According To Plan
By Seniya
Chapter Twenty-Six
WARNING: This chapter contains a ridiculously long sex scene. It isn't explicit or anything, but just in case you're a Mormon or something, you know, beware the sex. This chapter is also about 12,500 words long, so beware that too.
The day passed slowly, time itself seemed to hold his breath, prolonging the seamless transition of morning to afternoon, lengthening the wash of blue into pink then orange, although, it hastened to bring about the fall of day and the rise of the soundless night, coated in the ashes of time.
Will hadn't been allowed to visit Caleb for the remainder of the day; her grandmother had kept the door tightly shut for the duration of the doctor's visit, leaving her an outsider t the going ons of this perverse doctor-patient-grandmother relationship.
She had sulked away the remainder of her time in her bedroom, valiantly attempting to bury her neurosis. It didn't work. And for that she blamed her mother, she who had convinced her since before she was properly weaned, that physicians were evil. How many had died not from illnesses, but from the hands of a money grubbing doctor?
Countless, she imagined, though she'd be damned if she allowed Caleb to become another. What was she still doing moping around in here? When she had her own card up her sleeve—as the saying went—the bullet had already been removed, if she told her grandmother that she wouldn't leave with her unless she was allowed some time with him—well, that should work!
Moving hurriedly from her feckless vantage point in her mother's bedroom, and brushing off the dust from her new dim pink dress, one that Irma had insisted that she wear, Will walked purposefully through the hallway, a prolonged rant already on the tip of her tongue when she discovered the door ajar—her grandmother, upon further inspection was gone.
Caleb was still asleep when she arrived; his body bathed in the soft moonlight and covered, with the more tangible blankets. He was so still, so completely quiet that even from this distance the slight motion of his chest seemed so significant—Will supposed that her heart broke completely just then.
She wasn't used to seeing him so vulnerable, so fragile. Even now the image didn't settle well in her mind, as she journeyed forward, away from the doorway and into the darkened chamber that still carried the copper-like perfume of sickness, it was hard to dislodge the sensation of a dream—
"Can I help you Miss?" Abruptly aware of the fact that she was not the only individual in this room, Will dragged her gaze away from Caleb's frame to linger on the man in the corner—his light grey eyes boring deeply into hers until she was forced to look away.
"I came to see Caleb." She muttered, and then hearing no objections, she grew bolder, "I don't care about what either of you has to say—I intend to stay—"
"Now child," He had drifted closer, dropping the small vials and glasses that he had been examining into his large leather bag so that he could examine her face instead. "Exactly how did you come by such nasty bruises on your pretty skin?"
"I-I" She was startled, naturally, not only by his touch but by the genuine concern that seemed to breed in his whispery voice. "…I tend to fall a lot, you see I'm very clumsy."
A lie, but it was easier than the truth, which was long and distracting—and she couldn't afford to be distracted.
"You know, the young Mr. Potter who I've also been tending to—he has some nasty bruises as well. I've been told that a little red headed wench inflicted them on him."
His voice lacked emotion, she decided—if she truly wanted to know what he was thinking, then she'd need to meet his gaze; she did, finding that once those whispers of ashes touched her, it was rather difficult to be afraid. "Well, if that's what he said—"
"Come here now child, let me tend to those." He led her into a corner of the room, towards the nightstand where his bag lay; "You don't want to have those marks all over your skin now, do you?"
He bathed her cuts and bruises with more care than she'd thought it possible for a man to have, he was very quiet throughout the process, muttering only once when he noted the slight scar around her eye.
"Will Caleb be all right?" Resolving, quite conclusively that this man was not a real threat to her, Will asked what had been plaguing her for hours.
"He needs to rest. The bullet wasn't in too far, so it didn't do a great deal of damage." Seemingly satisfied that she wouldn't die of gangrene, he put away his bottles of ethanol. "It's only the blood loss that has him so weak. There will be no strenuous activity until he gets his strength back. He's lost a great deal of blood as you can imagine."
It felt nicer in his voice, now, not really raspy and old, but warm, hopeful almost. "What is he to you?" He questioned casually, but she could understand what the answer would hold for her.
"He's…" Stomach fluttering, skin tingling with a supernatural urgency she explained, "he's my everything. I have to stay with him—he'd want me to."
"I wouldn't ask to you leave him," He encouraged her to sit in a nearby chair, which she, for lack of feeling the urge to do anything else, did. There, he gingerly touched the marks along her wrists. "I just don't want you to disturb him. He needs his rest."
"I'll let him sleep." She promised.
"Good girl. And what are those," He touched the marks below her eyes, dark splotches that had come to be from days of poor rest. "It seems to me that you need sleep yourself."
"Why are you so nice?" Will had never truly been a victim of the jejune fantasies of world wide empathy and as of late, the naiveté that people helped others simply out of the kindness of their hearts—had been proven to be remarkably foolish.
"Ensuring that you kill yourself with exhaustion isn't a nicety Miss." He pressed two fingers against her neck, studied her with solemn eyes for a long moment before returning to his bag. "You will get some sleep as well then."
"Yes." Will nodded, knowing that she wouldn't get any sleep tonight if that was what it took to ensure that Caleb would be all right.
"Dr. Lincoln, may I ask—Wilhelmina is not to be left alone with this boy. She is engaged and it is against propriety…" Disrupting the sanctity of the moment, Mrs. Vandom, her entire being heavy and imposing, walked into their space. Will could feel her eyes on her face, and feeling spiteful, she drew them out, staring unfazed at the woman who only stared back.
"I have heard Mrs. Vandom, for your dearest granddaughter has informed me of that fact. But rest assured, she shall not be alone. I will stay with her for tonight, I think that I need to watch the boy for a while longer in any case." It was hard to not look smug at the sight of her grandmother's tightly pinched face.
"And, I am of the opinion that seeing him will help her as well. Her heart rate is much too fast, terribly high blood pressure for one so young, too many worries you see. I think that it will help her to see him tonight, since she seems so concerned about him. And never you mind propriety, I shall ensure that she and her fiancé behave themselves." He concluded with a good-natured chuckle.
"He isn't her fiancé." The humour wasn't shared, now Mrs. Vandom leaned heavily against the doorway.
"Well," His voice still retained that odd sense of mystery, "I'll ensure that they behave either way. Wilhelmina knows better than to cause the boy any excitement. Now, if you please, they both need some rest."
For one so frail to face one so massive—it seemed blatant which one should win—a David and Goliath match, right before her very eyes, Will mused. But even with his pretty grey eyes and whispery words, the good doctor seemed as strong as any Goliath.
Frowning heavily, Mrs. Vandom reluctantly turned away and disappeared into the darkness.
It was a long while before Will could look up again, and even then her gaze returned to her lap almost immediately. She stared at her bluish wrists and her ragged fingernails until the tears blurred them into nothingness. "Thank you." She whispered finally.
The heavy warmth of a blanket was her reply, that and two hands pushing her further into the chair. "Sleep now dear. He won't awaken tonight, and if he does I promise that I'll get him whatever he needs."
Nodding dumbly, Will allowed her body to be adjusted and propped up against pillows—It wasn't long after that she feel asleep, the wind singing the softest of lullabies in her ears, the moon her own constant guardian.
Plans for the esteemed seduction plan were seriously hampered, when Caleb (a very significant contributor to the success of the arrangement) didn't awaken at all that night or the morning after. Well, no, that isn't the complete truth, he had arisen once to stare at Will with large glassy eyes and ask her for the time.
