He heard her open the window, grinned, then heard her slide into bed, and so he did the same, and extinguished the lamp beside him, before she did hers.
Ask her.
‘Why did you ask me that?’
‘I didn’t recognise it, and so it troubled me.’
Oh, I shouldn’t have asked, though I can’t truly regret it, for now I understand so much more.
Another chapter for The Book of Hypatia.
‘Good night, Hypatia.’
I love you.
‘Good night, Thorn.’
Chapter Nineteen
Many would likely disagree—surely those who had to face such sounds every morn of their lives—however, Hypatia found that waking to the calls and cries of the gulls, mixed with those of the other typical birds, be they sparrows or tits; the crash of the waves, and the crisp, salt-laden air, was one of the most pleasant ways to traverse from the land of dreams back into reality.
Though today, she couldn’t complain about reality; since she’d married Thorn, and particularly since he’d come to Gadmin Hall, she hadn’t found much about reality to disparage of, as she had too often before. Most of it was due to a change in circumstance, in scenery; in gaining her own independence, and autonomy, even whilst being ruled by the necessities of her—their—current life. However, so much of it was due to Thorn, like today, like yesterday, because that man, her husband, quite literally made her dreams a reality. He gave them priority, over fripperies, or even necessities; over work, and need, and made one of her greatest wishes—to see the sea—come true.
Not only that…it was justhim, how he was with her. How he’d been, yesterday, content to merely sit with her for hours, getting food and comforts when required, but otherwise, satisfied with keeping her company. And this room, finding a way to give her some measure of the privacy and solitude she’d expressed were vital to her, while keeping somewhatwithin their means. He continuously surprised her, with his attentiveness, his understanding, his open acceptance, and his enduring tenderness. Every day he worked to prove his heart to be true, and his worthiness of her trust in him. The most profound gratitude flooded her heart, her entire self again, as it had so often with his deeds and words, for she knew such behaviour to be rare. Such kindness, and compassion, to not be the rule sadly, and perhaps not quite an exception, but a rarity. He wasn’t perfect, as she herself wasn’t, but he worked so hard—and she did in her own ways—to demonstrate that he didn’t take her for granted. That though their marriage had begun as one of conveniences, greater, deeper bonds had been forged, and he wished to maintain them thus.
Life, time, might take them further from each other than they were now—she didn’t like to think on such things, as she didn’t particularly want to envisage a life without the comfort of his presence, support, and partnership, however she knew it was a possibility—and even if they stopped being lovers, and went to tread separate paths, still, she knew, that respect, that tenderness and protection, would remain.
And that too, is such a rare thing.
Dust motes danced on the growing shafts of light as the dawn turned to that of nigh-on full morning. Hypatia turned to glance at the ceiling, smiling to herself at the realisation they’d slept in well past their typical pre-dawn hour.
Truly a holiday; though I’ve admittedly not much comparison.
On the other side of the screen, she heard a shift of fabric on fabric, and the change in Thorn’s breathing from that of sleep, to quiet but awoken rest. Spurred on by the growing cries, and crashing waves, voices and carts and shouts for fresh fish outside, Hypatia decided she knew well how she wanted to enjoy this morning; what she wanted to share with Thorn in this placetoo, to add another shell-like memory to her bursting seaside collection of them.
As quietly as she could, she slipped out of bed, rummaged in her bag until she found the case containing what she hoped she might soon need, and went around the screen. Thorn was lying as she had been, on his back, staring up at the ceiling, both hands behind his head, only his waist and baser self covered by the thin linen sheet, whilst his legs tangled in the rest, and his strong, hearty chest remained bare, in all its glory for her to appreciate.
Slowly his eyes made their way down to her as she came properly into his view, and he smiled lazily, eyes sparking and glittering as hot metal did when he struck it, as she divested herself of her nightgown, and tossed it to the floor.
‘What is your preference today, Thorn?’ she asked, raising a brow, repeating a now ritual they’d gained since their first night together.
‘For you to come and take a nice ride, and your pleasure.’
A nod, and she stepped closer, tossing the sheet aside, and settling herself astride his legs, whilst he—well, most of him—moved not an inch, simply watched, and felt, and let her take care of him.
Which she did, taking some of her already ample wetness to tease him to his fullest with her hand, while he watched, sucking in tight breaths, as teeth held tight to his bottom lip, and his belly quivered, though he refused to look away. And when he had fully risen to the occasion, beading wetness himself, clinging to his own hands and not merely resting anymore, arms bulging as he fought to keep himself together whilst still enjoying the pleasure she taunted him with, she sheathed him with the preventive, ever so slowly, and then guided herself slowly onto him, seating herself precisely where they both wanted.
Sucking in a breath whilst releasing a semi-strangled noise of fulfilment when she was seated and full to brim with him, she took a moment to let her head fall back, and clench her inner muscles, making him twitch and buck.
Letting his pleasure and appreciation fill her every pore, she met his gaze again, intent on not breaking it, and began to do as he’d requested, rising and falling; clutching and releasing, every stroke decadent, sweet, and as slow as she could manage. She took in all she could feel of him, having learnt so many of his tells, his shifts and stilts in breath; the change in his eyes, the appearance and disappearance of those dimples. Sweat and slickness mingled where they joined, the tenseness on his thighs beneath her supporting, and tantalising.
They’d learned much about each other’s bodies, how they liked certain moments, such as this, but Hypatia felt her breath and heart skip some beats of their natural rhythm as she continued to draw out both their pleasures, and watch him. Her cheeks flamed more than usual, nipples peaking higher, as though reaching out to him evermore, for something else was in the thick, sweet air between them, something she’d never spied there before; not that she could identify it.
Only that it all felt rawer, more serious, and she mentally tried to swat it away, focusing on her fullness, and his, and the delicious sparking growing in the depths of her inner self, blooming outwards until even her fingers were tingling. Except she couldn’t quite, and it was harder to keep pace, and it was still delicious, and delectable, but something pinched inside her chest, and Thorn must’ve seen it, for in a flash he was there, surrounding her with limbs, holding her tight, and tucking her head into his neck.
Her fingers tightened and dug softly into his ribs, and she nestled into him, as he finished their quest for pleasure, driving up into her, but keeping her tight against him, reminding herhow to breathe with his own slick skin rising and falling against her body, soothing her with fingers in her hair, and light squeezes of her flesh.
Until she was dizzy and hot and whining against his skin whilst everything inside of her reached the realest, strangest, most honey-like and terrifying ecstasy she’d ever experienced. Thorn lost himself within her and another wave of pleasure made her cling even tighter to him, so she had no idea whose skin was whose and whose breath was whose. She felt scraped open, torn open, and stitched back together with salve; stitched into Thorn.
