Rhapsody

The characters, places and situations of Doc Martin, are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story places no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.

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"Louisa, you could have talked, to me, at any time," I said as we went inside. "About your concerns… about us… about me."

She stripped off her raincoat. "I know," she sighed, "So where do we begin?"

"Begin?" I asked.

"How about taking my case up?"

I lugged the thing upstairs while she followed me to the bedroom.

"Just set it down," she said.

I warily did as I was told, thinking that she's come back. She's back, Ellingham, I thought, so don't muck it up! The words of Mr. Porter came to my mind. 'Do you make her happy?' "Louisa?" I asked.

She was brushing her hair at the large mirror. "Yes, Martin?"

I sighed. "This will sound awkward."

"Can't be as awkward as your pregnant girlfriend ditching you in a small village. And then she comes back."

That bolt shot home. "Yes; unexpected."

She caught my eye in the mirror. "Well go on, spit it out."

I took a deep breath. "I'll try to make you happy."

She smiled. "Fine and I'll try back. But you do know it's not always cake and roses."

I nodded remembering the muttered arguments of my parents while I was locked under the stairs in a cupboard. "I'm an adult."

"You know, I was thinking I'll go freshen up. Unless you want to use the bathroom first." She grinned at me.

"No, that's fine."

She turned to my dresser and opened the middle drawer where I kept my night things. "Now… ah, yes." She withdrew a pair of blue pyjamas (and I knew they were the button-up ones) and dropped them into the bin, dusting her hands. "Guess you'll need something else to wear."

"Ahm…" I saw a twinkle in her eye. "I'll go down and check the back door."

"You can come up in a little while," she said to my back as I descended. "Say ten minutes? And perhaps you can switch off your mobile."

I heard her unlatch her suitcase and pull out clothing. "Ahm… right." I was trying to keep my wits about me as I went downstairs.

My watch read 10:21 and I listened as the mantle clock in surgery clicked the quarter hour, telling me it was running six minutes slow. I'll have to adjust the regulator, I thought.

There were footsteps above my head and I knew she was in the bedroom and then down the hall to the bath. Water ran, a toothbrush was used, liquid was gargled and expectorated, and the toilet flushed. More water was run filling the sink and I thought I heard her humming a little tune. She did not sound unhappy – merely busy.

I next went to the kitchen in a fog painfully aware that she was upstairs and I was no longer alone. The back door was latched as well as the front. I wiped a muddy paw print off the lino and folded the blanket I'd draped over her as she napped. I straightened the magazines in the reception, and carried the office bin to the back door for disposal tomorrow. The dishes glared at me from the drying rack so I put those away.

The taps upstairs stopped running and then the drain gurgled. Her feet went down the hall to the bedroom and I heard her brush hair again.

I switched off the lights and sat on the sofa watching the seconds crawl by on my Rolex.

"Martin?" she called down. "Coming up?" I heard the bedsprings creak as she settled herself on it.

My watch read 10:34. It had taken her thirteen minutes. "Yes," I called out as I climbed the creaky stairs.

A quick look in the bedroom showed her lying on the left side of the bed as I faced it.

She smiled encouragingly where she lay on her left side. "Okay if I use this side?" Her distended belly and breasts pillowed the duvet. "Or… I could move?"

Her dark hair was splayed out on the pillow in the light of the bedside lamp and my breath caught as my heart sped up. She was wearing the nightdress from her cottage – the one from Truro, and from what I could see it suited her. "Fine," was all I could say next. I rummaged in the dresser and took out cotton boxers and undershirt. "Seems you've taken my pyjamas."

She chuckled. "I'm sure you can manage."

I fled to the bathroom and undressed hurriedly and washed my face, chest, and armpits, then dressed in the pants and shirt. I sneered at myself in the mirror, but pressed on brushing teeth and running my electric razor quickly over my face. "Marginally better," I muttered, hoping I would not disappoint her.

The light was off when I went back to her. She was snoring softly as she laid there, a small bundle of fragile humanity and my heart nearly broke knowing she was back and I had the awful power to destroy this beautiful creature with a wrong word, harsh look, or brusque action. I had done so too many times – too many times – but perhaps this was my last chance.

I put my mobile on the dresser and hung up my suit then on second thought switched the phone off. The bed creaked as I climbed in and she started.

"Oh, hi," she said. "Tired," she murmured but her arms went around me, her breath soft in my ear.

"Louisa…" I started to say. "Is this… what you… want?"

I knew what I wanted for I wanted her body and soul and now my pulse was really racing, the scent of her hair in my nostrils, but I should not force her. I should be strong and aloof; supportive and not demanding. Clap my armor back on – be the observer – don't get involved. I scooted marginally away from her.

A slim hand ran moved up and touched my neck. "No, no, Martin. Be with me. Please?" She kissed my cheek and my lips and she didn't stop. She was warm, soft, her skin smooth and desirable, and she guided my hand to her neck, face, chest, belly, and back.

When she held my hand to her abdomen I tried to hold back, but she said, "It's fine, Martin. Really." Then she held my hand on a breast while she sighed. I could not help but notice that the mammary was large and was growing engorged under my hand, the nipple getting firm and warmer.

Her hand went into my pants and I gasped as she rubbed me. "Louisa…" I grunted. "I…"

"Martin," she gasped. "Too bloody much time."

"This what you want to do? If we're a couple?"

By way of answer, she sat up, pulled her nightgown off over her head and then lay back down and hugged me tightly, clasping me to her with arms and a leg. She was all warm skin, breasts, belly, nipples, back, legs, soft lips, and tender flesh.

After some time she pulled my shirt and pants off and I felt her tremble in time to my ministrations. Biology and desire drove us together though it was difficult with her distended abdomen, but finally after uncomfortable efforts, she straddled me after pushing me onto my back.

"Martin," she groaned softly, "I need you," and kissing my face and nose, rode the waves of pleasure that pummeled both of us while I wondered at the Creator that had made us such that this rhapsody was possible.