The doctor had been gone by the time Will had awoken, almost as though he'd never been—actually, it was Irma that she saw first that morning, who quite presumably was in a right state, practically foaming at the mouth and later attempting to prod the man with various objects in an attempt to awaken him—Will was forced to toss her out.
She did take very good care of him however. Mindful of the doctor's words, she allowed him his rest, only disturbing him a handful of times to adjust his pillows and his feet—perhaps it was during that time that she realized that he was stark naked. And things didn't go so smoothly after that.
After that she had reduced her fussing exponentially, keeping most of her attention to his upper body, trying desperately to banish the curiosity—Irma would peek. Yes, yes she would. And if that wasn't a good enough reason to steer away, Will didn't know what was.
Her grandmother came to visit sometime early that Sunday morning, Will had been dozing off, her hand propped beneath her chin in the chair that she had planted near the bed head when the sound of heavy feet had awaken her.
"Any improvement?" She had asked, and Will hadn't replied, wanting to reduce the number of conversations between the two of them to a bare minimum. "I see…well, I am certain that you are exceedingly grateful for the doctor's intervention, however, you are not to spend the night without again. Starting tonight, I will stay with the both of you. I shan't interfere."
Then, pausing only once to survey Will's utterly furious little face, she pressed on, "Have you found my necklace yet my dear? It is so terribly valuable to me."
"No." She hadn't even remembered it. "I'll look for it later."
"Do that." And then she left.
When Irma joined her for lunch (a predominantly watery mess of potatoes), Will did remember to mention the matter of the necklace. "So Friday night when you undressed me, did you see it?"
"Will, Caleb's not wearing any trousers!" Looking as though Christmas had come early, Irma continued to stare underneath the covers until Will finally grew annoyed and embarrassed and yanked them from her hands, moving then to tuck them securely beneath his legs. "What? Don't tell me that you haven't looked."
Face red and warm now and arms trembling terribly, Will shook her head to show the negative. "Well then you're missing—"
"Have you seen it?"
"Yes…I have…and you can too."
"No you monkey! Have you seen the necklace?"
Irma hesitated above her bowl of mush, her face twisting silently into a veneer of confusion and ill concealed reminiscence. Finally she began, "You weren't wearing it."
"I had to be."
"Maybe it fell off. Or maybe Caleb knows where it is; he took off your corset you know. Stayed the entire night with you."
Something scratched terribly against the lining of her stomach, burning and pooling there in a mess of heat—it wasn't entirely uncomfortable, merely nerve wracking, if her thoughts lingered for too long on the sensation, it made her skin tighten inexplicably. "How'd he…take them off?" Staring at her own bowl of potatoes, Will questioned in a soft voice.
"With a knife. Do you want to see the corset! It looks ravished."
"No," Still breathy and feeling strangely light headed, Will decided to let the matter drop, the images that her mind was suddenly creating were far too lucid for a sickbed—
"Well in more important matters I have recently discovered that your grandmother keeps her pistol in between breasts. I saw her take it out this morning to clean it." With her spoon still between her lips, Irma gave a very dramatic shudder. "Not a pretty sight."
"Irma, I've been thinking about the plan—I think that maybe—it won't work."
"And why not?" Seriously offended, Irma removed her spoon and huffed in Will's direction.
"Well…he's asleep, and the Doctor says that he needs to rest. I can't make him do that."
"Don't be foolish, now that means since he's been sleeping, he'll have extra energy when he wakes and—"
"Irma, I don't want to. It's cheap. Seducing a man like that is a horribly selfish way to—"
"He'll forgive you. Once you explain it to him, he'll be more than happy to help."
"No, once he hears of this plan he'll think that you're loony. Which you are."
"I'll let the loony comment slide because you're under a lot of stress…but honestly Will—the only other option is…maybe if you get him to marry you before you leave then, well you can't be married twice."
"That's even worse." Sinking back into her chair Will looked at her potatoes with a particularly dolorous expression. "Why can't I have normal problems like all of those other girls—like what dress I should wear today or how I should do my hair?"
"Just think about it. I suppose it's normal to have second thoughts—but, let's be honest, it isn't as though I'm offering you up as a blood sacrifice."
"No, it's like I'm offering up myself as a virginal sacrifice…and you said that there was blood so what are you talking about."
"Touché." Digging into more of her meal, Irma was remarkably silent after that, knowing no words to console her poor sister's mind—well, at least, none that would be effective.
Will did mention to her sister that her grandmother wanted to spend the night with the two of them in the room, phrases which Irma had taken as direct insults and made it her own personal mission to put a stop to.
She had left her half finished potatoes and stomped off to search their mother's bedroom (now Irma's in her absence) for the chain of house keys—and she found them in fourteen minutes flat, and before Will could protest she tossed her a long brass one and demanded that she lock herself up tight.
When she had calmed herself sufficiently (a few minutes before dinner), she'd then drifted into the downstairs' study, where Mrs. Vandom could now be found enjoying a tall glass of brandy.
Surprising that she found any in this house, Irma chuckled to herself, but entered stone faced none the less. "Grand mama…I hope that I'm not interrupting." She ploughed on before she could answer that she was. "But what a handsome boy your Thomas was, I just found some paintings of him up in the Attic and oh my, why its no wonder that he was married off to Mother so quickly. She has remarkably high standards in men after all."
That claimed her attention. "Paintings! In the Attic! Left to rot! I despise that woman who gave you breath Imming! Quickly," Grabbing hold of her cane, she moved to her feet, and if it hadn't been for the slight slur in her words, Irma would have never known that she had been indulging in alcohol.
"It's Irma, and I was certain that you'd be interested."
Irma would later use that very cane to aid her in the trapping of Mrs. Vandom in that very attic. She would then hurriedly lock the massive padlock with the keys stolen earlier that day and then rush back into the guest room to bid her sister a goodnight, careful to brush off the two shots that subsequently rang out throughout the empty halls and spaces of the house, as mere birds.
There was only so much comfort to be derived from the sweet liquid darkness that hung heavily on her shoulders. The sounds of the night hummed sweet and silent over the fields of cotton and tobacco that stood as watchful sentinels all through the heavy hills and sloping valleys of Virginia, wordless watchers, lonely storytellers.
Will had decided sometime during that soulless isolation on her course of action. She wouldn't—rather, she couldn't seduce Caleb. Perhaps, yes, perhaps she wanted to feel those things that Irma had described and receive those kisses along her body—especially those. But how could she? She wanted it to be more special than that—it should be so much more than an obligation, a trick, it should be perfect—but if it was her only hope, then maybe—
It came to her slowly then: the idea; a plan of her very own. Truly, she had never been very devious or very scheming, choosing instead to be more direct towards her adversaries. Perhaps it owed to the darkness, the solitude, the urges whispering to her frightened mind, but it took shape, and soon her one idea had risen, creating a full fledged plan.
She would fake it.
It couldn't be remarkably difficult to feign sex, could it?
If all she needed was blood and some tears, well she could easily get those.
Mind made up, Will clamoured from her chair to search her surroundings, for a knife…and perhaps some onions. Maybe a needle would do, Irma hadn't said how much blood there was—but better too much than too little.
She dug around frantically for a good while after that, rifling through closets filled with baubles and trinkets, through drawers over flowing with discarded dresses and under garments. She did find a pair of shears, those she stowed in her pocket in case nothing else showed up.
Nothing else did, and so she turned her attention towards the neat pile of Caleb's clothes, remembering the fuzzy words of her sister as she described how he had cut her corset off her body those nights before; yes, he'd most definitely have a knife.
He did. Her fingers collided with the cold steel handle on the first examination of his pockets—and, something else, her curious hand tightened around something longer—rounder: the necklace.
