XXV – Feed the Fire

~ Part 2 ~

A/N: I highly recommend you read Light my Firebefore reading this part. Just sayin'.

"D'ya feel up to go downstairs for lunch?" Sully asked casually, his wife's decision on the matter instrumental to the surprise he had planned, thus on whether he'd changed into a suit or not.

Michaela picked up her discarded pantaloons with one hand and showed her damaged camisole and blouse with the other.

"I'd love to, but I need to change these first," she said, flashing him a wry, slightly embarrassed crooked grin.

"Sorry about that," he apologized with a contrite caress to her cheek. "I'll get you new ones."

Michaela shrugged and admitted in a hushed tone, as if more to herself than to him "Don't be sorry, there's nothing I can't mend on my own… Besides, it's not like I was being careful either…."

Her remark made them both snicker softly, Sully feeling as relieved as he was delighted that she was taking the incident so good-naturedly. She certainly had overcome a lot of inhibitions in the course of the past few days, yet something was warning him not to take her relaxed state for granted and that she might relapse into an occasional bout of Boston prudishness in the future.

Michaela rushed to the bathroom to try and put her clothing and hair back in order, but also to give herself some time to recover from what had just happened and her consequent mixed feelings. She couldn't decide whether she should scowl at her flushed, disarrayed reflection in the mirror, or surrender to the complete euphoria her soul seemed to be soaking in and let her glee burst forth. She felt a bit like a little child expecting a scolding for being naughty without really feeling sorry about it, instinctively knowing it called more for indulgence and laughter than severity.

If she was honest with herself, she had to admit that she had thoroughly enjoyed their impetuous encounter, like there was some secret thrill that they both had been unable to wait until they were fully unclothed to make love. Was it only a few weeks before that she had confessed her fears about intimacy to him during premarital counseling? Had she changed that much? Or had their intimacy merely liberated the most primeval part of herself…? There was no denying she had always been of a passionate nature, but for nearly thirty five years, the passion she had in her had all but be diverted from the desires of the flesh… Her sensuality had lain dormant under the heavy shroud of ignorance and fear of sin, until she had met Sully – the one who was destined to ignite its flame. Her perfect match. Her soul mate. Her husband… How could she feel wicked from loving and needing Sully the way she did? Any shame she had been taught she ought to be feeling regarding her enjoyment of the carnal pleasures henceforth felt ridiculous and insignificant, as if reduced to ashes and scattered to the wind.

As she jabbed the last of the hairpins into her bun and straightened the lace collar of her dress, she cast one last defiant and proud look at her reflection, as if she wasn't looking at her present self, but at the impersonation of the life she was leaving behind for good. She would no longer feel ashamed, ever, of loving Sully not only with all her heart and soul, but with her body as well…

Meanwhile, Sully had once more traded his buckskins for the dark grey suit, smiling ruefully as he thought about the even more stylish white bow and tailcoat he would have to don later in the afternoon to attend the opera. Truth to be told, he felt strangely excited at the prospect, as if reliving the magic of their courtship in Boston while being mercifully rid of all the awkwardness, the uncertainties and of course the threat of another man vying for Michaela's hand.

He patted his inner pocket where he had stashed the tickets, satisfied with his plans for the evening, and turned around just as Michaela emerged for the bathroom. She too had changed into fancier attire and was presently wearing a lovely gown of striped blue and grey brocade that could have been designed to match his suit. Black lace adorned the sleeves and framed the square décolletage of the bodice, while cream-colored silken underskirt and ruches enhanced the elegance of the ensemble. Thin tendrils escaped from her up-do in soft curls, accentuating the fineness of her features. And she had put on a fresh dab of perfume… That fragrance of hers could still tantalize all his senses in a heartbeat even after almost two weeks of breathing it in all day and all night long.

Her reappearance gave him a powerful jolt of déjà-vu, transporting him back to that evening when he had shown up in Mrs. Quinn's dining room bedecked in the very same suit he was presently wearing, and she, the same gown. Only she was now smiling at him without reserve and her eyes shone with unmistakable love. She was so exquisitely beautiful she took his breath away. He indeed felt as tongued-tied as a nervous suitor intending to invite out the lady he was sweet on for the first time and grappled for an adequate compliment. But no word praiseful enough came to mind, so he merely took her hand and brought it to his lips to kiss it as ardently as he was looking at her.

