woman could create this kind of magic. And she couldn’t imagine the freedom of being able to love like this whenever she wanted for the rest of her life.
“I love you,” he whispered, then said it again and again with each motion of his body.
He made love to her in long strokes and with such power but tenderness, watching for her needs and talking to her so she knew that he was feeling the same things, that she was making him wonder at how anything could be so good.
His face was flushed with desire and excitement from all they were feeling.
When he finally gave in to his pleasure and pushed deeply into her, he moaned her name as he filled her with warmth and power and warm life.
She had no idea how long they lay there, damp and not moving and as if they had taken everything from each other and there was nothing left to give or to take.
It seemed like hours later, but it had only been minutes and she started to get a cramp in her calf, then she moved too quickly.
“Oh... God!” She squirmed under him. “My leg!”
“What?” He arched up and looked down at her. “What the hell’s wrong?”
“Cramp! Cramp!” was all she could say as she tried to bend down with him on top of her.
He rolled off her. “Where?”
“Leg!” was all she could say.
Then he was kneading her calf muscle, which knotted so painfully she wanted to holler.
After a minute he made her flex her foot a few times even though she groused that it hurt and soon she was okay. She turned back to look at him.
A second later they both were laughing and rolling around her bed.
“It’s all your fault,” she said, laughing. “You had my legs everywhere.”
“You weren’t complaining, George. You kept moaning for more.”
“I did not!”
“Aye. You did, ‘More... more... Eachann,’” he said in a falsetto voice, his eyes closed while he shook his thick head and mimicked her.
She just lay there, not saying anything. She let him have his fun and acted as if it didn’t bother her. He stopped laughing and looked at her as if he had realized he wasn’t going to get a rise out of her. She just smiled and rubbed her hand over his chest affectionately for a few seconds.
When she had milked the moment for all it was worth, she slowly reached out and touched him, drew her finger along him and watched his reaction.
His laughter stopped, and suddenly he was the one who was holding his breath.
It only took her a few more minutes to discover something new, a power she had over him that was intriguing and made her understand that she had a hold over him, the same kind of hold that he had over her.
And here she had been fighting against him so valiantly because she was afraid of how she felt, afraid that she was losing her sense and her control, that if she gave in to Eachann she would lose herself to his man and the passions he created in her that she couldn’t stop no matter how hard she tried.
There was a freedom in her discovery. And for the first time she realized that love wasn’t something that controlled you and took over who you were and what you were. She sat up and pushed him back.
She spent the next hour doing to him every single thing he had done to her until she got her revenge and he was the one who was begging, “More... more...”
And hours later when she lay curled in his arm and the moon had gone down, she listened to his breathing and felt the depth of his sleep.