Her grandmother's…for she recognized the startling weight of it, and the shape of each grinning pearl as they captured what was soon to be the moonlight. But what was it doing here?
Not for even for a second did it occur to her that Caleb could have taken it. No, for firstly, he wasn't an idiot, and if he'd wanted to steal anything of value he could have simply ventured to her mother's bedroom, where the Countess kept hundreds of broaches and earrings, diamonds and emeralds, all gifts from her various suitors, but more importantly, she kept them completely unguarded.
Who in their right mind would choose pearls, which would be surely missed, over a host of other treasures, which could go undetected for weeks?
It was her grandmother's doing. That wench. She must have planted it during those hours when she'd been alone with him in this room, knowing that Will would find it eventually. That was why she had been so adamant about asking for it!
Something burned horribly in her gut: anger, she realized and rather than pushing it aside, she allowed herself to relish in it. It felt nice in any case, to feel something other than fear. When she found her tomorrow, she would throw this little incident in her face, and that on top of her "virginity" scandal—well, she'd shoot Caleb for certain.
Why was everything so damned hopeless!
Retrieving the knife from her pocket, Will thought to push this necklace matter into the back of her mind. After all, she had more important things to concentrate on, like getting the hell out of this house.
She had returned to the bedside chair to contemplate the matter further when it seemed that drawing blood from her palm was a remarkably—morbid feat. Her stomach churned and her hands shook, despite her mind's own commands that they remain quiet.
Impossible, she had sighed, collapsing into the chair while twisting the knife idly in her hands, she was certain that she'd endured more pain than this in her lifetime, but still—
She couldn't even fake intercourse—now what?
"Will?" Heart in her throat, head in the clouds, Will turned to face his voice, now groggy and rusty from lack of use—still, it was easily the most beautiful thing that she could ever remember hearing.
"Caleb?" It was entirely plausible that her voice, harsh with emotion and stale worry, sounded no better. "You…you're awake."
"You're here?" He seemed incredulous, and she immediately knew that it was her duty to somehow chase away that reaction. She hustled to his side, capturing his still limp hand in her own and brushing open mouthed kisses against his knuckles. "I'm here." She told him gently, "I never left you."
He didn't speak for a long while after that, giving her enough time to feel tremendously foolish for kissing him there—she'd abandoned his touch and walked away to her chair before he spoke again. "You didn't get any rest then?"
She nodded, choosing to veer away from this conversation. "The doctor removed the bullet. He said that you need lots of sleep, so…I…"
"But you didn't…" He moved then, his entire frame shifted quietly as he attempted to rise to a sitting position, he flinched a few times, adjusting his position to avoid too much strain on his side before going back to reprimand her for not listening to his orders. "I told you that you…"
"Oh for Heaven's sake Caleb, it was a headache not the plague. I'm fine." Lowering her eyes again, she distracted her flustered mind from his naked chest by tracing patterns on her arm, and then in a voice that was remarkably soft, she confessed with a heavy breath. "If I'm away from you for too long I start to worry. And I slept last night anyway."
"Don't start." He'd turned to face her now; she could feel his eyes as surely as she could feel the flush creeping along her neck. "You're behaving as though I'm telling you this for spite, go to sleep."
"I…" He was sending her away? Again? The man was infuriating! "No!" Meeting his eyes at last she rushed along in an explanation that she prayed didn't sound so pathetic to the outside world. "What if you awaken in the night and you need something? I'll be all the way down the hall and…"
"Is that it?" He was smiling—at her—her chest quaked a little…a lot. Resentfully, her initial frustration slipped away. "Don't laugh at me." She rose to her feet, noting with a gasp that his gaze followed her as she went.
"At risk of decapitation? Never." His eyes were the most startling green that she'd ever seen, they were so clear, so remarkably translucent that every light in the room appeared to be trapped in that turbulent kaleidoscope of jade.
She found her breath, "I see you think very highly of me. That's gratitude for you."
His hand edged upwards through the sultry darkness, stealing sound, thought and breath with the motion. His fingers slipped along her face, along her eyebrows and over her ruby red locks until he easily caught a tendril of the wondrously soft strands in his fingers, those he pushed behind her ear.
Will could only stare as he continued, could only watch while he looked up at her with that remarkable expression on his face—she swallowed thickly. "Does it still hurt?"
There was a tension between the two of them, he could feel it as well as she; like strings that had been pulled taunt across a space and drenched in the waters of desire. "It's better now."
"Would you tell me if it did?"
Now he looked away, fully educated now in the power of this woman's eyes alone. "Probably not." And then he added, for he felt that she should know. "I'm glad that you're here."
She seemed pleased by the effect, and he as a result, could not help being touched by her exhuming happiness. "Do you want some water then? Or some porridge, Irma made it, but it isn't so awful."
He didn't. His mouth felt too dry for water, his stomach, too heavy for food. But the thought of giving him something—anything, seemed to delight her immensely, so he allowed her the freedom of fiddling around with the bowls and cups on the bedside table.
"I had a dream about you." It was more as a reason for her to stop forcing porridge down his throat than something that he'd truly wanted to discuss. He had no intention of enlightening her with the horrid nightmares that had plagued him throughout his fever and subsequent recovery. It had been horrific to watch as his images of her had solidified and disappeared, whispered and then burnt—truly terrible—But she was here now, he told himself, and hopefully, she'd be here for a great deal of time afterwards.
"A nice one of course." More porridge, and so obviously his plan hadn't worked.
"Of course, you were much better tempered however and happier. You were laughing."
"It was a dream." She smiled that smile that he prayed she saved just for him—and then more porridge. "But I'm happy now," true to her words she placed the cereal aside, moving towards a glass of water, "I'm very happy that you're all right."
Apparently contemplating her actions, she toyed with the glass of water for a long while before hurriedly rushing forwards and pressing her lips against his cheek. Afterwards, she wouldn't look at him. "What's all of this now?" He'd formed the opinion that whatever in her hands had to be remarkably interesting, and so he had focused his attention there as well, although lingering not on the glass in her hands but on the bit of flesh that she seemed intent on concealing.
"Those?" She pulled her wrists away, shrugging infinitesimally. "I fell again. Don't worry about it. Sleep."
"You didn't fall." Caleb pressed, "Someone did it to you. Who?"
"Caleb…" She replaced the cup on the nightstand.
"Who Will?" When she could avoid him no longer, she removed her tongue from her cheek and whispered, "You did." And then, after seeing the look on his face, she tried desperately to amend it. "—by accident. When you were very badly off, you had a fever and I tried to hold you and you…well…mistook my hands for someone else's. It doesn't hurt." Will finished lamely.
He surveyed the long strips of discoloration on her alabaster skin. He didn't appreciate the contrast. "I'm sorry."
"It wasn't your fault."
"Still…" He ran his fingers along the smooth skin on her hands, relishing in the feeling of her racing pulse and goose pimples, he kissed the skin then, lingering on the bruises that he'd caused. "I'm sorry. I won't ever hurt you again. I swear it." When he released his grip, she offered him the other hand. "You…you…bruised this one as well."
He grinned at her before pressing another kiss on her palm. "Are you going to coddle me so for the rest of the night."
"Until you're better. The doctor says that it'll be a few days. After that, I'm chasing you about with a riding crop for making me worry so much." After giving him a stare that he found utterly unbearable, she went back to her chair, pulling it closer so that she could tug at his fingers.
"You can stay." He murmured, against his better judgment could be added.
"I can…"
"Stay the night, in the bed. It's big enough, and I assure you, I'm far to tired to attempt anything un-chivalrous."