Moved by his silent but evident devotion, she rose to her tiptoes to give his lips a soft kiss, effectively bringing him out of his trance-like state by reminding him she was now his wife and no longer that inaccessible lady he had so tentatively wooed in Boston. Grinning down at her, he offered her his arm, and together they headed for the main dining room.

Downstairs, Michaela and Sully had trouble making their way through the flurry of waiters rushing to and fro between the kitchens and their appointed customers, arms laden with huge silver plates, but eventually they could sit at their assigned table in a far corner, which guaranteed them relative privacy.

The menus were brought surprisingly fast, considering how many patrons were swarming the restaurant, which was a relief as they were both famished. Usually only moderately, if not at all, interested in food, this time Michaela felt like sampling almost everything that was mentioned on the menu, and eventually decided for a light hors d'oeuvres of asparagus and tomatoes, the leg of lamb with its jardinière of spring vegetables for the main course, and as desert, she chose a strawberry tartlet, while Sully opted for a fried artichoke, a rack of veal cooked with honey and thyme followed by something called Poire Belle-Hélène, which Michaela explained was a poached pear served with chocolate sauce and whipped cream.

While they were waiting for their meal, they made light conversation, speculating about what was going on in Colorado Springs in their absence, and wondering whether Mrs. Quinn and Rebecca would be able to catch up and reason with Marjorie.

When the waiter finally brought their deserts, Michaela asked, "What would you like to do this afternoon?"

Her question was the opening he had been waiting for. "We can do anythin' you want, as long as we get—" He reached inside his coat and produced the tickets with a flourish, "there on time."

Michaela gasped in surprised and burst into an elated grin as she read aloud, "Le Nozze di Figaro!... Oh Sully! It's wonderful!" She looked back up at him, her gently reproving expression belied by the way her eyes were sparkling. "You're spoiling me… The roses, and now you're taking me to the opera?"

"It ain't about spoilin' ya, it's about us enjoyin' an evenin' out together. I love bein' with ya, spendin' time with ya, no matter where or how… That time when we went to see La Traviata? It was one of the best times I ever got."

"Truly?"

"I'm tellin' ya," he asserted, once again kissing her hand across the table. At that moment, Michaela had to resist the urge to rise and go to him for a hug and a kiss of gratitude. When she thought she couldn't feel more adored, he would come up with a new surprise for her! She gave his fingers a light squeeze and gazed at him earnestly, hoping he would see how grateful she was for him, not only for the flowers or the opera, but for all he was to her.

They decided to stay in for the afternoon and went to the game room for a few hours. Given what had transpired between them the last time they had challenged each other over chess, they preferred to play it safe and chose simpler games, like canasta or backgammon. At one point, a couple of men invited Sully to join them for a game of billiard. He easily won the game, under Michaela's proud scrutiny.

Then, the time came for them to go up for their last change of clothing for the day. Sully made arrangements to have supper delivered to their room so they could eat right before leaving for the opera which would begin at nine. He wanted the evening to be perfect.

As they consumed their meal, both still in their underclothes to prevent any mishap to their evening dress, they jested about Sully teaching his wife to play pool and both chortled when picturing the scandalized stares and protests they were sure to elicit if they were to try it someday. Then Sully revealed that, back when he was a young miner making his way out west, he had once come across a woman who knew her way around the billiard and wasn't afraid to stand up to men. Michaela acted all suspicious and demanded to know who exactly was this woman and how well had her husband gotten to know her, to which he deftly answered that she had no reason at all to feel jealous – though he found her even more beautiful when she was – for he couldn't even remember neither the name nor the exact appearance of that female pool player. To put paid to any doubt Michaela might truly harbor behind her good-natured grin, he leant forward to kiss her lovingly…

They finished dining and helped each other with the remaining of their clothes so that, less than twenty minutes later, they stood facing each other, the mood between them shifting from light-hearted to rife with tension, as if their attending the opera here in Denver, during their honeymoon, was just as momentous for their relationship as it had been in Boston.

