The corners of his thin lips twitched nervously and he wondered how long he would be able to keep up this facade. Would she simply rest her lovely golden head upon the soft pillow and commence dreaming, and leave him to his pretended studies? Part of him hoped so, but the red hot pin-points on his shoulderblades were unmistakable, and he could feel her intense brown eyes as they watched his every move.
She watched him and she waited, wondering if perhaps she would not have to ask him to come to bed, if he would do it on his own as she'd hoped. But when the wick of the candle grew shorter and he remained perfectly poised and still upon his chair, head bent, back arched, eyes pointlessly skimming the printed pages of the old and tattered book in his lap, she knew that if she wanted him to join her, something would have to be said.
"Ichabod," she said, her voice warm and quiet. Ichabod felt himself jump in his chair, bumping the table that held the candlestick, which promptly tipped over as a result of the abrupt movement. Wax spilled from the table onto his book and his hand, but they were so numb with cold he could scarce feel the prickly dots of heat as they landed on his chilled skin.
"Are you coming to bed soon, darling?"
Ichabod did not hear her, or at least he pretended not to have, as he gingerly plucked bits of drying candle wax from the back of his hand and the yellowed pages of his book. But then she spoke again and he knew he could not get away with ignoring her, this time.
He sighed and tried to keep his hands from shaking as he closed the book, having decided he'd procrastinated long enough. Best just to get it over and done with...not that he didn't want to do it, he truly did, he was just horribly nervous, having never been with a woman, before. It wasn't that he was unattractive or ill mannered, only that he'd always been far too busy with his scientific research and private studies to have much time for women. It was now more than ever that he wished he had, for to experience something such as this so late in life, when so many do so when they are years his junior is, well, embarrassing.
"Yes, dear, I'm almost through..." His chair scraped disconcertingly against the bare wooden floor as he stood up and he winced. His tender nerves had not liked the loud, grating noise that had pierced through the otherwise peacefulness in the room, like a knife through smooth and unblemished flesh and he cursed himself and the chair and even the floor for ever having disturbed it. He made his way shakily over to the book case at the far side of the room to return his book to its proper place.
"I just have toAUGH! Oh, dear God..." he cried as a long-legged spider crawled out from the empty space where he was about to put his book. He had -not- needed that, just now.
"What, dear? What is it?" Katrina asked, a note of concern in her sweet voice as she peeled back the covers and made ready to get up.
"It was nothing," Ichabod motioned for her to stay in bed as he placed the book back upon the dusty shelf. "Just...just a spider," he choked, his cheeks becoming a bright crimson as he turned to face his wife, who was smiling sweetly, as always.
"Then come to bed," she said, her voice and expression warm and inviting. No matter what, Katrina had always possessed the power to make Ichabod feel completely at ease. He wondered if it was some sort of magic or simply a small part in the myriad mystery of her being.
Ichabod smiled, still a little nervous but no longer shaking, and began to walk toward the bed.iPerhaps she -doesn't- intend to...well, to...maybe she doesn't want to, tonight/i he thought as he sat down on the edge of strikehis/strike their bed and began to take off his boots. iMaybe she is too tired, and will not even bring it up. She is, after all, still in her nightdress, and does not show any signs of removing it. Maybe.../i
Ichabod felt his breath catch in his throat and he froze, the boot he'd just removed from his right foot suspended mere inches above the floor when he felt her small, warm body against his back. She'd somehow moved close to him without him hearing or feeling it. She really was a witch, that Katrina...but not a bad one, though sometimes she did make Ichabod feel positively wicked...
Like just then, for example.
He gulped audibly and dropped his boot with a loud "clunk!" when he felt her hot breath on his ear and neck. His eyes stared straight ahead and, though they were beginning to get uncomfortably dry, would not blink as she began planting small but effective kisses on his ear. His mouth hung slack and his fingers clutched the sheets, below him as her wet, pink tongue entered the opening of his ear and circled around and around, coaxing a moan from the depths of his chest.
Finally, he blinked, and jerked slightly, as though he'd just been snapped out of some sort of trance. Had that noise come from -him-? He didn't know he was capable of such sounds. What was she doing to him?
