Laying on his bed in the quiet hours when night bled through to morning, she thought about how humbly and sweetly he'd kissed her after she'd taken him so many months ago. Anna found the swell of her breasts beneath her cotton nightdress, remembered the way she had sprawled next to him, suddenly uninhibited, unafraid of her nakedness.
That afternoon she gleaned — from the coded words of his most recent letter — that he was thinking about their wedding night. About being overwhelmed by her beauty. Her fingers brushed over her thigh and she remembered how he had touched her that night. "We belong to each other now," she'd whispered, rolling toward him as he slipped under the sheet and blanket he'd fluffed and floated over her nude body. "Truly."
He'd teased her about having her way with him. She couldn't remember what they had said beyond that. Not exactly. Just that she felt profoundly and deeply loved. Anna thought of how he'd kissed her until she held to him and rocked into his hand, until the only words she could form were "John" and "please." Those two words passed over her lips again and again; a sort of oath or prayer. She hooked her fingers into the solid flesh of his back and shoulders and silently sobbed her release into his skin. Anna tried to find it — that moment of blinding pleasure in the darkness — but found an echo instead.