Shukran lak to my eight readers in the United Arab Emirates :o) And thank you for all your faves and follows. You bless me!

Chapter twenty-one

Five minutes pass, then ten. The furthest Gilbert has been able to move is from the pillow to her shoulder. Such a lassitude is pulsing through him, sweet and easy as though his limbs have turned to sunbeams. It doesn't help that Anne is drawing circles over his shoulder and then up into his hair. It's damp and tousled and the curls seem to wrap themselves around her finger, which she tugs gently, sending tingles all through him.

'I feel different, don't you?'

'Mmm,' he mutters. 'I do.'

'Sort of wiser, more womanly. And you, I can still feel you too.'

'You can?' says Gilbert, brushing his lips over her neck. She's so silken; everything is silken, her voice, her skin, the melting sensation that floods though his bones…

'Mmmm, yes. A sort of lovely ache, as though my body is already calling for you. I'm also sort of… sort of…'

Her sudden loss for words alerts him and he jerks his head up. 'I didn't hurt you did I?'

Anne purses her lips. Such an answer is doing little to allay Gilbert's fears. He had hurt her, he knew it, at the end when he fell upon her chest. He shifts his weight onto his elbow and tenderly strokes her face.

'I'll be gentler next time, I promise. Wonderful, I'll make it wonderful for you –'

'It isn't anything you did… well it is, but not in the way you mean. I'm just a little… a little…'

'A little what, Anne, please –'

'A little sticky. I think you got it in my hair.'

Gilbert falls onto her shoulder again. 'You had me worried. Let me find something – no!' and his hazel eyes widen, 'let me bathe you.'

He leaps out of bed – it's true he does feel different, even his bare feet on the flagstone floor have a strange sort of spring in them – and throws on his grey flannel trousers. After some fumbling with his suspenders he hunts about for his boots.

Anne begins to laugh.

'What – what's so funny?'

'I can see your white behind peeping through your trousers.'

'You'll see even more in a minute, but first a hot bath for my wife.'

Gilbert dashes to the wash house where the shallow tub is stored, and brings it back, along with a bucket. Soon he has a fire burning and water simmering, gently.

All this time Anne has been lying there, a blissful smile on her face. Waiting for him to fetch what he needed, listening to him work the pump, watching him fix her a fragrant bouquet of herbs to scent the water. She takes his hand when he offers it and rolls from the narrow bed, the bliss dissipating quickly when she bears weight on her foot.

'Ow!'

'Sit down,' Gilbert orders.

'Gilbert I am perfectly capable of making it three feet to the bath.'

'Sit,' he tells her, 'I'm carrying you there.'

Anne sits, smiling bemusedly, as he scoops her up and places her, with only one awkward wobble, into the tub.

He has a jug of hot water ready and he pours this over her hair, which he lathers gently and rinses clean. Then he takes a little cake of soap, rubbing it thoroughly over wet hands, before smoothing them all over her back.

'Gil, that feels marvellous. I never thought to do that before.'

'Do what?' he says, and shifts now, almost entirely preoccupied with running his soapy hands all over her front.

'Soap my hands rather than my body. Mrs Hammond always instructed me to never let my hands touch my skin when I washed. I suppose the habit stuck… mmm – oh! Hmm… I don't remember my breasts requiring quite so much attention – Gil, what are you doing?'

Grey flannel trousers fly through the air now. 'I can't help myself, I'm getting in.'

Anne laughs again. 'You'll never fit!'

'So I'll stand, I don't care.'

An idea comes to Anne this time, and she retrieves the cake of soap from its dish on the floor. 'Can I wash you?' she asks him, and before he can answer, slides her hands up his calves.

They don't remain there for long however, her hands have another destination in mind. She snakes up his thighs, and grips him firmly, the way she always does, which is why she is so surprised when his lets out a strange squeeze-box sound.

'Ah – eh – uh. Maybe gentler first.'

'Like this?' Anne asks him running her tongue over him.

'Anne, you can't!'

'But you can?'

'That was different.'

It is also how Anne ends up needing to wash her hair again.

By midnight the two of them smell of lavender soap, and their skin is soft and warm and clean. Anne lies on her side, her damp hair cool against his face as he spoons her body closely. If he felt tired before he is exhausted now and drapes his arm over her, pulling her close. Anne sighs and wriggles her bottom into him. Oh why did she do that? They really need sleep, but his body is already responding.