He turned around to face her and almost wished he hadn't, but not quite, for the pleasure of this new sensation overcame the hot flush of shame in his cheeks.
In the time it had taken him to realise that he had indeed been the source of the strange sound he'd just heard, she'd detached herself from his backside as quickly and cunningly as she'd first latched onto it, and un-buttoned her nightdress down to her waist, revealing two round, supple breasts for his viewing pleasure.
His eyes widened at the unexpected sight and the crotch of his trousers seemed to shrink against him.iMore witchcraft.../i he thought to himself, puzzled that something so simple as the sight of her naked breasts could have such a drastic effect on him.
A small, enticing smile played across her soft lips and Ichabod felt himself turn around to face her, not remembering ever having consciously told his limbs to move. He seemed to be operating purely on instinct, something he didn't think he possessed in this particular situation...but then he really couldn't have known, could he?
Before he could move another muscle or get another eyeful of her glorious bosom, her mouth was upon his, begging to be devoured by his hesitant, but eventually willing tongue. He had kissed a girl once before, in the folly of youth, and it hadn't gone over very well. He didn't want this to be the same, but as soon as Katrina slipped -her- tongue into -his- mouth, Ichabod knew things would be just fine. He was eternally grateful to her for not expecting him to be the dominant one, and was so relieved that she didn't mind taking charge, not that she really had much choice in the matter if she wanted to get anywhere with her new husband, for he was so painfully shy that he would probably waste away, burning from the inside out sooner than he would be able to muster enough courage to touch her the way he wanted to; the way -she- wanted him to. But Katrina helped a lot in the way of aiding him to overcome his shyness. It had already gotten much better; and she had succeeded in prying open his shell a considerable amount since they'd met, and now, they had the rest of their lives to try and sort things out, and that made Ichabod happy.
Kissing Katrina was also making him extremely happy, and it was beginning to show quite a bit. She wasn't looking, but she could feel his growing erection pressing into her, just below her navel, and took that as the cue to go the step further (She knew -he- wouldn't do it, and there were, after all, only two of them).
Reluctantly, she broke away from the kiss and began unlacing her husband's trousers, her fingers lightly brushing the throbbing member within as she did so. Ichabod whimpered at even the slightest contact and felt his entire body get suddenly very hot. When his manhood had finally been released from the uncomfortable restraints of his trousers, he heaved a sigh of pleasure and relief.
The sigh had just barely escaped his lips when a small, girlish gasp caught in his throat and he felt a spasm course through his leg.
She was touching what no woman save his mother had ever even -seen- before. He nearly died.
She ran her soft, thin fingers along his length for a few moments, inspecting its every vein and crease with her fingertips before she began to stroke it like he had done before on so many lonely nights.
Ichabod didn't know how much longer he'd be able to maintain his upright position. (Neither the way he was sitting nor his stiffened member, which he knew would not last very long). Her fingers felt so incredibly good on his immaculate manhood, he thought he would faint.
When she lowered her head to put her mouth on it he thought for sure that he was done for. It was like nothing he'd ever felt, before. Warm and wet and soft...he wanted it to last forever, but he knew it would not, for he was very close to being spent.
He'd meant to warn her, but before he'd gotten so much as a syllable out, his eyes had rolled back into his head, his buttocks squeezed together, his hands clenched into tight fists and he came with an inhuman growl, shooting hard and long into her mouth and down her throat.
When she began to cough and sputter he was mortified, and also deeply saddened by the sudden loss of contact. A million different apologies welled up within him but he could not manage a single word. He'd just experienced something of the same caliber as an Holy visitation, and his tongue could do nothing but twitch uselessly at the bottom of his mouth, like some wounded beast that lay dying in a dark cave.
His sweaty brow furrowed and he laid a hand on her shoulder that was meant to comfort, but could not see her face because of the tears that quickly began blurring his vision.
"I'm...I'm sorry," he finally managed to croak out, long after she'd spit his product out into a handkercheif and wiped her mouth clean, no harm done.