Her lower lip quivered so intolerably that she bit down on it, only to notice that her entire jaw seemed to be affected. There was a pain in her chest now, well, more of a discomfort than an actual pain, more like the sensation of a thousand fluttering wings than a knife's blade—somehow Will knew that it had to have come from him. "A-all right."
She wanted him.
With all of her mind and body and soul. She wanted whatever it was that made her skin burn and scream so—her very insides were aflame—victim to this desire, she imagined that she would all but implode if it weren't quenched soon. Regardless of the situation, the plans and the tomorrow, she wanted him now—needed him, and she prayed that he'd let her have him.
Upon standing, she pinched his leg—hard, remembering Irma's words in her blurry little world. "What was that for?"
"Nothing." Hands shaking so horribly, and legs made into absolute jelly by her tenseness, Will ventured across the room to the other side of the bed, taking a seat near to the top and tugging at the laces of her shoes.
Breathing heavily, she mumbled through her chattering teeth and trembling lips, "It—It certainly is warm tonight."
"Are the windows open?"
"Yes…it's this," Her voice sounded off to her own ears, low and husky, weak and uneven. "Summer weather." Removing the knives and pearls from her pockets, Will carefully piled them next to the candleholder on the second bedside table.
Seeing them, he cocked an eyebrow to jest, "What are all of those? Intending to do me in?"
Too nervous to comment, Will fumbled with her dress. It fell from her shoulders in one noiseless heap, but tangled around her knees with the straps from her light chemise. After a good few moments of fruitless struggle, during which she had declined Caleb's two offers to help, she kicked off the entire thing, and watched it, disheartened, when it flopped to the floor.
Why could nothing ever go right?
Since he made no comments on it, Will made certain that she didn't either, sliding into bed, as discreetly as she could beneath the covers. "You'll be able to sleep then?" He asked at last.
She was drawing blood from her lips due to pressing into them with her teeth, no, no she wouldn't. Her heart was running a mile a minute, and she couldn't breathe. "Caleb…I…" The words wouldn't come, her mind was a blank, her skin felt as though—ants, yes ants, were marching over it. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight Will."
She might have cried then, for no other reason than feeling frustrated and overwrought, (in her mind, as good a reason as any). "I should ask while you're in such a good mood." The covers rustled during the time that he sought out her hand in the darkness—and upon finding it, he caressed her fingers tiredly, watching her as she stared, fixedly at the ceiling.
"Have you thought much about what I've asked?"
"Yes." She admitted, finally giving it up as a bad job and hoping that these sensation, would at the very least, vanish. "It's…it's all I have been thinking about."
"And…"
"I don't know if I'll make a good wife…" She gripped his hand tighter, "but I'll try for you. I'll do my best." She wished that she could be more bold, for even as she whispered those words to him in the coldness of the night, there was a part of her that spewed other things—impulses and words, this daring lass would rushed over to him and litter his face with kisses, describe to him exactly what it was that she was feeling and demanding—yes, demanding that he comply.
She stayed still.
"Can I kiss you?" Finally, Will breathed.
"You have to ask?"
"I…didn't want to startle you…with your wound…" Her skin was as white as a ghost by the time that she sat up, still avoiding his eyes, but hoping that he could hear the certainty in her voice.
"By kissing me?"
Was he laughing at her? No, she shelved the thought; no, he was merely—teasing…flirtation. It was fine. "I-I've never kissed you before," She ran her finger along her thumb, still trying to steady her heart. "I want to kiss you." Choking over the words, face so hot that it stung her arms when they accidentally touched, Will reached for him, dragging her fingers lightly over the soft, masculine curve of his upper lip. "I want to kiss you here…please."
He didn't protest, and Will came to the conclusion that it was best that she work now before he had the opportunity to. And so, pushing away the covers, she crawled over to him, hesitating to release his hand, but sacrificing the safety of his fingers for the velvet of his cheekbones.
She realized then that she didn't know how to kiss, she'd never had to do it before now—but it was too late to fix that—she closed her eyes and leaned forward, meeting his mouth then in a collision of lips and tongue and teeth.
Her mouth—those torrid, delicate pieces of flesh; closed over his bottom lip, suckling; taunting; beckoning; driving him insane with need. There was, as always, that tell-tale song of desire, humming sweet temptation in his ears—images as lucid and as unflinching as the day were carried along with his pounding blood—visions of him holding her; moving against her…within her, stole his breath. He needed to stop this—even though she claimed his mouth with all of the expertise of a practised woman—she was shaking in his arms like a leaf.
He managed to get her to pull away when she trapped his lower lip between her teeth, and nibbled and nursed it until she had him burning. "Where'd you learn to do that?" Struggling for his own breath, he looked up into her face to see that she was no better off.
Right here, right now, but she didn't stop to give details. "Can I kiss you here?" Her voice was hoarse, her intent, unmistakable. She trailed her fingers along his neck, sobering her mind with the knowledge that he too seemed vulnerable to these feelings. She marked the path with her mouth, leaving gentle, wet kisses along his flesh, ceasing only when he called her name.
In the few seconds that lay in between his cry and her retreat, she had conceived no less than a dozen reasons why he had wanted her to stop. At the top of that list stood the greatest fear: she had been doing it wrong. "Am…I doing it wrong?"
"No…" He was confused. Oh well that was much better than being repulsed—she was confused as well. They had something in common.
"Caleb…I want…I…I don't know how to say it." And she didn't, she still didn't. Her tongue darted forward to moisten her chapped lips; she opened her mouth to illustrate, but closed it promptly when there was still no justification in sight. "It's nothing. You need to rest."
Stupid really. He probably thought her a wanton now—she'd try to convince him tomorrow that she'd been intoxicated.
"Will." Before she could once again drift to her corner of the bed, he took a firm hold of one of her upper arms.
"Yes."
He didn't respond immediately, rather, he drew her beside him, urging her into a sitting position tucked beneath his arm, against his chest. "I want those things too."
Her heart, in her throat. "You do?"
"Yes. But…it's complicated."
He was taking it much better than she was. Well, supposedly, anyone would take it better than she was, for she had just in that second become reacquainted with the fact that he wasn't wearing any trousers.
His words crawled from his lips to lie in her heart, banishing the dirtying pools of self doubt and fear, strengthening her, blessing her, until her chest had tightened so excruciatingly that it hurt to draw breath. "I want to hold you until I can feel your every breath—I want you to know what it feels like to be worshipped, I want to make love to you Will, until my body can't bear to any more. I want all of these things for you, because you deserve them."
"Making love?" It seemed so precious, so wonderful—all that could pass between a man and a woman, feelings and sensations… "Is that what you call it?"
"But I can't Will, not tonight…I'm too weak…and," He touched her chin with his fingertips, tempting her face upwards so that he could easily leave a kiss on the tip of her nose. "When I first touch you, I want it to be as man and wife."
She would cry—her heart would break if she didn't—never had anyone ever—the way he looked at her mad her believe in those things that he said, that she was, she could be—
"What if I don't want to wait?"
He seemed more surprised than she by that reply, but he recovered almost immediately. "It'll be better if you do. I promise."
Will shook her head firmly then, ignoring the beginnings of his voice. "When I heard that shot yesterday…I'd never been more terrified in my life. I thought that you were dead…I thought…"
"I'm right here." He pressed her closer to him in such a way that she could feel his heart beating against his rib cage, thundering nearly as loud as her own. It steadied her.
