5

Love 2

Second chapter of Demonstrations of Love. Please note that this one is rated M so don't read if that is not your thing. Definitely adult content.

'What's wrong?', he whispers to her.

She is lying in his arms, responsive to his touch, and yet so tense that he can almost feel her back muscles. She looks at him, eyes clouded with worry. 'Nothing….it's nothing. It's just that…it feels…'

He moves away from her without breaking touch. 'We don't have to do this tonight, Ruth…if you'd rather wait….if you need time…' He doesn't dare ask the question which has been tormenting him for months now, whether she wants him, really wants him, that way.

'It's not that I don't want you', she blurts out, as if guessing his thoughts. 'It's just that…' She looks away from him. 'I'm not very good at this. I never have been really. And I'm worried that…'

He's so relieved he can feel his entire body relax. 'That what, Ruth?'

She shrugs. 'Oh, you know….that you'll be…disappointed.' She forces herself to meet his gaze. 'Look, it's alright, I'll be alright. Come on, we've waited for such a long…' She begins to drag him back to her, but he pulls back.

'No', he shakes his head. 'Not that way. Not when you're so…scared.' He kisses her gently. 'It's my fault', he says ruefully. 'We've barely touched each other in eight years and all of a sudden…' He strokes her cheek gently. 'Can you tell me what…why…?'

'Why it's hard? Well…' She doesn't know where to start. How can she explain the unsatisfactory fumblings of her student days, her excruciating shyness, the way she would immerse herself in her books convinced that she couldn't possibly be found desirable, her stepbrother's unwelcome advances, the long, draining days at GCHQs interspersed with awkard dates… How can she possibly say that her deep, abiding fear, always was to lower her intellectual guard and show who she really was – passionate, demanding, giving – and to invite surprise and ridicule? And George. How can she possibly tell Harry that even with him, so removed from her other life, patient, understanding, and thoughtful, she could not somehow ever allow herself to let go? She sighs. 'This kind of intimacy…you need to relinquish control, fully. To have enough trust in yourself and the other person to tell them what you want, what you need, without being afraid.' She pauses, emotion threatening to overwhelm her. 'I have never been very good at doing that', she whispers, embarrassed and ashamed.

'Oh Ruth…' He kisses her forehead briefly. He knows that blandly reassuring words are the last thing she needs. He also knows that the moment, right now, in this bed, is broken. Yet he he is not sure how to help her through this. And as he is lying so close to her, he also notices how tired she looks: the last few weeks have taken their toll and above all she needs rest, and relaxation. He lets his eyes wander round the room. 'I've got an idea. Would you like to have a bath with me? It can be just that. A bath. We're both tired and I think it'd do us good if…Yes? Good. Stay here.'

He goes straight into the bathroom, gets the bath started, adds some oil to it, quickly undresses and puts on one of the thick dressing gowns. Soon the bathroom is filled with the fragrant scent of hot and bubbly water. He goes back to her. She is lying on the bed, her face somewhat sad, and wistful. He sits next to her. 'It's ready. Why don't you go in and call me when you're ready?'

She presses herself against him briefly and disappears into the bathroom. For all his effort he can't help his body react to the thought of her naked, a few feet away from him…

'Harry…you can come in now.'

He clenches his teeth against his body's instinctive reaction, as he walks in. She is sitting in the bath, her chin on her knees, having left him plenty of space to sit behind her, taking great care not to look at her, not even through the mirror which lines up the wall. He rids himself of his gown quickly and carefully lowers himself behind her. Her upper back, smooth, slightly pink from the steam, is all he can see, and he itches to run his hands on it. 'Are you OK?', he whispers.

She nods. 'Could you wash my back, please?', she asks almost inaudibly.

Without a word he picks up a soft cloth and slowly, tenderly, does her bidding, washing her hair too while he is at it. She raises her head backward towards him, eyes closed, the better to let the warm water run down off her, almost groaning from the sheer pleasure of his fingers massaging her scalp. And when he is done, without even thinking she leans back and lies down against him. He breathes in sharply as her breasts, half hidden by the water, partly emerge, and she realises then how much he wants her. She goes very still, and gently wraps his arms around her. 'I love you', she whispers. 'I love you so much…'

'And I you…', he responds in a strangled voice.

Just as he had washed her back a few moments before, she runs her hands up and down his thighs and legs. He arches slightly against her, and starts stroking her belly under the water, moving his hands up, and up, and up, til he reaches her breasts. He cups them gently, and lets his fingers run around them, avoiding their increasingly distended peaks for as long as he can. Her breathing quickens, and he knows, instinctively, that this is what she needs. At last he circles her nipples gently, using the friction of the water to arouse her, until she can't help whimpering. He raises his head. Most of the bubbles have gone, and in the mirror facing them, he can see her body fully at last, through the water. She is straining against him, obliviously arousing him, but he is determined not to let the demands of his body dictate the pace. She is gripping the edge of the bath with her hands, her breathing more and more ragged. 'Show me', he whispers, his voice roughened by love and desire. 'Show me what you want. How you…'

She stiffens. 'But I can't….it's …embarr…are you…'

He rests his cheek against hers. 'I love you, Ruth. And I want to please you. And believe me, there is nothing you could say or do which would shock me. Or repulse me.' He lets the words sink in, and after a few moments, repeats lovingly, 'show me.'

