"Milt?"
Cleav hesitated. "Milt is the . . . well, it's what the male contributes to the egg to fertilize it."
"Is it like an egg, too?"
"No, it's more a fluid that the trout just spills on the eggs."
Esme's brow screwed up curiously. "Is it like people?" she asked in a cautious whisper.
"People?"
"You know," she said with a blush.
Cleav's mouth opened in surprise. Ladies never mentioned such things. As his shock receded, he laughed out loud.
"Yes, Esme," he said. "It's like people."
He pulled her into his arms and gave her a warm, loving hug. "I love being married to you," he said. It was the closest he could come to expressing his new feelings.
"Me, too," Esme admitted. "And I'm so glad we're people instead of trout."
"Why is that? Don't you know how to swim?"
"I swim just fine, Mr. Rhy," she said. "That wasn't at all what I was thinking about."
"What were you thinking?" he asked. "I'm always curious about the workings of your mind."
Esme giggled. "I was thinking that I wouldn't want us to be trout, 'cause then you wouldn't have any arms to hold me.”
He immediately released her and stepped across the room.
"That's true, Esme," he said. "But it wouldn't be so bad. Sometimes a look is enough."
To prove his point, Cleav allowed his eyes to slowly travel along Esme's body. His pupils dilated with the pleasure of the sight.
"Perhaps we could create a scientific experiment," he said, "to determine if the sense of touch is absolutely necessary to create intimacy between a husband and wife?"
Without waiting for her consent, Cleav's look became a hot, fluttery caress across her skin. His lips parted as he examined the curve of her jaw and the length of her neck. Slowly he moved his gaze to the swell of her bosom, the trimness of her waist, the curve of her hip, and allowed his heart to remember the long, slim legs hidden beneath her skirts.
Esme felt her flesh quiver beneath his gaze. Forcing her chin up, she straightened her shoulders and looked back. He was so handsome, so strong, so warm and wonderful. His heart was so full, and he talked with such sincerity and concern for all things. It was difficult to keep herself from running into his arms. But the challenge in his eyes stayed her.
Her nipples pressed anxiously against the fabric that covered her. But she was not the only one who could be affected by a look.
Giving free rein to her own eyes, she watched as Cleav swallowed nervously. Her gaze wandered down his face to the broad strong shoulders that bore such care, the long sinewy arms that held her with such strength, and the large, long-fingered hands that he kept so clean and touched her with so tenderly. She felt a warmth of joy and possession as she allowed her eyes to travel the length of his masculine torso to the front of his trousers. He was already partially aroused. The sight brought a slight smile to Esme's face.
"One thing about this experiment," Esme pointed out. "When the fish look at each other, they aren't wearing clothes."
A slow smile spread across Cleav's face as he reached for the buttons on his shirt.
Sunday dawnedbright and spring-like as the Rhys, both the mister and missus as well as Cleav's mother, Eula, prepared to attend church.
Esme hummed with pleasure as she donned the new dress she had made for herself. The pretty pink color was perfect for her and brought out the blush of her complexion in her cheeks.
One week married, and it was heaven. Thinking back to the worries and concerns that had plagued her this time last Sunday, she laughed lightly. Cleav didn't love her, that was true. But he was such a fair and honorable man, and so tender and considerate, marriage was surely enough.
Touching the beautiful material of her new gown almost with reverence, she sighed in near bliss. He was so good to her.
"Imagine how he would treat a woman that he really loved," she whispered to herself and then glanced at her reflection in the glass with distaste.