As he had sensed, Michaela was truly spectacular in the blue gown. She had readily agreed to wear it, since among her lush wardrobe, there was her heavy, fur-lined, black velvet mantle that would prevent her for being cold during their nightly outing. Sapphire drops edged with two rows of tiny diamonds dangled from her ears and she wore the matching pendant, which she had slipped onto a velvet ribbon and tied into a chocker around her graceful throat. As for her coiffure, she had taken out a few tresses at her nape, styled them into large ringlets, and completed the ensemble by pining in three small black feathers near her temple.

"You look just like a princess out of a fairy tale," he murmured, almost hesitating to reach out and take her hand as if she might vanish like an illusion. But no, she felt excitingly real when she stepped closer, and rose to her tiptoes to press her lips to his, as she had done before lunch, clutching the lapels of his tail-coat passionately.

"And you, like the Prince Charming," she breathed when she pulled back, a twinkle in her eyes as she picture herself as Cinderella being whisked away by her Prince on a white horse for the annual Halloween party. She smiled to herself at the fantasy, while Sully raised his eyebrows almost comically in surprise at her compliment.

As if he was reading her mind, he joshed, "We'd better go, then, before the carriage turns inta pumpkin or somethin'." They burst into laughter once more, the expectant and somewhat nostalgic tension diffused for the time being.

The opera was performed in the Denver Theatre, formerly known as the Platte Valley Theatre. It was as lively and subtly funny as Mozart, Da Ponte[2] and Beaumarchais had originally meant it to be, yet nowhere as impressive and brilliantly staged as the operas back East. Both the company and their performances were actually destined to be forgotten, never appearing in the theatre's archives. The artists were encountering difficulties to get themselves known in the area and would split barely two years later for lack of funding and generous sponsors.

Despite the somewhat amateurish flavor of the show, Sully and Michaela had a wonderful time, as she reprised her task of whispering the many twists and turns of the plot and explaining the meaning of the sung dialogues and various arias to him. Only this time, they weren't attending a tragedy, but a comic opera, and they could hold hands and share secret smiles of loving connivance, both unaware that their closeness was still remarkable even in the semi-darkness. Sully did have a fleeting sensation they were being watched a couple of times, but every time he scanned the audience, he only saw spectators either entirely focused on what was happening on stage or seemingly bored out of their mind. He could only suppose that they didn't understand much of what was going on, and that he was probably the only man in the theatre lucky enough to have a beautiful companion, sitting so close he could feel the warmth of both her body and soul, who was generous enough to whisper the story to him, interspersed with words of love.

After the performance, neither felt like lingering in the theatre hall to socialize with the other attendees, as they only longed for the privacy of their hotel suite. One single glance sufficed to let the other know what they both had in mind…

Outside, the temperature had dropped even further, the wind so bitter it almost felt like it was freezing. Michaela shivered and huddled close to her husband all the way back to their room, still chilled to the bone even as they crossed the warm lobby and ascended the stairs.

Securely locking their door behind them with one hand, Sully rubbed her shoulder and upper arm through the thick material of her mantle with the other.

"Let's warm you up," he suggested, his voice dropping to a husky baritone that heralded his intentions to do much more than simply restoring his wife's normal body temperature.

In the darkened room, the only light came from the still glowing embers in the hearth from the fire he had cursorily banked before they had left for the opera. Fortunately, their suite had retained some of the heat from earlier, and it wouldn't take long to rekindle the fire.

Michaela quietly watched him, as if mesmerized, as he knelt in front of the chimney, poker in hand, strategically placed kindling and stirred the remnants of the nearly consumed log until the twigs caught fire, and then he added two more logs that soon started to burn as well. His task complete, he turned toward her, extending his hand in invitation to join him.

She removed her cape and draped it carelessly over the back of the armchair as she approached him, her movements slow, almost sleepwalking-like. Sully rose to his feet and went to her, only pausing briefly to remove his own frock coat, tails and bowtie. He leant in to initiate a passionate kiss, but something indefinable in her expression stopped him. Her gaze was directed at him, but her eyes held a dreamy haziness he didn't know what to make of.

