She nodded with more certainty than she felt.
He pushed forward again, and Esme's eyes widened in fear and pain.
"Oh, stop!" she cried out as he pushed against her maidenhead.
Sweat popped out on his forehead, and he ground his teeth in near agony as he tried, without success, to move within her. The hot, wet invitation of her body was in sharp contrast to the formidable barrier of her innocence.
Cleav pulled back slightly and strained to recover himself. "Sweet Esme," he choked out in tender anguish. "I don't want to hurt you, but I . . ." Getting control of her breath, Esme gazed up into the pale blue eyes of Cleavis Rhy and knew that she loved him. Always the gentleman, his jaw was clenched tightly against his own desire as he willed himself not to hurt her. It was supposed to hurt, everyone knew that. But this man in her arms, the man she loved, would spare her that if he could.
Wrapping her long, slim legs about his waist, Esme firmly grasped his buttocks and thrust forward, forcefully impaling herself on his shaft.
They both cried out, she in pain and he in ecstasy.
A stream of late afternoon sunlight streaked between the shade and the glass and across the hardwood floor. The quiet of the empty room accentuated the sound of the two near-naked bodies that lay between the counter and the canned goods shelf, gasping for breath.
Esme ran her hand along his straight, strong spine, feeling the quivering of well-worked muscles and the sheen of perspiration on his skin.
"I hurt you." Cleav spoke first. It was a statement rather than a question.
"No, I'm fine," Esme lied. It had hurt. More than she'd expected. But it didn't hurt now, not really. The slight rawness and the uncomfortable stretching paled in comparison to the relief she felt. Relief was definitely the word. He was inside her, a part of her, sheltering her and enclosing her. She felt so safe, so at home, at last.
Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them back. He'd think she was crying for the pain, and that was beneath her dignity. But joy, this kind of joy, was something worth crying about.
Cleav raised his head slightly and saw the dampness on her cheek.
"Don't cry, little baby," he whispered. "My little Hillbaby."
He tried to move away from her, but Esme wouldn't let him. Wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, she held him fast.
"I'm too heavy for you," Cleav told her.
"Please don't leave yet," she whispered.
"I'm not going anywhere," he assured her.
"I mean," she hesitated, not sure about her phrasing, "I mean, it was such a struggle to get it inside. I don't want you to take it out so soon."
Cleav looked at her curiously for a moment and then his face was wreathed in a smile and he chuckled with self-satisfaction. Holding her as tightly as she held him, he rolled to his side and then wiggled more closely to her, securing his place.
"I'll try to stay all afternoon this way, if that's what you want, Hillbaby," Cleav told her with a teasing smile. "My spirit is willing, but my flesh may be weak."
Esme looked at him questioningly and then ran a warm appreciative hand along the muscled length of his bicep, giving it a testing squeeze.
"There is nothing weak about you, Cleavis Rhy," she stated flatly.
Cleav chuckled lightly. "It wasn't my arms I was worried about."
When Esme continued to look at him curiously, Cleav felt awkward. His experience with women had not been among the innocent. Of course, there were things that Esme wouldn't know, couldn't know, until her husband told her. He was the husband. Somehow the responsibility of educating her was a burden he was more than willing to take on his shoulders.
"My ..." he began hesitantly. "Well . . . my . . . my . . . man part isn't always hard," he warned her.
Her eyes widened perceptibly. "It always seems to be."
He laughed out loud. "Only when you are around, Esme Crabb," he insisted.
"Esme Rhy," she corrected him, squirming slightly in an attempt to assuage the strange flutter near the place where their bodies connected.
"Just so," he agreed. "Esme Rhy."
