Author's note: I've had this story running in my head for a very long time but I keep procrastinating and I think I'll never finish it without a bit of pressure. So I'm starting to post it and I count on you, if you like it, to keep me writing.

WARNING! I usually don't write explicit sex scenes but I thought I'd try my hand at it in this story because I think, if used well, they can bring something to the storytelling. Be warned. It starts now.

In the northeast of England, just before the border with Scotland, sits the county of Northumberland. A mostly rural county, the high moor lands that predominate inland give way to low and flat landscapes as one reaches the North Sea coast on the East. There, south of Berwick-upon-Tweed, at around a mile from the shore, is Holy Island, a small patch of land known to be home to Lindisfarne Abbey and Lindisfarne Castle. The island is small, measuring approximately 3 miles from east to west and 1.5 miles from north to south. The causeway that links it to the mainland is submerged at high tides, leaving the 200 inhabitants of Lindisfarne to enjoy the quietness of the place. Sometimes some tourists decide to stay on the island while it's cut from the mainland to have a taste of the insularity, and to accommodate the wealthiest ones an old mansion has been converted to a charm hotel. On the second floor of this hotel, its windows giving views on the castle, is one of the best suites. As this story begins, on a rainy February night, the open curtains let the moon light enter the bedroom and fall on the naked bodies of a man and a woman. They're making love, the sheets tossed back at the foot of the bed. She's on her back, arched under the caress of her lover. He kisses her lips, then her neck just below her ear, then lingers in the space between her breasts. Finally he licks her right breast from its base up until his tongue plays with the hardened nipple. The woman breathes heavily and moans with pleasure as his mouth leaves her breast and starts kissing a line down her stomach, all over her flat belly, and around her navel. She opens her legs giving him the silent signal he'd been waiting for. He kisses her clean-shaven pubes and tickles her clit with the tip of his tongue. She lets out a little cry and buries her hands in his hair. He slides his tongue between her folds and tastes her wetness. Her sex is swollen and he explores every inches of it before introducing his tongue into her pulsating centre. He feels her fingers dig into his hair like claws, forcing his head down, forcing him further inside her but his own desire is almost unbearable and he wants a more intimate connection with her. He withdraws his tongue, earning him a disapproving grunt from his lover. He takes the glass of water on the bedside table and rinses his mouth before kissing her.

'I love you.'

'Hush…,' she puts a finger on his lips to silence him. 'Now's not the time for words; it's time for action.'

He moves on top of her and slowly penetrates her.

He takes his time, enjoying every second with this woman he loves so much. She's his, heart, soul and body and he wants to shout it to the world.

'I'm tired of hiding,' he tells her.

'No one should know, and you know why.'

'It's so hard.'

He thrusts himself farther until he's completely inside her and she closes her eyes, submerged by the sensation.

'I love you.'

'You're repeating yourself.'

'Say you love me.'

She kisses him, her hands run down his back and grabs his buttocks. He moves back and forth in long slow strokes, almost withdrawing completely before entering her again with all his length.

'Say you love me.'

'Hush.'

'I love you.'

'Are these the only words you know?'

'Marry me.'

She laughs.

'Don't be a fool.'

'I'm serious; marry me.'

He thrusts himself stronger and quicker and he feels her muscles tighten around him. She starts to moan and this arouses him even more. He closes his eyes; he focuses his attention only on the feeling of his body inside hers and on the sound of her pleasure. He's panting now. As the intensity of his movements increases, she's moaning louder. Her hands search his body frantically. She wriggles under him, thrusting her body to his, opening her legs wider to invite him deeper inside her. Her nails bite into his skin. She lets out a cry and falls back on the bed. The contractions of her body around him push him over the edge and he joins her in the sweet death of lovers.

'Marry me,' he repeats in her ear as she lies in his arms in the blissful calm that follows ecstasy.

'Stop saying that, you know it's impossible.'

She pushes him aside and leaves the bed but as soon as she's on her feet her head spins and she has to sit on the bed not to fall. He comes behind her, suddenly worried.

'What's wrong?' he asks, stroking her back.

'Nothing, just feeling a bit dizzy.'

'I'm so sorry, it's my fault,' he replies seriously, 'I should have been gentler.'

She laughs and struggles out of his hands.

'You rate yourself too highly, my dear.'

She gets up but he grabs her by the arm.

'What again?'

With his free hand he reaches for the bedside lamp and turns it on. Under the soft subdued light, her skin looks like silk and his desire awakens again. He knows he looks submissive, kneeling naked on this bed, with his erect sex as a tribute to her beauty but he doesn't care; he's all hers. She knows he can be strong and resilient and she knows she has the power to destroy him with just one word.

'I love you and I want to spend my life with you, my whole life not just some nights. I want you to be my wife.'

She tries to free herself but his grip is firm on her wrist.

'It doesn't have to be that way; we could be so happy together living our love in the face of the world.'

'You're delusional if you think that's what I want.'

Her voice is hard and cold, and it stabs him in the heart. He's shaken and lets free of her hand but she goes on mercilessly.

'How can you possibly think that I want to spend my life with you? You've nothing to offer me except good sex.'

'So that's all it is for you, sex?'

He's devastated; his dreams, his world are shattered.

'What do you think it was?'

'Love!' he yells. 'Love,' he repeats on a softer tone. 'I love you and I thought you loved me too. I thought we had something special together, something that we shared, something that made us happy and that would grow and last a lifetime.'

He hunches down on the bed, head bent. He looks so miserable she feels the need to explain herself.

'I'm sorry. I thought you knew this wasn't serious, that it was just for the fun of it. You're a nice man, a good man, and I'm sure you'll find someone and make her happy but you're not the one for me.'

'Is it because of who I am?'

'Because of who you are, because of who I am, because you could never offer me what I want in life.'

'I'd give you anything!' he protests. 'I'd give you my life if you wanted it.'

'I know but what use could it be to me?'

'Use?' he grimaces as he says the word, as if it were leaving a bad taste in his mouth. The pain of the shock has left the place to rage. He gets up and looks her in the eyes. 'That's what I am to you? Something to use? A sex-toy?' he asks angrily.

'An extremely satisfying one,' she purrs. She makes a move to caress his chest but he backs off.

The sense of betrayal is too strong; he cannot bear the touch of her anymore. She's all sensuality again but he sees through it now and he knows she's only trying to lure him into her arms again, into submission again. He won't let her do it.

She sees the change in him because her attitude changes once more. Gone is the temptress, the lover. She's fuming and glaring at him and he knows she only refrains from making a mess of the room because she doesn't want to attract the attention of the people in the adjacent bedrooms.

'I need a shower,' she decides suddenly. 'I can't stand the smell of you on me. I'm sure you'll find your way out alone.'

And she disappears in the bathroom, haughty and cruel like a cat no longer interested in the mouse it's just killed.

He gathers his clothes and starts to dress. He does it without thinking and his eyes wander over the bedroom. What he sees disgusts him; all the deceptive signs that he mistook for proofs of love but were mere prelude to sex in its crudest and most devoid of feelings form: from her silk baby doll nightie discarded on the floor to her lace knickers hanging from the drawer of the bedside table. Even the unopened bottle of champagne on the desk by the window, next to her vanity case. She didn't let him open it, dragging him to bed as soon as he had stepped into her bedroom. He thinks he can still have the use of it; he feels like drowning his sorrows. He laces up his shoes, puts his jacket on, and goes and fetches the bottle. As his hand closes on its neck bright colours inside the vanity case catch his eyes. It's full of medicines. He turns his head towards the bathroom door but he can hear the water running in the shower. He's ample time to inspect the pill boxes.