"Somethin' the matter?" he inquired softly, wondering if perhaps he had once more misread her demeanor and that she actually wasn't feeling up to making love again. Perhaps she simply was too cold and tired. They both had had a long, eventful day, after all, and it was nearly midnight already…

Michaela shook her head, as well as herself out of the haunting memory of the disturbingly arousing dream that had woken her up the night he had shown up in Boston. Of course, back then she didn't have a clue about what it was truly like to be with a man. She'd barely had any inkling of all the wondrous sensations she would one day experience in Sully's arms, the few physical contacts she'd had with him thus far only fleeting hints. Even their first kiss, on her birthday, as much as it had undeniably left her wanting for more, hadn't neither revealed how multiple and intricate the roots of love and desire could be, nor how far and deep they could reach…

The old feeling of inadequacy threatened to come back as she remembered how naïve and clumsy she had used to be, but she determined not to let it destroy her new confidence. Especially not tonight.

"Nothing, it's silly," she eventually answered.

"What is?" he insisted gently. He didn't want to let her fret about something, to hold a secret, no matter how silly she claimed it was. He considered he had seen and heard his share of silliness escalating into arguments or spoiling their moments of intimacy, so he wasn't about to let this one go.

"Promise you won't laugh?" she asked, half relenting.

"I promise… so, tell me, what were ya thinkin' just now?"

She then let out a soft snort of laughter as she realized she was making much more out of it than she should, for that dream had been quite innocent, all things considered.

"Remember the night you turned up on my mother's doorstep? I showed you to the guest room and…"

"You were so formal with me all of a sudden… I was scared you were wishin' I hadn't come at all."

His tone wasn't upset or reproaching, and he was still smiling tenderly at her so, reassured, she continued, "I did act rather standoffishly… but that didn't mean I didn't want you there… and later, after I had gone to bed, I… dreamed… about you."

"You did?" he smirked, not really surprised.

She nodded, lowering her eyes momentarily.

"And what was I doin' in that dream?"

"You—We kissed…"

Sully's grin broadened. The meaning of Michaela having such a dream at that point of their lives, when even pursuing an innocent friendship had seemed jeopardized, didn't escape him. Now that they were happily married, her candid confession only gave him another reason to adore her and cherish what they'd built together from the moment they had finally admitted their feelings to one another. It also made him wonder how she would react should he reveal he had dreamed of her as well that very same night, but that it hadn't stopped at mere kisses. Would she be shocked as well to know how soon he had begun to imagine how it might feel to make love to a woman like her, how many restless nights he'd spent being tortured by so many vivid fantasies…? Maybe – unless her subconscious had conjured up a little more than the dream she was telling him about.

"What kinda kiss?" he probed mischievously.

She hesitated but for a second, suddenly feeling strangely excited by the prospect of reenacting her fantasy and fulfilling it. A bold impulsion made her retrace her steps to the door, and she put her hand on the handle.

At first, Sully feared he had pushed his curiosity too far and that it was still too soon for her to reveal her most intimate secrets. But then she cast him a glance over her shoulder. Even in the dim light provided by the fire, he could see her eyes were heavy with longing and issuing an invitation he couldn't ignore. He joined her just as she turned around, still holding onto the brass knob, and began recounting what had happened in the secret of her subconscious that night. Her voice dropped to that rich, sultry contralto that was as captivating as the needful shimmer in her eyes.

"I was reliving the moment I was bidding you goodnight, only… I didn't leave. I couldn't. You put your hand on mine… like this." She took his hand and demonstrated. "Then you caressed my arm up to my shoulder, I turned around, and…"

Her breath caught. The naked hunger in Sully's eyes was even more potent than it had been in her dream. For it was no dream, and he was longer forced to carefully mask his feelings. The electricity between them instantly flared up, their attraction such a powerful force it was almost tangible, like two giant, invisible hands pulling their bodies close together.

"And…?" he encouraged, his own voice emerging in a rough murmur.

