Shelagh's lashes were slightly gummy. Sleep had settled deep inside of her bones, and had made her weak as a kitten. Her hand lay on the pillow, just a few inches away from her face. She moved it closer, basking in the languidness of a good night's sleep. When she finally felt the touch of her own fingertips, she brought them to her eyelids and gently rubbed them till she was able to open her eyes.
Sunlight splayed on her legs, pouring into the hotel room from a crack in the heavy red curtains. They hadn't closed them properly last night. She hadn't noticed.
I was too preoccupied with other things, she thought, shivering as the events from last night washed over her. That strange, secret place between her legs was moist still, and throbbed a little. She lay trembling underneath the covers, basking in the aftershocks of pleasure lived through so very recently.
She and Patrick had had breakfast at home. They had eaten it in bed, and for once Shelagh had been all right with that, since the sheets had needed changing anyway. Patrick had let her know how he loved her with casual touches of his big hands, by holding her close, by dropping kisses on her face and hair. He did it almost without a thought, as if all of this had become routine even though they had only been allowed to touch in such an unthinking way for less than a day.
They had washed and dressed, and then Patrick had taken two suitcases to his car. She had watched him from the bedroom, somewhat sore between the legs yet already aching for more of him. She could not describe the depth of what she felt, couldn't even describe what exactly it was she was feeling. All she knew was that she loved him so fiercely she wanted him to lie on top of her and become one with her.
As they had left Poplar behind for a sea-side hotel to spend their honeymoon, she had admired the simple golden band on her hand. It was a license to love Patrick freely, but it was far more than that, too; it was a symbol. Her ring, shaped like a circle, was unending, just as her love for him.
They had come to the hotel in the early afternoon, had had lunch in the restaurant, and had gone up and locked the bedroom door behind them to sate their other hunger. They had made love all afternoon, only leaving the room to have dinner, which Patrick had whispered in her ear was just an interlude for their lovemaking. It had been strange to indulge in such wantonness with the sun still shining. She had laughed at her own surprise; surely she had known before that people could have sex at all times of day? Well, even if she hadn't known prior to yesterday, now she most certainly did.
Shelagh's breathing sped up as she remembered his rough hands cupping her arse, the hushed whispers, his jaw with tomorrow's growth already upon it grating the skin of her throat and the space between her breasts and her belly.
She had known how to love someone with the whole of her soul before she had married Patrick. With him, though, she had learned how to love someone with the whole of her body, too.
She turned on her side to watch him. He was lying on his belly, his mouth slightly open. Last night he had lain spread out like a starfish. He had grown accustomed to sleep in his big bed all alone. He had remembered what it was like to share with another very quickly, though; last night, he had faithfully kept to his side of the bed.
Well, apart from that moment when he came awake, rolled on top of you and woke you with little kisses and hushed words.
Shelagh clasped Patrick's sleep-slackened hand and rubbed the skin between his knuckles. He looked almost childlike in sleep, especially in this position.
No, not childlike. Vulnerable. Trusting.
She brought his hand to her mouth and kissed every knuckle. She smelled herself on his fingers. She rested her cheek against his work-roughened palm. His thumb twitched against her skin, then slowly, gently, stroked her lip.
"Hello," Patrick whispered, his voice hoarse from sleep still.
She smiled, and kissed the fleshy mound of his thumb. "Hello."
"Are you all right?"
She nodded. "Just a little sore."
He smiled, his eyes slipping shut. "That's good. And happy?"
"Very happy."
She scooted to his side, inhaling his scent.
He tucked her against him, and smiled as he felt her pulse thunder.
She kissed the space between his collar bones, licking it and finding salt disintegrating upon her tongue.
His dominant hand travelled over her hip, then slipped between her legs. He groaned when he felt how ready she was.
"Damn," he whispered.
"Don't swear," she chastised him. But she didn't mind for very long, not when his fingers started their exploration of her pink flesh, and he whispered words of adoration and devotion and love in her ear.
They didn't do anything new, but that was all right. The lessons they had practiced so far were worth repeating. She wanted to indulge in them again, and again, and again.
And again.