Excruciatingly slowly, she lets her hands wander down her body, groaning as his own resume their patient, relentless danse on her breasts. He looks at her in the mirror, flushed, warm, her eyes so dark as to be almost black, as she parts her legs. He clenches his teeth against the mounting flow of his desire. She picks up her own pace and he follows suit, kneading her peaks, rolling them between his fingers, watching the folds of her feminity contract and distend themselves, drunk on the sound of her whimpering, til she half shouts her release and collapses against him.

After an eternity, she kisses his hands. 'Thank you', she whispers.

'My pleasure', he half laughs, the strain in his voice obvious to his own ears.

She half turns towards him. 'But you…you haven't…'

He kisses her softly. 'I can wait…the water is getting cold. Do you want to get out?'

She nods. They quickly dry themselves. She can't miss the obvious signs of his need and half raises her hand towards him. He grabs it in his own gently. 'It'll wait, Ruth', he repeats firmly. 'Right now…I'd rather hold you in my arms and sleep. If that's alright'

She smiles at him weakly, her body heavy with fatigue and pleasure at the same time. 'Sounds good.'

They nestle under the duvet in each other's arms, and let themselves fall asleep, together.

He wakes up a few hours later, disoriented at first, not understanding where he is, til he feels the weight of her leg across his, the touch of her hand on his naked skin, and the relentless pull of his desire for her. He disentangles himself from her slowly, taking care not to wake her up, puts on his dressing makes his way to the bathroom. He wants her, more than he has ever wanted anyone, ever. But he won't wake her up. He grits his teeth. It's either waiting til the morning or a cold shower or….his hands stray….

She wakes up with a start, perturbed by the sudden void next to her, feverish with longing for him. The light filters from under the bathroom door and yet there's no noise. Frowning, she gets up and wraps herself in her gown. She knocks on the door softly. 'Harry….are you alright?'

After a long silence, he says, 'Yes. I am.' But he does not add anything so she pushes the door open. He is gripping the sides of the basin with both hands, his back rigid with tension. He meets her eyes in the mirror, his own dark with desire. She glances down unvoluntarily. She can feel herself blush and walks to him, wrapping her arms around his torso, her cheek on his back, pressing her body against his. He breathes in deeply. 'I didn't want to wake you up', he says.

She turns him around so that he faces her, and holds his face in her hands. 'Come back to bed', she whispers kissing him on the lips, his soft moan of pleasure vibrating against her.

She leads him back to the bedroom, but as she is about to lie down and draw him to her, he pulls back. 'Ruth…' His voice is almost unrecognisable, his Yorkshire accent stronger than she has ever heard it. He swallows. 'It's been…it's been a very long time…I don't know if I can hold back and…' He pauses, and the panic in his gaze, warring with desire, is unmistakable.

'All I care about', she says softly, 'all I care about is to feel you inside me. Right now, that's all I want.'

She quickly rids herself of her gown and without asking him, undresses him too. He lies down on top of her, nesting between her hips, and in one slow, measured move joins their bodies. As she craddles him in her arms and her feminity, he heaves with a sob, head buried against her neck, hands twisting in her hair, desperately fighting for self-control. She stays very still, letting her own body accommodate him fully, shaken to her core by the sheer force of his virility. After a long time he raises himself on his forearms and looks down at her. 'I love you', he whispers in a trembling voice. 'I. . Never forget that.'

'I won't', she murmurs against his lips.

She is expecting him to start moving within her, but he won't. Instead he remains ensconced within her, looking deep into her eyes, as if to engrave this very moment in his memory. 'I've waited eight years for this, Ruth. Eight years…' His eyes fill with tears. 'You've no idea…what it means to me. It's…' He shakes his head.

'Oh I do. Believe me…' Her smile illuminates the room as she rocks against him gently, delighting in his gasp of surprise, feeling the first tremors of pleasure deep inside her. 'Make me yours, Harry.'

He kisses her hard and fast, and suddenly it's no longer gentle and tender. He thrusts into her, again, and again, and again, oblivious to her fingernails digging into his back, unable to stop and slow down, letting his body take over, his breath ragged, vaguely aware of her whimpers of release, a long drawn-out shout tearing away from him as he buckles against her, spent, exhausted, fulfilled.

He rolls over to his side without letting their bodies separate, and presses her against him, unwilling to let her go. She is shaking, and he realises that she is crying. He lifts her head to his, on the verge of tears. 'I. Love. You', she whispers through her tears with a shaky smile. 'Never forget that.'

'I won't', he says solemnly, his hands shaking. 'I won't ever forget.'

The END.