"And…" She tilted up her face, her lips parting in anticipation, her eyes fluttering shut. "You kissed me… like you did on my birthday." Taking his cue, Sully brushed his lips across hers, the contact brief but heart-stopping. Michaela quivered from the maelstrom of emotions brought upon by her husband's touch, the remembrance of that dream they were literally embodying, and how it was charging the atmosphere with the odd thrill of commencing a passionate, prohibited romance.

"That's all?" he asked, lower still.

She shook her head.

"Show me how it was done, then," he suggested, hoping she would get the hint that not only he would love for her to be in charge again, but that he wished she would express her own desires and preferences straightforwardly. He was rewarded by the feisty spark flashing in her eyes when she reopened them for a few seconds to peer up at him, and even more so when she clutched his shoulders to pull herself up so their mouths could met briefly again. Then she rained butterfly kisses all over his face, jaw and neck, even daring to touch her lips to the lobe of his ear, while her hands tentatively explored his torso.

This time, it was Sully's turn to tremble with anticipation and need. The softness of her lips upon his skin was affecting him in unimaginable ways. And when her kisses converged back to his mouth, when she deepened their contact in a torturously slow, voluptuous manner, he nearly lost all control. He pulled away, his breathing ragged.

"So you kissed me back like this in your dreams?" he rasped, his question a mere attempt to give himself some time to cool down.

Michaela's features lit up. "No. This is how you kissed and touched me as the dream went on…" Mischievous amusement tugged up the corner of her mouth as she took in the state he was in and added, "So you understand how it made me feel, and why it woke me up so suddenly…"

Sully gulped as he pictured Michaela in her Boston bed that night, tossing and turning, flushed and perspiring, perhaps even moaning his name, when only a few feet away, he too was experiencing a restless, broken night. And then the explanation of her behavior the next morning dawned on him, when she had fled so suddenly, almost as soon as he had appeared. He could remember how strained her smiled had been, and how she had seemed to look anywhere but at him, as if afraid he might read what was on her mind…

Now, she was no longer shying away from him, but actually acting in a deliciously bold, light-hearted way, and he surmised she was unlikely to balk should he confess his own dream.

"I reckon we both felt pretty confused that night… havin' such strong feelings for each other… wantin' each other… but not bein' able to do anythin' 'bout it, thinkin' we were too different…"

"You mean—"

"I dreamed 'bout you, too, that night. Same kinda dream… wantin' ya so bad I can still taste it right now…"

"Oh, my… you mean we actually dreamed the same thing?" Her eyes grew wide in astonishment. Could have their uncanny spiritual bond been that strong already? Or was it simply that their instincts had already known they belonged together, their bodies reacting so strongly to one another's presence after being deprived of their other half's proximity for close to a month, that those dreams had been conjured up to make them aware of the inexorable nature of their attraction?

"Not exactly… In my dream, you came back to my room after I'd gone to bed, you lit a fire in the chimney and…" He hesitated in fear of shocking her with the way he had fantasized about her, when back then it would have been totally outside of her true realm of action.

"And?"

"You came to the bed, took your dress off… and we made love."

Michaela gasped. His answer was laconic, but it was still more than enough for her to picture how such a scene might have unfolded in his imagination. She wondered if he might really enjoy for her to wake him up in the middle of the night and offer herself – just like that. Even if he had welcomed her initiatives up until then and gone as far as encouraging her to lead their lovemaking two nights before, the idea of imposing herself on her husband whenever she would feel the need was still going somewhat against her grain. It was one thing to be making love to him when he expressed the wish, and quite another to become the aggressor totally on her own will… The fact that he had dreamed of such a situation was certainly telling her he wouldn't mind a bit, but a lasting remnant of reserve stopped her from planning to act it out later in the night… But maybe, one day…

Sully wasn't too sure of how to interpret her momentary speechlessness: was she shocked, as he had dreaded, or was she contemplating the idea? He barely dared to expect the latter, yet, considering the way their relationship had been evolving, he did hope she might, one day, take upon herself to initiate their intimacy without feeling that she had to wait for a sign from him.

Presently, there was little doubt for both of them regarding what was to happen. The slow kisses, shared secret and warm glow of the firelight were giving their amorous anticipation a dream-like quality while being excitingly real. They both leaned in toward one another to kiss again, long and deep, their lips and tongues meeting in their now familiar sensual dance, while their hands resumed the caresses that communicated their mutual desires better than any word could.