"I was so afraid. I thought that I'd never see you again, that I would never be able to hold you and kiss you and tell you how I feel—" She closed her eyes, her tongue slipped on the words, "I'm in love with you, Caleb. I…I am. I'm certain of it, I know it now. And I want to show you how much…because I can't say it."
"Will…"
"Please," Now that there was nothing left to hide, no secrets and embarrassments, Will felt her shyness fading. She moved from beneath his arms, across his legs to kneel above him, a leg on either side of his body. Then she whispered, in as brave a voice that she could muster, "Let me. I want to feel you—all of you."
It was becoming painfully obvious that he had exhausted his supply of self control over the past few days, when he had made it his duty to ignore her – now he found that he couldn't in all honesty take his hands off of her. Still, he resisted, wanting to give her a night on a bed of rose petals, for as long as he could, a night of perfection and bliss.
"There'll be time for all of that…"
"But what if there isn't? What if there's no time at all?" She kissed his nose now, mimicking his gesture of affection.
"Your first time should be special, it should be perfect. I want that for you as well."
"It will be. I'll be with you." Her lips upon his forehead, his brows, and eyelids…he was truly lost long before she met his mouth.
The jolt of recognizable energy when his lips met hers—seemed magnified in this position—straddling him provocatively, her arms and legs bare save for a slick coat of perspiration…it made her insides liquefy. She was surrounded by him; his presence; his being was inescapable. When his tongue found its way into her mouth she gasped, never had she felt of aware of him, each careful brush of his limbs against her feverish flesh, made the feelings inside of her expand radically. This kiss was different from all of the others; then, she had been afraid of what he was showing her; pitifully unaware of what would transpire next. But now, she knew exactly where this would end…that was exactly where she wanted it.
Her hands fastened atop of his broad shoulders—for lack of knowing what else to do with them. That was before he took those same hands in his larger ones and held them in his warm grasp. The kiss was broken—by whom, Will didn't recognize, for any clear thoughts that she might have enjoyed were obliterated by the astonishing look of immense tenderness that she could easily see beneath his chaotic green eyes.
Her fingers twined with his, the tips fluttering along nervously atop of his skin, but his held steady, his eyes seemed to be their foundation, although, if she truly concentrated on it—she could just feel the rapid drumming of his pulse, calling after hers.
A low sound crept through her divided lips, Will's own way of making her epiphany known. Those indescribable thundering sensations that for so long had overtaken her mind, body and soul finally collapsed with all of the elegance of a train wreck. She could feel them now, in her pounding heart and in her racing blood as they tried to smother—to intoxicate her—and she wanted them to; Oh heavens how she surrendered, frantic to have him kiss her again, to hold her—to do anything other than just look at her.
Her desperation practically toed the line of lunacy when he touched her, affectionately exploring the curves and hollows of her neck. She breathed again, and then swallowed, reminding herself to at least feign the appearance of perfect composure. She was wandering through alien territory now; gladly; steadily; but that still didn't change that fact that this was all completely foreign to her.
.
Caleb touched the side of her face – his mind's own small way of testing that she was authentic. She looked so winsome before him with her cherry lips parted as she near silently took breath; with her chocolate eyes glazed over, yet still overflowing with a passion that was so strong that there was no doubt in his mind that she could see right through him. Briefly, he wondered if she understood what she was giving him—if she had really thought it through. And it was only that thought that kept him from tearing off the rest of his clothes and making love to her right then.
"Are you nervous?" Caleb asked quietly. For he was certain that this was the only way to reassure his babbling conscience. Her entire being seemed to freeze at the question, and for a long moment she quietly decided upon an answer. "No," she murmured and with a jolt of surprise, she realized that it was the truth.
Will smiled at him—a watery smile, one that revealed every ounce of kindness and vulnerability that she too often tried to keep hidden. If anything, it made him feel a thousand times worse. But he shouldn't, it shouldn't…when he hadn't even expected her to say anything other than 'no'; that was simply in her nature. Although the impact that she trusted him after everything that he had done, she truly trusted him—she trusted him with her innocence…
"Are you?" Her voice was teasing, her face was set up in anticipation for his undoubtedly overconfident remark, he stared into the deep brown eyes, watching for each subtle change, for each flicker of hope or curiosity that he managed to wring from her.
He'd never done this before—the act itself, yes, certainly, heated couplings with perfumed women in the dead of the night. But this, he wanted to empty his very soul into this; he wanted to give her every shivering ounce of his body. He wanted this, to surpass the threshold of perfection.
"Terrified," he breathed, bowing his head as the magnitude struck him. He didn't see when the shadows stole the humour away from her, nor had he noticed when her eyes flooded with happiness so profound that it mimicked the pain of mutilation.
She shook her head slowly, dislodging some of the moisture in her eyes, she was so lucky…so unbelievably lucky to have him. She pressed her eyes shut, whispering thanks to a God that she had long deemed wicked for his role in her disgusting hair colour. Only something ethereal could be responsible for this…for him.
"Caleb, I…" her voice shook, the taste of tears made her tongue still, swollen; she stopped short, struck with the ice cold shock of what she had been planning to say. She bit her bottom lip awkwardly, hoping that he hadn't noticed. The tangle of red hair distorted her vision when she leaned forward, wishing to taste him again; to somehow show him with actions what she was too scared to hear herself say with words…words that had lingered, stagnant, polluting her stream of consciousness for an impossibly long time.
He moved backwards to look at her as she sat and looked at him, her was face dirty with tears, yet she was smiling at him through it all. She touched him on his cheek, the lightest of touches, as if she too couldn't understand that he was in actuality before her. Between them the air was heavy with emotion; it was too much to take breath, too overwhelming to imagine all that lay in this space.
Her heart knew and it spilled the knowledge into her mouth. The taste of enlightenment was sweet but all together these words were too much for the space, they leaked outside, bit by precious bit, and it was as though she heard it spoken by another being entirely: "I-I…I love you, more than anything…I-I…"
More tears ran down her face, her breath came in sharp sobs, "I do. I love you." Again, she whispered, again and again until she had said the words so many times that they moved like an echo, accompanied with a melody of immeasurable happiness, she edged closer, trying to dislodge a reaction from him…
She would be the death of him. He didn't doubt the reaction that her words had had on him, gratitude; intertwined with painful, immense euphoria…and sadness. Her words, her tears, served as a tangible reminder of the fears he possessed concerning her. How could he live up to her expectations? He couldn't bear to disappoint her—
He saw her tears, glimmers of liquid that captured her soul and lured the moonlight to its salty demise.
He moved his head as if to kiss her, only to pass his lips over her wet cheeks, "don't cry." A plea for her tears hurt him, and perhaps it was something that he'd need to get used to, the knowledge that she saw something decent inside of him, but it was too great to consider in this moment. He tasted the heat of her emotions on his lips, dutifully, he continued on in the awkward caress, attempting to kiss away any hint of pain that he may have caused her—for whatever reason.
She was shivering in the arms that were wrapped around her; the night seemed especially cold in comparison to the heat of his touch. Will turned her head, her lips, naked and trembling, parted to find his. She raised her arms from his shoulders to encircle his neck, blindly moving so that she could taste him, finally, she got her wish and he kissed her, tenderly, sweetly, deeply. Her tears lingered on his lips, so she could savour them, so she could feel the words that he was trying to say.
She smiled against his mouth, and from somewhere far off she could have sworn that she'd heard the heavenly acceptance of her gratitude.
There is a place somewhere along the shared journey of a man and woman, a place that is surrounded in the bliss of unity, and soaked in the delightful rays of unimaginable happiness. This is a place, found somewhere in our heart of hearts, buried deep within the ignorance of where one ends and the other begins. In a web of caresses, in a cocoon of tenderness, there is born an emotion so profound, so delicate and fragile—that you can't begin to imagine it.
