M, again. I don't know what's got into me.
Accustomed to waking earlier than was necessary, she woke up before he did. She lay, liking the soft heaviness of his arm over her stomach. It had been completely true what she had told him; she could never have guessed that it could be like that. She felt... there was no word for it; broken. But at the same time finally whole. It surprised her to think that she had been alive before this; it felt as if the world was only just starting.
Of course, she had had lovers in the past- and, she suspected, that knowledge made him rather uneasy- but now she questioned the term. Quick tumbles in meadows and stuffy affairs in the scullery after dark- she shuddered at this latter recollection- did not quite compare to this. He was her lover in the true sense of the word. And this was only after their first night together.
Now was the beginning of a new age of longing. Now that she knew this man, really knew the effect he could have on her, things were going to be so different. There would be no more of the aching longing to know him better- as she now realised she had done before- but only the endless longing to find themselves alone in each other's presence. So they could be together like this. They should have started this years ago, if only she'd seen it earlier. She ran her hands over his hair, his head resting on her chest.
When he woke up she was still stroking his hair, lulling herself into a calmness that she had not felt in years. She felt the weight of his head lift from her chest and she was almost disappointed, until he kissed her on the mouth. It was hard not to smile against his lips; waking up with him made her very happy.
"I could get used to the heating breaking down," he mumbled.
She huffed, pretending to be offended- grinning like an idiot.
"Are you implying that I'm only good as some kind of hot water bottle?" she demanded.
The look on his face told her exactly what she had hoped it would: no, and he would prove it to her if necessary. She glanced at the clock beside the extinguished oil lamp. Just about twenty minutes until they had to start getting into separate rooms. She raised her eyebrows at him, daring him to make his next move. Then she felt his hand flit gently between her legs and almost cried out in a mixture of surprise and delight.
"Charles!" she exclaimed under her breath, common sense pressing at a reluctant brain, but pressing none the less, "People will be getting up soon."
"Then you'll just have to be very quiet, then," he told her.
"But..."
His face was gone from beside hers. Then she felt his mouth on her, sucking at the skin about her hips and moving swiftly along the line he had traced the night before. She felt herself dampening under his mouth, under his tongue as he played with her.
"Charles..."
She didn't have clue what she meant to say to him, she didn't even know why she spoke out loud, only that if he stopped she would surely die. She gripped at the bed sheet with her fist, biting her lip in the vain attempt to remain silent, little moans occasionally escaping her lips. Nothing in the world had ever felt like this, she thought. And then she couldn't think; she couldn't think at all.
As they got dressed later, she thought he looked far too pleased with himself.
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