John kissed her, pulling her closer, his hands in her hair.
He looked at her.
"Does-does it hurt?" he asked, sweetly, but with a tinge of shyness. It was enchanting to Anna. Her tough, war and prison surviving husband had such gentleness with her. Ann went a bit pink, too, speaking so directly.
"Not too much," she said. She was a bit sore. But she knew that would soon be only a memory.
"Not too much?" he slipped a hand under the covers and slid it around her waist, sighing. "You can't know..." he said.
Anna luxuriated under his touch. His hands were sure but tender, one moving around her shoulders now, the other tracing the curve of her hip, then her thigh. He kissed her throat, her shoulder.
"You could tell me," she said.
"You can't imagine how I want you," his voice was deepening.
"You were quite good at hiding it for a long time,"
"I was so often on the verge of carrying you off. You must know that,"
"Tell me, then," Anna panted a little as he brought himself up against her, "Tell me about one of those times,"
"At the table, in the servant's hall, that first time we were ever alone."
"The day Mr. Carson's – associate – showed up,"
"Your maid's uniform that day had one less petticoat. No lace on the bottom, just your sweet little ankles in those black stockings and the clip of your little heels up and down the stairs. I watched you that morning and finally had to calm myself in the courtyard with a smoke. You were driving me mad that day," One of his hands stroked the back of her thigh, more and more possessively.
"With just one less petticoat?"
"No, with your little feet," he kissed her collarbone," "And your big blue eyes," he had moved to her breastbone, "And everything else. If you recall," his hand was on her back, lifting her body to his mouth, "I was quite forward and improper to you,"
"'Alone, at last,' you said," Anna's voice held a trill, and went a bit higher, "I was afraid you were toying with me,"
"I was in love. Already," He put his attention to her most sensitive spots now, his mouth teasing her with tiny, languid strokes of wet tickling. It was much more pleasure than Anna was prepared for; she took a long, deep gasp and heard the little sipping sound as he released her for a moment. He looked at her, shifting a pillow to her. "Cover your mouth," he murmured, and then returned to his task with meticulous gentleness. Anna buried her face and whined into the pillow. Over and over he trailed and curled his tongue while Anna shook under the covers and bit down on the linen. He was tracing a line down the center of her belly at the same time, then moving his mouth down, pulling the covers with him. The muscles in Anna's thighs jumped, her belly rolling as he slipped an arm under the small of her back, and then she tensed.
His mouth was about to travel below her belly. She had stalled. There must be some blood, she thought, what if-
He reached up to cup her face. He rested his cheek on her thigh, looking up at her.
Anna tried to calm herself, her breathing. His thumb traced her lips. "Do you want me to stop?"
The greater part of her, body and heart, wanted him to continue. She was afraid of him being put off by her. But how could she be? He had always accepted her utterly without hesitation, always been caring and understanding. He was her dearest friend, as well as her husband now. She trusted him.
"No," she whispered.
"I love you, Anna,"
"I love you, John,"
"Is it too much?"
"I-I'm-" Anna took a long, long breath, "I-" she started to giggle, hearing how silly she sounded. He grinned up at her with that adorable, boyish smile. Anna could only laugh at the moment and he with her, his shoulders shaking so that she was rocked in his arms. When it finally subsided his hand went up and down over her belly and shoulders and neck in broad, calming, comforting caresses. Anna sighed, relaxing.
"Cover your mouth," he whispered.
Anna squeaked such a high note that even she didn't hear it; she had time to bite the pillow again before he had found exactly the pressure and rhythm and stroke, and by that time she was forced to abandon all self-consciousness and hesitations because there simply wasn't room in her brain. There were too many explosions going on, all through her. By the time he released her Anna was aware of a flood of moisture. He put his forehead against hers. His eyes were gypsy-dark, burning. His voice was velvet.
"It will take all of our married life together," he nearly growled, "Several times over, to do all the things I want to do with you," he clamped his mouth on hers and swung slowly into her and there was only a tiny twinge now; she felt as deep and as open as the ocean itself.
This time it was different. It was like flying, flying through a night sky as in fairy tales. Anna hung on to him as they moved together, more slowly this time, gazing at each other. Anna's eyes began to fill. Her love for him was pouring out of her in all directions. He still held her cheek in one hand, his eyes never leaving hers and feeding her so much adoration that Anna wept into her pleasure, dissolving in his arms.
They fell apart, reaching for each others hands at the same time. Once Anna had regained herself she said,
"So this is marriage, then?"
He laughed, and turned his head to look at her. "With you," he said, and she took his meaning.
"How do people ever get out of bed?" Anna mused, almost drunkenly.
He grew serious and turned to her, coming up on one arm.
"I believe," he said, "That not everyone has what we have,"
"Yes, so do I," said Anna, who was suddenly bound for another realm, "We must go to that poor lady's funeral first thing in the morning, and I will be hiding so much happiness. Hold me while we get a little sleep?"
He gathered her against him, his eyes so warm, his smile so contented, that Anna didn't need to hear an answer.