There, in a storm of sensation, sorrows and kisses, love dances in the rain.
Caleb's lips drifted away to brush against her chin, venturing lower, crossing the sensitive skin of her neck, savouring in the salty sweet taste of her flesh; the incredible feel of her throbbing pulse as it danced frantically against his mouth. His stomach churned unexpectedly when his name stumbled from her lips in a breathless whisper; her warm breath stung his face while her lips struggled to caress his skin.
The night grew steadily warmer; the calming summer breezes journeyed further and further away, their absence going unnoticed. Her skin ached with the desire to touch and be touched, her hands moved uncertainly, from his hair to his neck, tracing unpredictable patterns on his face and later, shoulders. The undeniable innocence of her gentle hands coupled with the affectionate, apprehensive seduction of her mouth, were both exceedingly maddening, but he stopped his assault only when his presumptuous lips had met with the frail cotton resistance of her chemise.
The trepidation called once more, effortlessly dirtying the rivers of his desire. He could feel each tiny tremor in her slight frame, he could sense each ragged inhalation and jagged gasp. His hands moved lower slowly, barely touching the hem of her garment. He swallowed; his mind was disoriented, heavy with the burden of worry. But the heat from her skin enticed and tempted, and he had long discovered that its hold on him was simply too great to ignore, his hand slipped beneath the simple white cloth and pressed, softly, only just grazing the satiny skin of her naked leg, never once removing his lips from her pulse.
Will felt certain that she would break, die—disintegrate. It was necessary that he continue; it was absolutely essential. Her blood itself beckoned and boiled, turning desperate due to her impatience. Those last few moments had felt like an eternity to her mind, her insides had begun to scream with their eagerness, and the knowledge of his hands upon her bare skin provided more than enough inspiration for her to act upon.
She shifted in his embrace, and upon the realization that she was, indeed, moving; he dropped his insolent hand, and gazed at her face with an expression that was utterly apologetic. But even in the darkness, the look in her eyes could not be mistaken as fright, inquisitive, yes, mischievous…something jolted in his stomach…maybe. The sight of her lower lip trapped between her teeth was particularly distracting, his breath stilled as she leaned closer, nudging his head upwards with her face before kissing him gently.
Slowly, carefully, she removed her arms from about his neck and knotted her fingers in the simple white garment that fell as far as her knees, and then swallowing the uncertainty, exhaling the mortification, she tugged the fabric upwards, flinching when she felt the first kiss of the wind atop of her damp skin.
Her heart was pounding; her limbs had begun to quiver in a manner that betrayed her innate shyness. She remembered to breathe (it passed over her head, clumsily brushing against her chin and nose), wishing, very much to close her eyes and to simple bury herself in the pink flush that was creeping along her cheeks (she peeled it away from her hands, wordlessly tossing it onto the bed)…but she stayed still, watching his reaction—unreadable as it was.
A moment later, she had shifted her gaze, thoughts…things that she had hoped would forever desert her once here, sang to her…their lyrics were words that she knew too well…
Caleb's hand touched her face; she could feel the warmth that sprang from his fingers, fingers that were suddenly tracing the same strange and erratic patterns that she had invented. She looked at him, and brown eyes melted into green while he held her small hands in his own. He brought them to his mouth, brushed them against his lips and kissed the palms.
By now her mouth had dried out completely, her lungs felt so heavy that it was as though each breath taken was part of an epic struggle. She curled her fingers about his face, trying to hold onto the exquisite tenderness that he was showing her. She wanted it, yes, but she wanted him more.
Caleb's hand released hers to snake around her waist, silently easing her into the safety of his rough embrace; soon he was kissing her in a way that clawed at her trembling heart, whilst his other hand snaked upwards to her nape, tangling in her hair. There were no words to describe the feeling of his chest against her bare breasts. None to explain how his curious, wandering fingers made her whimper, overflowing with excitement, anticipation and something that was far more profound…
He pressed her closer to his own aching body, shuddering when the friction of her naked thighs grazing against his dislodged the sheet that separated their bodies. She didn't seem to notice, for she continued valiantly with her mouth, kissing and whispering—until soon, he nearly forgot as well.
Carefully, and then cautiously, for he was still convinced that any suddenness would cause her to shatter in his arms, he moved his palms downwards, over the shapes in her back, past the flare of her hip, the soft mountain of her rounded bottom—she whispered his name then, fuelling a rush of heat towards his arousal, but she didn't ask for him to stop.
She was so…perfect—untouched and all the more beautiful because of it. He could spoil this beauty…he knew that; he could easily ruin her with his gaze and with his touch…but he couldn't resist, he'd never been very good at fending off temptation. And she tempted him more than any others ever had.
Will stopped kissing him only when she felt him tug at her arms. She must look a sight, she thought, with her lips so swollen from kissing that they throbbed rhythmically with her heartbeat, hair that was tousled and thick from the heat and his fingers—but when she met his eyes in that thick blanket of night, all she saw was love, dissolving all other concerns and preoccupations.
"Can I kiss you?" He asked, the raspy nature of his voice made her heart shake when she heard it; nevertheless, she managed a small smile, mistaking his blatant anxiousness for teasing.
"You already were." Now, her legs had started to ache from being bent for so long, but she didn't complain. If she did she was certain that Caleb would move and hurt himself—he shook his head.
"I mean…can I kiss you here." The slightest feather of a touch against her neck, made warmer, more seductive through the sweat—she nodded and then whispered "yes". Lips grazed lightly against her heated skin, pausing at the hallow that exaggerated the location of her collar bone and depositing several kisses there, trying to chase away the covetous shadows. Her body was bathed in darkness, as though the moon herself had fallen to worship her.
He was tempting her upwards she realized, pulling her higher, away from the discomfort of her position, urging her off the backs of her legs until his mouth was nearly level with her chest. Lost now, nearly stammering and incoherent, she whispered what she didn't know to be words, simply sounds, sighs, and later, as he dragged his hand along the valley between her breasts (driving her into absolute delirium), moans.
Caleb moved slowly, wanting to relish in the taste of her skin, the differences in the textures of her limbs and her torso, sprinkling kisses everywhere—her arms, her neck, the skin on her chest, pausing once to linger by the soft mountain of pale flesh. She curved slightly in his arms, instinctively urging him closer, all the while muttering his name in that voice that he had dreamed of for ages…he pressed a tentative kiss against the underside of one raised mound…silk…sweet, rich silk.
Her jagged gasp of surprise caused a piercing song of desire to cry out in his chest. Caleb lifted his head, groggily searching for the yearning tip, and then, like a hunter, baiting out his prey, he took it into his mouth, waiting for the sounds that came from her throat.
He knew just how women could be in bed: loud, crude, screaming with their pleasure—but her soft, gentle gasps and sighs were easily the most appealing thing he'd ever experienced. He could discern her every reaction from the state of her breathing…
Liberating one breast, he moved to the other, while his hand took the place of his mouth on the first, memorizing the shape and the sensation, he was amazed to find her fingers in his hair, pulling the thick locks away from his face…from her skin…her body writhed again even as he eased her backwards, when he kissed the ledge where her ribcage ended—
"Open your eyes…" For she had pressed them shut, her fingers wound tightly in his hair; hesitantly she complied, slowly seeking out his face in the darkness. He pressed her downwards then, back into her initial position, ceasing only when he was level with her lips, "Is…is it supposed to be like this?"