'Is that what I think it is?' Anne says, sleepily.

Gilbert tries to shift away. It'll go down after a while – but not if Anne keeps doing that.

'I can't help it,' she whispers, stroking him. 'I want you inside me –'

The word 'again' is barely out of her mouth before he finds himself between her thighs once more. He slips down under the blankets in order to kiss her there. Anne pulls him back.

'Don't make me wait, I want you now.'

Her words make him harder still. After their lovemaking he is bigger than he usually is and he knows he will have to go even slower. He lifts himself above her, putting all his weight on his wrists. Again Anne pulls him close.

'I need to feel you, Gilbert. I need to feel all of you.'

'What if I hurt you –'

'What if you don't?'

It is raw and primal this time. Perhaps because the fire has died and they can no longer see each other; perhaps because they know what their bodies can do, and how far they can push them. His chest pounds against hers, his belly smacks into her belly, and his fingers entwine with her fingers as her arms rest above her head.

With every thrust he feels himself go further. It shouldn't be possible, but he feels for all the world like a thick piece of rope being uncoiled, hand over hand, as she pulls him in. The movement is hypnotising, and her short staccato moans sounding over and over. Usually he knows when the end is coming, but this takes him by surprise. Ferocious in its strength, he finds it almost impossible to fight against. Almost. He still manages – just – but the effort it takes not to bury himself in her at the last, feels like it might end him.

He is asleep soon after, and when he wakes with the dawn light her hands and his are still woven together.

…

Things he will miss when she is gone: the early morning sunshine on her bare shoulders, the sound of his brush going through her hair, her pretty white feet peeping out from behind the screen as she uses the chamber pot. She doesn't dress behind there, however. She sits on the bed and he watches raptly as she returns all her layers once more. Chemise, corset, stockings, then stands up to shimmy into the rest: bloomers, petticoat, another petticoat, the little bustle pad, and finally her yellow dress. How on earth had she managed to remove all that in bed? It is no longer his bed, but their bed. He is already thinking about the next time he can have her here. It will never be this simple again.

'What will you tell Marilla about where you stayed last night?'

'I can't imagine her asking,' says Anne, weaving a simple braid into her hair. She shouldn't have gone to bed with it damp, though she isn't thinking of the health risks Mrs Lynde drummed into her, but the strange way it has dried. 'She and Martin won't get back from Kensington until Sunday. Marilla wanted to return straight after her check up with Dr Chowdury, but I think Martin liked the idea of spending a little time away from Avonlea.'

'Who's minding Green Gables?'

'I am. Davy moves into Soren's today.'

'So you'll be there alone…'

Anne tucks the braid around her head and then looks about for her stocking tie. It is poking out from under the bed and she lifts her skirts, baring the tops of her thighs.

'Yes,' she smiles, quietly elated that she has managed to thread the fiddly tie on the first try. It then occurs to her what this smile will be telling Gilbert. 'But no,' she utters, and shakes her head. 'I couldn't, I wouldn't, any more than I could do this in your parent's house. What we have, what we've done,' she says, reaching for his hand and kissing it, 'it belongs in our world, and nowhere else. You see that, don't you?'

For some reason her answer reassures him, but it saddens him too. They had made their own world; yet they would never be able to live in it, only visit, like a dream. 'I promise I won't come any closer than your gate. So long as Rossi has moved on.'

Anne leaves the bed and walks over to the desk. Her limp is more pronounced this morning and she holds the back of the chair. 'I don't think he'll have any choice about the matter,' she answers, peering out through a chink in the curtains. Outside the chime is tinkling on the tree bough, polished scraps of metal like gold in the sun.

Gilbert tucks the sheet around his hips and follows her to the desk. 'Do you think he will make Ruby happy?'

They both know the answer to that, but it is done now. The only thing left to do is hope for the best.

'He makes her happy now,' Anne says quietly, 'and that's a good start. I have a lot of doubts about the match, but I also know I'm not very good at this matchmaking business. I thought Mirabelle was perfect for Jo, and…'

'Fred perfect for Diana?' Gilbert ventures.

Anne slumps against the desk, then half sits on it. 'Something's gone wrong at a Providential level, Gilbert. Fred Wright and Diana Barry are made and meant for each other. Now he's become a policeman and she's being wooed by an English gentleman.'

'Gentleman?' He slips in between her legs and shifts her further onto the desk.