Though he clearly and consciously wanted their night to be as magical as their wake-up loving, Sully had again to struggle with the urgent force of his arousal as it egged him on to reiterate his exploits of their later encounter. The buttons at the back of her dress felt impossibly numerous, tiny and stuck, when at the same time, her skin had never felt more sweet-smelling or softer, taunting him further. Her body heat seemed to be seeping through the many layers of fabric that concealed her feminine attributes… She was all velvet and silk and warmth and heady fragrance, an entire sensuous world on her own that he would never tire of exploring and gladly lose himself into.

Michaela, too, was attempting to rid her husband of his clothes, her fingers reaching blindly for the buttons of his shirt, then fumbling with the fastenings of his tuxedo trousers. The will to draw out every second of this wonderful night, to savor every sensation and emotion to their fullest, was once again – and more than ever – at war with the heavy pressure of arousal demanding its immediate relief. She was shaking so strongly, her knees threatening to buckle under her, that she clung all the more to Sully, just as she had in her dream… And like in her dream, she felt herself spiraling into a voluptuous vertigo, one in which every sensation was magnified tenfold to the point that it soon became too much, too good, too strong, desire holding her into such an iron grip that it felt like a much more constricting corset than the one she was wearing, She had to shed it, to liberate herself.

When Sully finally freed her from the rigid garment, she did breathe a little easier. She was able to relax a little and catch her breath when he pulled away to swiftly slip her camisole off. Her daze somewhat receded to be replaced by an acute consciousness of his touch on her, his fingers caressingly gliding over her breasts and then slipping under the waistband of her bloomers to slowly ease them down. She let out a few sighs and soft moans as he bent to kiss a wet, winding, lingering trail along her neck, the hollow of her throat under the sapphire pendant, down the valley of her breasts to her navel… Then he was crouching at her feet, his hands enveloping her hips and buttocks with caresses. She guessed his intentions when his tongue began tracing suggestive arabesques on her lower abdomen and upper thighs and felt the powerful throb of yearning and anticipation between her legs. She heard him inhale loudly as he nuzzled the soft patch of hair guarding her femininity, then groan hungrily… and she couldn't take it anymore, so weakened by the urgent need to feel him touch her more intimately that her legs couldn't hold her up any longer and abruptly gave way.

Sully caught her before she fell and stood with her cradled in his arms, carrying her not to the bed but to the rug in front of the fire, where he deposited her as delicately as she had been made of porcelain. At that point he no longer cared whether he could hold out or not, as he had only one goal driving him on: give her as much pleasure as he could, however the means. As long as he stayed focused on this, he knew the reward would far surpass any physical gratification. He made short work of divesting her of her boots, stockings and hair ornaments. Her coppery tresses tumbled around her shoulders in an alluring disarray of waves and curls. With only her jewelry left on, the black velvet of the ribbon, the dark gleam of both the sapphires and her gem-like eyes contrasting with the soft alabaster of her skin, she looked like one of those exquisite models, the likeness of which artists would paint or sculpt to make their beauty eternal, for all to admire across the world and the centuries… However, Michaela wasn't someone's muse, but his wife, his partner in everything, and right now she was with him as his lover. So he took off the rest of his clothing and knelt beside her to resume his loving ministrations.

There were no words to adequately describe how much he reveled in the way she reacted to his kisses, to his touch. He loved how expressive her face was, her brow furrowing in need or lifting in bliss, her lips parted in longing… He adored the way she arched up, in a shameless plea for more of his caresses on her breasts, how she tensed, writhed or mellowed under his hands… he delighted in her whimpered panting, her voice transformed into an unearthly, ethereal sound… And he reveled in her intimate essence, that briny scent and sweet-and-sour flavor that only belonged to her and that he alone would ever enjoy, when he eventually returned to his destination.