He smiled at her face, her sweet, tortured expression that bridged on confusion. "I don't…know." He swallowed, praying that she couldn't see her confusion reflected on his face, she stared blindly for a while before admitting, "maybe, I'm…a little nervous…just a little."
"Only a little?" Suppressing a laugh he kissed her, slowly, carefully, not wanting to scare her anymore than she should be. Hands wrapped about his neck, and she pulled herself closer, her lithe body rose before his like a flower opening its petals towards the sun, and that was how she felt, as though she were silently reaching towards a blissful source, one that was trapped within the heat of his body.
"Lie down for me love." His skin was aflame now, his entire body turgid and hard, his voice the only tender thing about him in that moment. She promptly declined his request, forcing out the brisk "no" even as she continued to brush heated kisses against his shoulder.
"Your side." And she pressed a gentle hand there as means of further explanation. "You're still hurt."
"You let me worry about that."
"No." Voice stern now, she pulled away sharply, dislodging his arms from her body in one swift motion. "Caleb…"
"You told me that this was what you wanted. So let me give it to you." Wrapping his fingers in those wonderful gossamer tendrils, he kissed her slowly again, lengthy, delicate bites that soon had her heart racing again. He would be the first, the first to touch her like this, kiss her like this, see and take the wealth of emotions and feelings that she could offer. And by God, he'd be the last.
This needed to be faultless. He would make her understand that.
He found her quiet surrender to be unbearably arousing—she slumped effortlessly against him, allowing him the freedom of shifting and positioning her petite frame on the bed next to him. He followed her into the motion, turning his body onto hers, allowing her for the first time to feel the strength of his desire for her.
She didn't pull away as he had feared that she would, and if she was worried, it showed only in the slight quickening of his breath when he kissed her again.
The tips of her breasts grazing against his chest were very near his undoing, he groaned at the feeling, at the pain of trying so hard to be gentle with her, and she pulled away after hearing it, afraid that she had done something terribly wrong.
He wouldn't let her; instead he returned to her mouth, until she surrendered her lips to him once again. Her fingers seemed intent on investigation, even as her tongue swirled in the madness that he'd created, her hands swept through his hair, then over the sides of his face, into the shells of his ears, to drift over his neck, his shoulders, his back.
Caleb pulled away reluctantly, certainly unable to quell the fire of desire, that was even now licking at his veins, any longer. He whispered words of reassurance into her hair, love words; hope words, hesitating only to intoxicate his spirit with her perfume before once again drifting over her torso.
His lips collided with her now dampening skin, and somewhere hidden in the shadows above her hips, his mouth grew bolder, now in this sultry darkness he was free to show her all that he had come to know. She gasped again, her body shivering and fluttering, burning and scorching, despite the moisture that floated on its surface.
She whispered his name when his mouth found her navel, and her frame curved upwards once again, searching, craving, and needing—but not finding, for he had moved away.
He swallowed, his side was burning, painfully urging him into submission, he struggled to ignore it—the temptation, that is by reminding himself of her, she who he wanted to remember this night forever.
Her hands were curled by her sides, clutching the sheets as though they could save her from this delicate torment, aware of only his lips, his tongue, and occasionally the feather light brush of his hair. She knew that logically, there should be embarrassment, but alas, when her head fell back unto the mattress, she knew all that she had ever acknowledged to be true had been torn asunder by this storm of desire and longing, she had been ripped apart, made tiny, naked and vulnerable by this massive, looming sensation, a slave to these emotions.
Caleb's hands were on her legs now, slowly caressing the velvety skin of her calves and thighs, dropping his head every so often in order to sample the taste of this forbidden flesh—she writhed beneath him, pressuring herself to remain still to protect herself from humiliation that would undoubtedly find her once the dusk had retreated.
Then, he was easing her legs apart, and there was the first touch of cold night air upon her centre, she stiffened and instinctively tried to resist his advances…pushing her knees together—
He was by her side in a second, kissing her face, her nose, her cheeks and her hair; working tirelessly to calm her. "Don't worry…"
"I'm not," she breathed, but she changed her mind soon after, once again fearful of disturbing the rightness of the moment. "Kiss me," she whispered, but he was already on her lips, calling out her tongue, whispering her name against her trembling flesh.
His own body wasn't holding out any better, if his hands were shaking as he moved them over her stomach, then they were practically uncontrollable by the time he found the soft triangle of crimson curls. Softly, she cried out against his mouth, but he hushed her again, telling her in a deep, rough voice that everything would be fine. And she believed him…responding not to the sea of excitement that was boiling within the depths of her stomach, but to the timbre of his slow, steady voice.
The throbbing in her stomach merely deepened with his touch, it brought with it the life of a delightful passion that whispered to her, calling to her in his voice, twisting her desires and needs so that they rested, temptingly over a chasm filled with—bliss.
She whimpered again, her fingers clenched and unclenched, digging into the sheets in an attempt to drag some semblance of control upwards into her awaiting soul, for currently the only thing that was leaked into her being was the urgency that she could sense in him, it collided with the rush of frantic emotions in her gut, making sob helplessly into his neck, a victim of his gentle, teasing touch.
He was leading her towards something—something that was too amazing to imagine. She gasped when a shudder of excitement shook her for the first time, and then, overcome by desperation she began to move her hips to meet his hand, his wonderful touch, this unnamed sensation that suddenly had held her captive.
Beneath him, she was exquisite, and once again he was so very aware of every shudder and tremor that wracked her body, although now, it was even more intense, now that he making love to her in this way.
Her mouth danced over the muscles in his neck, whispering pleas, scattering damp kisses until finally ending in soft moans, which held his name within. His flesh was on fire, his own breathing was fragmented and rapid, his heart seemed intent on escape; and when she stiffened suddenly, crying out, he took her mouth with more violence than he knew himself to possess.
Will was far too dazed to respond, in her mind, her soul had been stolen, only to have been returned with shattering abruptness. She felt disembodied, her limbs felt heavy, her head, light, and her lips, as they moved under his, were aflame.
He pulled away to look at her, suddenly overcome with the unmistakable beauty of her, brought to life in this soft, vulnerable state. She smiled at him with her kiss-swollen lips, before closing her watery eyes and inhaling a long breath into her heavy chest.
And she was his—
"Thank you." Languid now, and remarkably tired, Will uttered the single thing that was in the mind that even at this moment struggled to right itself.
"Are you falling asleep?"
"Maybe." She gave him a flirtatious smile, "why?"
"This, my dear—is why you should have slept when I told you to." Her dark eyes moved over his features, pausing at that ledge into which his eyes lay, urging the emotions held there upwards. He felt the jolt, the surge of power that once again left him winded, the tentative creep of those earth shattering, blinding thoughts—and lowered his head, not understanding, simply acknowledging…
When she finally pulled his face down to hers, he was smiling against her mouth. Now, the kiss was gentle, restrained, it melted away the desperation—she was here, in his arms, warm and willing, there was no need to rush this.
Lips floated over hers, cool and soft as his hands snaked downwards to her thighs. Now, her body shifted without his prodding, her legs fell apart, granting welcome to those wandering fingers, and when he again made contact with her tender-most part, she effortlessly curved her body upwards into his. "Will…" she had turned face away the instant he'd released the hold he had obtained on her lips, now, he kissed the curve of her neck, upwards, journeying over the subtle echoes that came from her throat, to her ear, going no further now, decidedly teasing the delicate skin there.
She was lost beyond the realm of clear thoughts and sane words—her entire world seemed focused on him and on those feelings—those miraculous feelings that only he seemed to be capable of awakening in her. In that dark, deep haze, she called to him in breathless defeat.