"It's all right, Ichabod," she said, perfectly calmly, and even cheerfully. Had he been able to see, he would have known that she was smiling at him, her eyes full of love and patience.
But he could not see, and now, the tears were spilling down his flushed cheeks and onto his bare thighs. His hand still remained upon her shoulder but his tearful eyes would not meet her gaze. He was too ashamed. He couldn't believe what he'd just done. Now he really -did- want to die.
"Darling..." he heard her say as she placed a kind hand upon his, "It really is all right. I'm fine."
Ichabod sniffled and tried looking up, but only lifted his head about half-way. "Then...you're not...? I mean, I didn't...?" Ichabod couldn't really tell through the thick curtain of dark hair that hung in his eyes, but she seemed to be smiling.
"No, it's really fine. See?" She placed a hand below his chin and gently willed his face upward to show him that he hadn't hurt her.
He sniffled again at allowed his head to be lifted by her gentle touch. It was true, he hadn't hurt her. Indeed, she looked perfectly well and unharmed, just as she had before he'd accidentally ejaculated, unannounced, into her mouth.
He took a few deep breaths as Katrina whispered comforts and wiped the tears from his eyes and cheeks. When his face was mostly dry, she took him into her arms and kissed his neck, tenderly.
They sat still in silence, rocking to and fro in one anothers' arms for a moment before Ichabod spoke.
"I really am terribly sorry...it's just that I...well, I've never...I..."
Katrina smiled against his shoulder and said, "I know. It's all right, my dearest."
"You know?" Ichabod repeated, his voice high and screeching as he pulling away from her to look her in the eye. Katrina nodded with a sad smile. "Is it that obvious...?" She nodded again, her smile even sadder, and Ichabod could not help his face from falling, again.
"No, no, it's all right. Come, now," she whispered, stroking his cheek and trying to convince him that it was nothing to worry about. "I've not had much experience, either..."
"...much?" he asked, forcing himself to meet her gaze.
"That's right," she said. "I've had a little...more than you..."
"Not like that's saying much," Ichabod said with a little chuckle. Katrina gave a small smile and cupped her husband's cheek.
"Sorry if it bothers you, love."
"It doesn't..." he trailed off. "I do not hold any grudge against you for your experience in the area. What bothers me is my own lack thereof."
"Oh, darling. It doesn't matter to me. I love you," she assured him, taking his hand in her own and giving it a little squeeze. "It doesn't make you any less of a man."
Ichabod managed a small smile, for his wife's sake, and returned the squeeze. After a beat, he announced that he would lie down, and Katrina followed suite, cuddling up next to him, her arm draped over his chest.
"Katrina?" he asked after what seemed like an eternity of uncomfortable silence.
"Yes?"
He was so relieved that she was still awake that he'd almost forgotten what he'd wanted to ask her, but it came back to him at the last minute.
"I'd never really thought to ask this before, but...how old are you?"
"I shall be nineteen, this Novembre," she replied, promptly.
Ichabod felt his brow furrow and his mouth become dry again at her answer. Nineteen? No, it was only February! She had only just turned eighteen! When he was nearly thirty? It wasn't the age difference that bothered him; it was common for men his age and older to marry girls in their late teens. What disturbed him was the fact that she was so many years his junior, and still had more sexual experience than he did. He cursed himself for having been so chaste as a boy and felt his cheeks redden for what seemed like the hundreth time, that night.
"Does this trouble you?"
"No, no...of course not."
"It does," Katrina said, sitting up and looking down at Ichabod in the dim candlelight. "How old are -you-, then?"
Ichabod stared straight ahead, at the ceiling and stated, very calmly and clearly, "Twenty nine."
The impish grin returned to Katrina's pretty lips and she nudged him, playfully. "I knew it. That is not so bad. What are you worried about?"
Ichabod sighed and imparted to her his troubles. Katrina only shook her head of golden curls and clicked her tongue. "Don't fret, my love," she said, pulling the covers down to Ichabod's knees and climbing atop him, straddling his narrow hips. "For I shall teach you all I know..." she leaned over and blew out the single candle on the bedside table, "...and more."