Michaela slipped back into the trance-like state in which she was no longer in control of anything, least of all her emotional and physical response, and yet supremely aware of everything that was happening, of everything Sully was doing to her. That he craved her body that way was still a source of wonderment. Before they became man and wife, what little she had known regarding sexual practices besides the procreating act itself had seemed strange, even crude and disgusting, as she had only learned about them through caring for abused women, whether they were housewives or saloon girls. Yet, there was nothing repellent in the way Sully could pleasure her like this. Nothing could possibly feel more delectable than his moistened lips lightly sucking and nibbling at the delicate folds of flesh of her womanhood protecting the tiny knot of highly sensitive nerves at their apex. There was nothing more exquisitely erotic than the warm wetness of his tongue exploring so sensually the entire area, the way he usually did when they made love – the patient, attentive and yet playful quest for what gave her the greatest pleasure. The care, the love – that was what made all the difference.

Now liberated from the element of surprise and the wariness of the first time, Michaela could fully appreciate the build-up, like that of a powerful high tide, tugging at her core. Without thinking, she reached down to plunge her hand into her husband's hair and began an encouraging and appreciative stroking of his scalp. But with her body so eroticized by the experience, even the softness of Sully's hair under her fingertips was enough to trigger a warm kind of humming riding up the nerves of her arm to spread to her entire body and adding its energy to the cresting wave of pleasure that soon would break upon her. She could feel it, coming closer, gaining speed and strength and pulling her in more and more, towering above the rest of her perceptions. And then she burst through the gates of her intimate paradise, never more fulfilled, ecstatic and loved…

Michaela's response to his ministrations, the complete trust she put in him at that moment when she was at her most vulnerable, at his total mercy, incommensurably increased Sully's pride, joy, awe and excitement all at once. That he was able to feel each single nuance of the changes occurring in her body from her mounting arousal was the most delicious privilege he could think of at the moment. And how rewarding were the movements of her fingers through his hair and the way she writhed and quavered rather violently beneath his hands and mouth! How enthralling the strangled, breathless cries she finally let out and the convulsions of culminating pleasure that racked her body!

As exhausted and sated as she was, she wasn't ready to let herself drift into sleep yet. Not until she could thank him and satisfy his own needs. Indeed, when she opened her eyes just as he was sitting up to lean nonchalantly against the settee, she noticed he was fully aroused. As always, the sight made her heart and belly flutter, even more so with her barely recovering from what she had just experienced. She sat up too, albeit somewhat shakily, and nestled up to him, resting her head on his shoulder for a little while before she finally mustered the courage to initiate. She didn't ask for his assent, didn't even wait for his prompting, or seek a look or a smile that would let him know what he wanted. Somehow, she felt the time was right now, considering what had been happening between them all day and night. She told herself that it wasn't as if she was making advances out of nowhere, and that his present state was actually an almost certain sign that he wouldn't rebuff her. So, she snuggled closer and plied his neck, shoulders and chest with kisses and caresses. It was so wonderful to reciprocate his loving attentions that it could have easily felt selfish, yet now she knew better – true love, in all its dimensions, was as much about receiving and accepting, as it was about giving.

So delighted was he by her initiative that Sully didn't pause to think of her possible reaction as he sought her mouth for a kiss. She did shrink back, stunned by the sudden realization that the foreign taste on his lips was actually her own – what was she supposed to make of that? She blinked bashfully and bit her lip, her doubts already reappearing threateningly from the corner of her subconscious where lately she had been able to relegate them.

Sully guessed what had prompted her to recoil. And he didn't want this little incident to spoil everything, just when Michaela seemed to be in the process of finally letting go of the last of her inhibitions. But just as he considered saying reassuring words, she seemed to reach the conclusion that it was after all perfectly natural by herself and went back to kissing him with sweet fervor. When she pulled away once more, this time to simply catch her breath and peer up at him, she smiled in a way he had never seen before, an endearing mix of confidence, tenderness and sensuality. Love for her swelled in his heart, so suddenly that he felt it pinched. Gently, he cupped her jaw with one hand, and ran his thumb over her kiss-swollen lower lip.

"I love you," he murmured.

