Is this okay?
His voice, like always, is small and low. It shakes with his hands, which are hovering above the apex of her legs. She loves his uncertainty, loves his small voice, loves him.
She's still not ready yet, though. She moves his hands to her hips and throws a quick glance to the clock. Twenty six minutes. Twenty six minutes ago she peeled off her nightgown like an old skin. The fabric was heavy and soft, holding down her limbs and weighing on her lungs. Shedding that gown was shedding a layer of overheated, suffocating fog. The air hit her coolly, and seeped into her pores and lungs like a cold bath. Cleansed her, replenished her. She was open, she was free.
She looked up and saw Mark, quiet Mark, twist the hem of his shirt while he took in her body. She walked up to him, and she thought that there was no one else in the world she'd want to be with in this moment when he looked at her with surprised caution.
My husband. She thought and smiled. She linked their fingers together, reveled in the feeling of his wedding ring against her skin, she craned her neck and kissed him. He kissed her back in that cautious way he did, every finite movement of his lips was a question, a humble request for permission to move further. No one had ever treated her like that before. No one had ever given her choices and chances to walk away.
He moved to wrap his arm around her and she pulled away. He took a step back, an apology swimming in his eyes. She shook her head at him with a small smile. It was alright, she wanted him to hold her, she just couldn't stand the feeling of cloth from home right now. She reached for the buttons on his shirt. His adam's apple jumped as she unbuttons him. She looked to his face and they shared a nervous laugh. He pulled off his shirt and the rest of his clothes on his own. She stood, watching, not sure what to do with her hands so she just held them at her chest.
He was beautiful. She had no reference knowledge of this but he was beautiful. Without thinking, her hands reached out for his chest. This was entirely new territory, and she explored with caution. She felt him tense under her touch, and the uneven rise and fall of his chest with nervous breathing. She leaned up to kiss him again. They both paused before they met, a moment to ask eachother before they took this next step, and then they were kissing. And their arms were resting around eachother in a graceless dance to the bed. They lay together for what seemed like an eternity, but what was truthfully less than twenty six minutes. Running hands over eachother. Feeling eachother's skin. It was new, it was exciting, it was terrifying. For her at least. Despite his nervous breaths and the excited tension she could feel all over his body, Mark's hands were skilled, she could tell. He knew what he was doing. He wasn't grabbing and feeling as much of her as he could, like she was with him. He danced, his fingertips swept across her torso with just the right pressure to make her breath catch.
That's why when he brings his hand lower and asks if it's okay, she pulls him away.
"Have you done this before?" she asks.
He breathes in, his fingers run in small circles on the side of her hip.
"Once," he says, "My brothe-" his voices catches and his shoulders fall, "My brothers set it up when I was seventeen, some kind of initiation into manhood." He looks back into her eyes, "It didn't mean anything."
All Gracie can bring herself to say is, "I didn't know you had brothers."
"Three," Mark replies, "I'm the youngest."
"I guess we're opposites then," Gracie says, it's pathetic, she knows. But the haunted look in Mark's eyes dissipates as he lets out a shaky laugh. And his hands aren't as intimidating as they were a moment ago.
She takes a breath. It rattles shallow in her lungs. Shaking fingers take his wrist and guide them between her legs. She lies back on the bed.
"You're sure?"
She nods. He doesn't touch her yet, he leans over her and kisses her forehead, her eyelids, her neck. He leans his forehead against hers, and his fingers are moving. It's nothing like the insemination, he doesn't push inside. It's all rubbing and massaging and it feels so good. Her insides are swelling with a bright warmth. It feels good, it feels clean. Within moments she's squirming and gasping beneath him. Her whole body tenses for an intense wave she's riding out. When it's over, and her limbs melt into the bed, he kisses her lightly, and brushes away a tear she hadn't noticed with his thumb.
"You okay?"
"Keep going."
He takes a deep breath.
"You're sure."
She offers no verbal response, just spreads her legs. She is open, she is free, she is his.
He kisses her again, deep this time. Their tongues dance and suddenly he's inside her. He slides in slow, watches her face, once he's in deep, they're still.
"I'm okay," she says before he can ask.
He drops his head to hers, kisses her cheek.
"I love you," he tells her.
Her hand finds his hair, his shoulders, his back.
"I love you, too."
They move together, gasping, kissing wherever they can reach. It's so much better than anything she's felt. And all too soon, it's over.
He slips out of her and rolls to the side, she follows. She's wrapped tight in his arms and her face is pressed into his chest. He smells like farm animals and dirt, she doesn't care. The air hits the sweat on her body and it's chilly now, they pull the blankets over themselves and burrow further into eachother.
"You okay?" Gracie asks.
She feels him smile as he kisses her hair. It's all the answer she needs.