Her touch had made him burn, and the heat now pouring from his body had made him impatient—although far, far more difficult was the mere fact that her words had made him still, concerned and diffident, knowing, so indescribably aware of the pain that would follow for her…and even more anxious to discern some way for him to lessen it.
"Will…" trembling, he weakly implored her to look at him…she obeyed, eyes cavernous due to the wash of sensation he had previously inflicted on her, her soul was breaking now—the fragments lost to the depths of his voice.
His body shifted to position itself between her legs and suddenly she was made aware of both the removal of his hands and the sudden, probing heat that lay poised to caress her so intimately.
"I won't hurt you." He swore it more to himself than to her, but she still smiled upon hearing it. "I know."
"It's only for a moment…it won't last…" his words held her like the winds of a tumultuous storm, shielding her ravaged frame as though they could save her from a suffering not yet inflicted. She whimpered softly as she felt him enter her, he halted at the sound, kissing her tenderly before telling her in a voice that was shaped rough due to the torment in his body, promises and pleas…
…finally, understanding reached her. "Caleb…" she couldn't speak, the words that she yearned for seemed so far beyond her grasp…instead she wrapped her arms about his neck, sighing softly, she buried her face in the curve of his neck, forcing her body to calm and relax against the intrusion, urging him deeper, hoping without a sound that he would somehow fill her, for she had never known emptiness like this before, she had never realized just how lonely she had been without him.
His arms had moved beneath her and his fingers were splayed against the base of her spine, he was cradling her in his arms, pressing her soft body against his until there was naught separating them but the thin sheen of perspiration that was coating them both. He held her closer still, so that her rapid heartbeat was attacking his chest as well as her own.
He pressed deeper, slowly; she was opening, her body sheathing his impaling member, calling him into the silken softness of her core. He heard the stifled cry of his name at the same time that he encountered the fragile wall that protected her innocence.
Caleb withdrew then, just slightly, swallowing before managing to whisper into her cherry red hair, "I'm…sorry."
He felt the shudder that passed through her following the hasty action, and was subsequently forced to withhold the groan of excruciating pleasure that stood strong on the tip of his tongue.
The rate of her breathing had increased substantially over the last few moments, as had the pressure of her grip upon the column of his neck. Never in all of her wildest textbook imaginings or in the stories from those whispered girls could she have even conceived—this—this union, this unimaginable euphoria that had to have been borne in the minds of angels…
She could feel him; rather, he was inside of her, the missing piece of the puzzle that she hadn't quite honestly realized that she'd been missing…the discomfort was already fading, his lips were again mouthing apologies and praise…his inhales were slowly becoming her exhales, and she closed her eyes and relished in this arsenal of awareness, knowing that for the first time in her life, she was complete.
"Caleb," she whispered, moving her face ever so slightly so that she could perhaps see him, "I can feel you." It was all she could manage, for even now, he was holding her tightly against himself, as if he could somehow take the soreness into his frame.
He heard the words, the startled admission, and drew back until he could find himself staring deeply into those handsome mahogany eyes, glazed over with lust, passion and love. "Will…" What could he say to her? What would express these torturous emotions that grew stronger with her every motion? He could feel her shiver, the rapid thud of her racing pulse and the spicy smell wafting upwards from her hair—and the heat, the blessed warmth that came from being trapped inside of her—He would never be able to tell her just how much— "I am yours, angel."
And he prayed that she understood it.
From the swamp of desire that had flooded his stomach there sprang a mist that was caked with longing in its strongest form. It drenched his mind and senses, and finally condensed when she tightened her muscles experimentally around him…and so, all hope for self-control gone, he began to move…
It seemed to her, in those few, fleeting moments when she was able to construct intelligent thoughts, that her entire world was coming to an end…or, perhaps, or even more frighteningly, it was simply now beginning.
He had somehow found a rhythm, using long sure strokes to carry her across yet another barrier, one that was raised higher up, far into the heavens where only absolute bliss dwelled. He stayed there within the cradle of her legs, moving within her, staying with her, holding her until her gasps became and whimpers and cries, until she had risen to the zenith of feeling, calling his name—begging him to join her there.
The clouds over his mind rained sweet gratification as he too followed her into the magnificent ascent; he poured his life into her, once again left astounded and speechless at the depth of feeling that she had drawn from him.
He was crushing her; she noted when the lights and the sensations had all but vanished, but it felt too nice to bother him to move, the proximity, if not the crushing. And she could breathe later, she decided while running her fingers through the pools of perspiration on his back, right now she simply wanted to relish in the aftermath, the warm, tingly feeling that she got when he moved his legs and face. Will decided then that she'd rather enjoyed this foray into intercourse—if not the activity itself then the sensations that lingered when it was all finished.
He seemed to recognize that she was under him in the next instant, for he pushed himself upwards remarkably quickly, disentangling their bodies as he did, and then rolled onto his back in the space next to her. She followed him, for which he was grateful, and pressed her head against his chest while he fumbled with the covers until he had them both blanketed.
He stroked her back leisurely, wordlessly urging her into a slumber—but she couldn't, not when her entire body still burned with the memory of his words and his touch, she felt so alive—just brimming with these new feelings, warmth and belonging. She edged closer into the curve of his side.
"Is it going to be like this every time?" She had a thousand questions, for she was incredibly curious about this new level of intimacy.
He laughed when he first heard her words, "It's barely over and you're worried about the next time?" And then he rewarded her with a light kiss on her forehead for her perversion. "I hope that it will be better for you the next time." The next time—it was still awkward to consider this as something that would be repeated, it seemed so fresh and new. "It won't hurt as much."
"It wasn't painful," she confessed, well, perhaps there was pain, but she was so engrossed in pleasure that she scarcely felt it. "I actually…I liked it. I like this part too…I like it when you're like this."
He didn't reply, finding that he was suddenly ridiculously sentimental—he eased her closer still. "This—this wasn't your first time…was it?" Her voice was still breathy, still husky and sultry, but he could still pinpoint the uncertainty, the self-consciousness.
"No." He admitted, but quickly followed it with, "But you'll be my last. I swear it…there isn't any way I could have another after you."
She seemed satisfied, and curled herself tighter against his body. "Are you going to sleep now?"
"Yes." She mumbled, now wrapping an arm about his midsection, careful to avoid the long white strip that highlighted his discomfort. "You'll be here when I awake…won't you?"
Of course he would—yet, it pained him that she had even asked. "I'm never leaving you love. I promise."
Author: Damn straight!
All right, to be honest. This sex scene was supposed to be in chapter 28 now after the final edit, basically because chapter 25 and 24 were too long, and so the numbers got crossed. So after careful editing and copying pasting, I decided to put it in chapter 26 where it was supposed to be—since I'd been flaunting it in your faces for months.
I also decided to post it here since it doesn't really qualify as a dirty explicit anything, just a mess of fancy words and feelings. I didn't even get to say vagina. :( It's too mushy, I got all wrapped up in it and couldn't create the porn that I wanted…
I did get this posted so quickly because of what Zadien told me, poor baby, I hope that you can read it before July now. And besides I wrote this in August of 2006, it was just catching dust.
And to address the experience queries that I always get, this was written through intense research, not the fun kind either, more like the reading dozens of harlequin novels and hoping for the best.
Time to go whoring for reviews now. Ahem.
Hey good looking, you wanna click on that little button there—oh yes, so it and I'll show you a good time ;)
Seriously! I deserve a comment, I know you lingerers! Dammit! I worked hard now click the damn button!