She rested her head against the chair back.
The fire caught and he got to his feet and turned to her. His eyes looked very blue in the lantern light, his hair very dark, his features chiseled and handsome. He set one foot on a runner of the chair to stop it rocking, set his hands on the arms, and leaned over her to kiss her openmouthed.
“Claudia,” he said, lifting his head a few inches from hers, “I want you to know that you are beautiful. You think you must be unlovely because circumstances once forced an essentially weak man to leave you and because you are now in your middle thirties and unmarried and a schoolteacher. You think it impossible that any man could find you sexually appealing any longer. You probably even tell yourself that last evening happened only because I guessed I would not be free today to pursue our relationship further. You are wrong on every count. I want you to know that you are incredibly beautiful—because you are the product of who you have been and become in over thirty years of living. You would not be as beautiful to me if you were younger, you see. And I want you to know that you are endlessly appealing sexually.”
She gazed up at him.
“Thisappealing.” He took one of her hands in his and spread it, palm in, against the bulge of his erection.
“Oh,” she said.
“Endlesslyappealing,” he said.
Her hand slid to her lap, and he reached up both hands to remove all the pins from her hair. She was going to have to repair it later, she thought, without benefit of a brush or a mirror. But she would think of that later.
“It is a crime,” he said as her hair fell in heavy waves over her shoulders, “to dress this hair as ruthlessly as you do, Claudia.” He took her hands in his and drew her to her feet. “You arenotmy dream woman. You are right about that. I could never have dreamed you, Claudia. You are unique. I am in awe. I am humbled.”
She gazed into his eyes to detect irony, or at least humor, there, but she could see neither. And then she could see nothing very clearly at all. She blinked away tears. And then he leaned closer and licked them away with his tongue before drawing her closer and kissing her deeply.
She was beautiful, she told herself as they undressed each other slowly, pausing frequently to caress or embrace each other. She wasbeautiful. She ran her palms over the muscles and light hairs of his chest after removing his evening coat and waistcoat, his elaborately tied neckcloth, and his shirt. And he moved his hands all over her before cupping her breasts, rubbing her nipples with his thumbs, and then bending his head to take them, one at a time, into his mouth and suckling her so that raw desire stabbed downward into her womb and along her inner thighs.
She would not feel self-conscious or inadequate. She was beautiful.
And desirable.
There was no doubt of that once she had removed his silk evening breeches and his stockings.
She was desirable.
And she was not the only one who was beautiful.
She twined her arms about his neck, pressed her full naked length against his, and found his mouth with her own. When his tongue pressed into her mouth she sighed. He was right, therewereperfect moments even though they were both pulsing with need.
“I think,” he said, drawing back his head to smile at her, “we had better make use of that bed. It will be more comfortable than the ground was last night.”
“But narrower,” she said.
“If we were planning to sleep, perhaps,” he agreed, smiling at her in such a way that she felt her bare toes curl on the hard floor. “But we are not, are we? It is quite wide enough for our purpose.”
He drew back the blankets, and she lay down on the sheet and lifted her arms to him.
“Come,” she said.
He came down on top of her and she spread her legs and twined them about his. They were both ready. He kissed her and murmured low endearments against her ear. She kissed him back and twined her fingers in his thick hair. And then he slid his hands beneath her, she tilted herself to him, and he came inside her.
His size still shocked her. She inhaled slowly as she adjusted her position to allow him full access, and closed her inner muscles about him. There could surely be no lovelier feeling in the world.
Though perhaps there could. He withdrew from her and pressed deep again and repeated the action until she could feel his rhythm and match her own to it and revel in the sheer carnality of their coupling. There could be no lovelier feeling thanthis—both during the first few minutes of controlled pleasure and during the final minute of deeper, more urgent lovemaking as the climax neared.
And then it came—for both of them at exactly the same moment, and she opened to the outpouring of love and gave back in equal measure, andthatwas the loveliest feeling of all, though it was almost beyond feeling and well beyond rational thought or words.
She was beautiful.
She was desirable.
And finally…
Ah.