'I received her latest letter when you were in White Sands. She met him during a thunderstorm, in the Colosseum, of all places. He fetched her parasol when it flew away.'

As she says this, her fingers trace over the width of his bronzed shoulders. She loves watching gooseflesh appear, his Adam's apple bobbing with anticipation, the way he is tenting the sheet.

'And he's wooing her, is that what she said?'

'She said he joined their touring party. She also said he planned on making a tour of the Maritimes in September to witness our "famous Autumn colour". She even asked me to ask your mother if he might stay in your Spare Room.'

'You mean he might come here?' Skirts sliding up slowly.

'I'd call that wooing, wouldn't you?' Sheet slipping to the floor.

'And what would you call this?' Voice thick with longing as Anne guides him through the opening in her bloomers and nuzzles him against her.

'Bliss. Oh my love, why is it morning, why do we have to part so soon?'

At the word 'part' he is inside her again, utterly naked while she is fully dressed. The foxglove samples rattle, the sunlight turns her hair into a halo, and then, what is wrong with him, he begins to feel like he might cry. He crams his mouth on hers instead, gripping her hard at her waist. The only sound is the tinkle of glass… and a tap tap tap on the cottage door.

He freezes deep inside her, maybe they can ignore it, maybe whoever it is will go away. But they cannot ignore the sound that comes next. A firm, insistent knock followed by his father's voice.

'Gilbert Aurelius, you slug-a-bed, unlock the door!'

Slipping from her body unsatisfied makes him feel like he might be sick, and he wraps the sheet about him, taking care to leave it bunched at the front, and slowly unbolts the door. Anne remains on the desk behind it, frozen to the spot.

'Pa! Morning! Hello Mayflower,' he says as blithely as he can manage.

'Smells like a Turkish bath in here. You had one, I see,' he says, peering by his son to the shallow tub in the middle of the floor. 'Here,' he adds, holding out little May.

Gilbert blanches. 'What am I supposed to do exactly?'

'Take her, of course. Your Ma ain't feeling right this morning and I got work to do, so if you're going to laze about in your bedclothes, you can durn well help me out – though maybe put some duds on first. I'll wait.'

'Pa, I – I – need to use the pot. Take May back to the house, I'll be there in a minute.'

'One minute,' his father says crossly. 'Oh confound it, May, you need to use the pot too.'

Gilbert does not stand on ceremony and quickly shuts the door. He is expecting to see a look of laughter, or at least relief on Anne's face, and is surprised to find she looks like she might cry now. Or maybe it was only a trick of the light, as he approaches she beams at him and shifts from the desk.

'I must go, may I take Rebel and go the long way round, by Yellow Birches? I don't want anyone seeing me along Newbridge Road and my foot's a little sore.'

'Of course, I – ah… can you ride bareback? Pa might be in the barn before you can saddle him up.' He hadn't thought about this part, when his darling girl would have to skulk away as though she had done something wrong. That sick feeling he had before is even stronger now and he quickly throws on his work clothes. 'I'll tell Pa he'll just have to wait,' he says, gruffly, 'May is their child, not mine –'

'No, Gilbert. Absolutely not. I can walk –'

'No, you can't –'

'Yes,' says Anne, coolly, 'I can, and I will.'

Her chin rises smartly and her eyes flash bright. 'I'll simply walk the long way round. No one at home is expecting me, except the cows and chickens, and they'll just have to wait.'

'Not on that foot, I won't let you…' What is happening, are they quarrelling now, is this really how their night together is going to end – oh why had he taken her on the desk when he could have been taking her home? 'Anne!' he calls, hobbling after her in boots that are not quite on.

He assumed she would have already passed through the hedge, and finds her pausing beneath the oak tree, watching the chime shift and trill on the breeze.

'It's spellbinding, isn't it?' she says, faintly, 'this dear old world? I truly don't want to be anywhere else…'

What world does she mean – their world, this world? And what did that have to do with a baby's plaything? Gilbert knows he isn't going to get any sort of answer from her right now, not when Anne has that look on her face.

'Borage!' he blurts out.

Anne's looks at him, bemused. 'Gilbert, there are hundreds of species of borage –'

'Cynoglossum virginianum, then. It grows everywhere –' So where is it, he thinks, usually you can't see a blade of grass without these small blue flowers poking out of it? He scans the flagstone path, then the hedge, the shady places beneath the oak. It's then he sees the wilted bouquet Anne had carried last night. Not all of the flowers have curled up, however. Some tiny white and yellow ones bloom undaunted. He picks up the sprig, and brings it to Anne.