"I love you, too," she whispered back emotively, lightly kissing the pad of his thumb. The atmosphere of languid, amorous sweetness truly enveloped her like a second skin and was making her more daring than she would have been when fully alert, prompting her to yield to the sudden impulse of taking his thumb into her mouth and suck it, without the excuse of licking honey off it. Her gesture was so deliciously provocative and reminiscent of their wild foreplay two days before, that he couldn't help uttering a low growl.

"'Chaela…"

She couldn't resist the plea in his voice, in his eyes, in both their bodies. Resolutely, she shifted to kneel across his lap, facing him. Holding his gaze, she reached one of her hands down to stroke his manhood, the other caressing his upper body, similarly to the way he usually touched her, careful and meticulous in her search for the most pleasing moves – the right pressure, the right rhythm[3]… And all the while, she watched his response to her caresses on his countenance.

His eyes… Unmitigated passion whirled in their depths, the hypnotic blue of his irises reduced to twin phosphorescent rings. His mouth… Telling her how much he loved her through both words and kisses. And how she loved him back! How she felt a part of him as much as he felt a part of her…! The need to reunite with him then became more urgent, so she slid even closer, taking him in and consciously using the soft, warm prehensile ability of her loins to continue what her hand had started.

Sully couldn't believe what was happening. Maybe he was still dreaming… Maybe the dream he had in Boston that night wasn't over yet, and in the morning, he would wake up, cold and half-mad with desire and loneliness, destined to be forever haunted by an elaborate and far too vivid fantasy… But no, it was real, she was so real, the feel of her flesh against his was incredibly comforting and far too pleasurable not to be real, as he held her tightly to assure himself of her tangible presence… Her eyes fixed on him might be scintillating like two out-of-this-world gemstones, but still her presence couldn't be a dream… His excitement skyrocketed and he came close to losing all control, the erotic sensations she was eliciting from him overwhelming all his senses.

Yet, just as he was about to surrender to the irrepressible, animalistic urge to move under her and thrust his hips upward, he felt an eerie presence lurking… he couldn't explain where the perception came from, but for a second, his instinct, or some sort of sixth sense, warned him with unquestionable certainty of an inopportune, malevolent presence nearby, watching them… He bent his head to trail sensuous, grateful kisses from her earlobe down to the point of her shoulder and took advantage of his movement to cast a furtive glance at the closest window. But unfortunately, the shadows of the night and his pleasure-blurred eyesight didn't allow him to detect anything. Nevertheless, the momentary distraction wasn't so bad after all, for it allowed him to regain some control and stamina, thus enabling him to resynchronize with her slow, deep rhythm…

After a while, Michaela knew she had reached the critical point when she couldn't ignore and deny her own carnal demands much longer or she would surely burst apart. Finding in Sully's eyes the approval she still needed to go on, she completely unleashed the passion that was to guide her as she chased after her release. Anchoring herself more solidly onto his shoulders, her movements picking up speed, she let her head fall back, like someone drowning and searching desperately for air. Her lungs, her heart, her muscles, her mind, each one of her nerves, even her very soul were on fire, it was becoming unbearable, but mercifully the floodgates opened at last and deeply gratifying waves of relief quenched and washed away the furnace within.

Awed, Sully gladly followed her lead, and even though his sitting position somewhat hampered him, still she responded by tightening and contracting around him, drawing him in further, pulling him along toward that heavenly place where their whole beings merged into one, welded by the fire of their mutual passion.

After the blinding, mind-blowing peak of their union, they remained securely wrapped into each other's arms, Michaela's head resting quietly into her favorite niche that was the sinewy hollow right above his collarbone, while Sully lovingly stroked her nape and back under the tangled fall of her hair. Neither was particularly in a hurry to disengage and break their unity to get up and retire to their bed for the night, both comfortably enjoying the crackle of the fire in the earth and its warm, dancing light bathing their damp skins.

"You warm, now?"

Michaela grinned broadly and let out a soft titter, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh of contentment.

"Wonderfully so, thanks to you…" She paused for a second for effect and then added with a newfound cheekiness, "One thing I can say about you, Mr. Sully is that… you certainly know how to lay a fire."

He chuckled and retorted playfully, "and you sure know how to feed it!"

To Be Continued…

[2] The author of Le Nozze di Figaro's libretto

[3] Cf chapter 6