This grew out of a discussion of the lack of fics dealing with women 'driving men insane' and admiring their form. I can't pretend that there aren't some similarities to Lavender & Hay's 'Impossible to Hide'. I do promise that this fic was conceived before I read that, however. As always, I don't own them and earn nothing from them but the pleasure of writing.

He had, she thought, been a little puzzled by her request, but had complied nonetheless. They had been lying together, in darkness, enjoying the peace of each other's company after the bustle of the day. She blurted out her wish against his chest, "Charles, would you allow me to look at you? All of you."

He grunted, the barest of hesitations, "I should think that you've seen all of me often enough these past few weeks."

Smiling against his chest, she said, "You've kept me distracted all those times. I've never really seen you."

As his chest rose with the deep breath he took, she could almost hear the thoughts roll into place in his head. She had allowed him this privilege. If they were to be true lovers, he must allow it for her. After just another moment's hesitation, he sat up and rolled to the side, fumbling for the matches on the table to light the lamp. As he lay back against the pillow, she saw how carefully he watched her eyes and her expression as she propped herself on her elbow to look at him. He jutted his chin forward and up just a little, submitting himself to this examination. Her breath caught knowing that the merest flicker of disappointment or even hesitation could turn this man, her steady, immovable mountain of granite, to a crumbling mound of sand. His hooded eyes dipped once briefly to her chest and then returned to her face with a familiar light glinting in them, hand resting on her hip.

She studied him, almost detached in her perusal. He had a darkened shadow on his cheeks and chin, dusted lightly with gray. Her eyes trailed down his neck to his shoulders noting the purple mark over his collar bone where she'd latched down to muffle her cries of pleasure earlier. His shoulders were broad, substantial enough for the weight of an entire house to rest on them and to be her support as well. She followed the line of his arm down to the hand that rested over the sheet at his waist. It was large with long tapering fingers that she could still feel tracing patterns on her breast, her back, her sides, lifting her to new heights of pleasure. Attention drawn back to his chest by the deep breath he took, she noticed how strong the muscles there seemed, substantial and solid under curly black hairs peppered with gray. Remembering his gasp when her hands had brushed across the dark red nubs of his nipples, she leaned down to taste one, rolling her tongue over the tip and tasting the tangy musk that was all him. A low groan vibrated through his chest and against her lips. His hand which had been at her hip lifted to stroke her cheek. Pulling back, she reminded herself that she wanted to see him, to study him, and he settled back with hand on her hip again to watch her.

His shoulders shifted self-consciously as she pushed the sheet lower over the rise of his abdomen. She let the back of her hand trail along his side and watched the muscles over his ribs twitch. Remembering the many self-deprecating jokes he made about this area, she leaned over once again to kiss him beside his navel, just above the narrow-V of hair that trailed lower. Raising her head to look in his eyes, she tried to let him see the acceptance and love in her own. She loved this, the solidness of him, the substantial weight of him beside her and with her. Turning back to her examination of him, she found herself suddenly a little shy. Lifting the sheet away from him she carefully pushed it down his legs, letting her eyes skip over the sight of his arousal to study his legs. They were strong from hours and days of walking up and down stairs, standing still and solid in corners of rooms anticipating the wishes of others. She knew now what those legs felt like lying between her own, the coarse hairs brushing her inner thighs. His thighs tapered down to calves and feet that were almost twice the size of hers.

His hand tightened slightly on her hip causing her to look up into his eyes once again. Seeing the small wrinkle of concern between his eyebrows, she knew he'd noticed her eyes darting away. Smiling at him, she shook her head, "Charles, I've never seen…, not in full light, except my nephew of course, and that was not quite the same."

He laughed at that, frown dissipating, "I should certainly hope not." He continued softly, "Elsie, there's no need if you don't want. We have time to learn each other. All the time we need."

It was the 'we' that released her. To be part of a 'we' was something that she'd never dreamed she would have. He said it as a matter of fact, and she knew that for him 'we' was a permanent thing.

Placing her feet on top of his, she pushed herself back up his body and leaned down to kiss him. Tongue darting against his lips seeking entry that was eagerly granted. Kissing him gave her the confidence to reach down and caress him lightly with just the tips of her fingers. He gasped against her lips and his grip on her hip tightened considerably. Leaving his lips, she let her eyes follow the path of her hand. The skin here felt different than any she'd ever known, smooth like velvet stretched over stone and warm, so warm, pulsing with life. She watched her fingers curl around him, fascinated. This part was just as substantial as the rest of him, heavy in her hand.

She was seized with the urge to taste him as he'd tasted her. Her breath quickened at the thought of the murmurs of pleasure he'd made, like he was tasting the finest of wines. When she said as much to him later in the quiet of the night, expecting laughter, he'd merely looked at her with serious thoughtfulness and agreed. Like a fine vintage, he'd said and then proceeded to describe that taste to her in a way that could still bring heat to her center and a blush to her cheeks when she recalled it.

Bending, she kissed the side tentatively, waiting for his reaction. His breath caught raggedly and his hand clutched at the sheet beside his hip, but he didn't say anything. Emboldened she let her tongue dart out for the merest taste, and his hand tightened again on her hip. She heard the pace of his breathing increase considerably, but he still didn't protest. She let her tongue trail along the length of him, and he almost vibrated against her. He did speak then, strangled, "Elsie, that's not …, I don't expect that from you, just because I…"

His protest was silenced when she drew him into her mouth, not completely, but as deep as she could so that she could taste all of him. His hips bucked on the bed, and his hand went from clutching the sheet to entangling itself in her hair. After just a moment, his hips dropped back to the bed, and she felt the tension in his thighs as he struggled to hold himself still. She caressed him with her tongue, working her mouth over him until he groaned her name softly and put his hand on her cheek to stop her. Hands on her arms, he urged her up the bed and over him, pushing himself into her. After just a few hard, quick thrusts, his mouth was covering hers to muffle his cries and her own.

He fell back against the bed, spent completely, and she curled herself around him surrounded by his musky scent. He stroked her back lightly and kissed her hair. She smoothed the hair on his chest, kissing him as she waited for his breathing to still.

He spoke first, whispering hoarsely, "Elsie, no one has ever done anything like that for me before. I don't want you to think that…"

Lifting herself on her elbow again to look at his eyes, she placed her fingers over his mouth to stop his protest, "Charles, when I say I love you, I mean all of you. I didn't do that just for you. I wanted to taste you, like a fine wine," she finished with a smile.

He smiled and hand on the back of her head drew her to him for a kiss. They tasted each other again, like the finest vintage.

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