'Use these then. You need to steep it for about –'

'I know what to do.' She takes it from him and considers it briefly. 'Anaphalis margaritacea, I was going to wear it in my hair.'

He runs his hand over her long red braid. 'Everlasting,' he says, softly.

Anne's eyes are brimful of feeling, but what she feels he does not know. He could identify every species here, their genus, their order, their kingdom, but the woman he made love to minutes ago will forever mystify him.

'I have to go – I'm going –' she says and slips through the hedge like a curl of smoke.

And because he loves her he lets her go, and doesn't do one thing to stop her.

...

Cate: You had me at Davy not being in Gilbert's league. But then I read your comments about Anne never having had a brother before, and I was so relieved. I so wanted to go into Anne's relationship with Davy but had made it almost impossible as this story is from Gilbert's point of view and there was no way Anne would just exposition dump about such a tangled, complicated thing when she has Diana to turn to. The reversal of fortune between the four friends has been a treat to write, and as you see there is more to come. Yeah, Graduation Day, good call! I forgot about that. Goodness I have written a lot of scenes like this, but hopefully they all have their own flavour. For this story it was important to reaffirm Anne as she was in their first 'geometry lesson' in Anotherlea; a girl who is curious and without fear, while Gilbert is all up in his head. The thought of him endeavouring to make love for the first time whilst not putting any of his body weight on her, just tickled me. And in that vein I wanted to keep it light, which befits an 18 year old and a 20 year old (or is he 21 now? :o)

Guest: damn I love the phrase 'go down on her'. Thanks!

Lucinde: I remember Hazel and Gus, but I don't remember their love scene at all! As for the male perspective, I actually spent some time trying to get my head around what it must be like, being inside the person you love, and how that might feel quite vulnerable, as well as this huge responsibility. Does that make sense? I like what you said about this feeling inevitable, because that is what I was aiming for. This is just another step in their journey, it isn't the conclusion. Dusky rose, that made my week :o)

Drink: Their storylines are all in hand, don't you worry. And yes, I always wanted to make this your typical mutual virginity losing experience, but it also had to be something that was true to them. I agree, the unknown IS delicious!

wow: Legit? Thank you! I did love it when he started folding his clothes away all neatly. I could imagine Anne thinking, Um? Of course it would have been equally fun for them to rip each others clothes off, but not these characters, not this story. And yeah, the knock on the door, however did you guess! ;oP

GGG: you're not supposed to mention anatomical deets in the Ms, I think even 'nipple' is pushing it, but I appreciate your compliment because I like erotic fiction and have a few anthologies featuring famous writers (I can never think of Edith Wharton in the same way again!) I loved your image of the Chagall, yes yes yes! Speaking of Anne flying above everyone, listen to Runway by Nadia Reid. Much of Anotherlea was about what death takes and what it gives, the loss of Matthew at the end of AoGG broke every reader's heart so I can only imagine what it did to Anne. I always picture Ro's book one foot thick, with sticky, crackling pages that smell of sage leaves and rose petals :o)

FKAJ: I loved what you said about Anne. Her jumping headfirst, curious spirit has always entranced me, and was the reason I wrote Anotherlea in the first place, because I wanted more! I'm so relieved that readers were open to how I wrote about the last chapter (and hopefully this chapter) You know better than anyone how nervous I was, so thank you for holding my hand -or kicking me up the bum- when I needed it. Mwa!

Guest: I'm glad, thank you :o)

Regina: Judy Blume definitely made a big impression on me, the whole 'pocket watch' situation in RD was a tip of the hat to 'Ralph' in Forever. I love YA, that's why I left off Charlottetown, so I could revisit the characters right after Anotherlea. I can't tell you how happy I am to know I walked the tightrope between awkward and hot with some success. I am always waiting for someone to say, kwak where is your head at? That you don't is amazing to me! By the way, thank you for posting a comment so quickly after I posted, I was nervous about this one :o/

NotMrsR: Yeah, that last line did it for me. If it doesn't make me squirm (or as FKAJ says, panty melt) then it doesn't make the cut. I mean sure he was nervous, but he's also 20 (or is he 21?) Christmas present wrapped in an Easter Eggs wins the prize this week!

Guest: Me too :o)

Thank you all for following me into the M section, I promise to make it worth it :o)