Hey. Last chapter, then epilogue. I hope your enjoy it, it might be a little... heavily smutty :p
Anyway, we're on a second lockdown here in France so send your prayers to us, I'll return them to all of you because no part in the world is quite safe from the mess. Lots of hugs for you Koba, I hope you are doing better.
Frances added the potato slices overt the rest, covering, layer by layer, the onions and courgettes that coated the bottom of the cooking pot. Then she added pepper, salt, coriander and more olive oil.
— "And now, the tomatoes", she quipped.
Tristan gave her the chopping board, one eyebrow rising in amusement. And when Frances eventually put the lid upon the pot, she noticed the twinkle in his eyes. Warmth pooled in her belly, the joy at seeing such a fond look directed at her not unexpected, but always welcome.
— "What ?", she asked cheekily.
Tristan's tongue darted over his upper lip, as if he hesitated to tease. Frances' eyes cringed at the corner, daring him to voice his thoughts. The former priest took up the challenge, his face dead serious save from that gleam in the depths of his gaze.
— "Are you sedimenting our food, Frances ?"
The young woman burst out laughing; he certainly had a sense of humor. So when her giggles abated, she quipped merrily:
— "Professional quirk"
Tristan's voice washed over her, sending shivers down her spine.
— "Sedimentary cooking it is then."
Her hand slightly fumbled over the great wooden spoon as she tried to keep her bearings. The things this man did to her… phew. It was getting more and more difficult to share this space without ravishing him entirely, especially at night. Now that his arms pulled her close when she slumbered, now that her mouth rested upon his collarbone, an inch away from being able to nuzzle his neck, kiss his chin or suck at the hollow spot upon his throat… gosh. Way too difficult !
Frances wasn't a woman who took sex lightly. Not even close. At twenty-three years old, her history of ex-boyfriends stopped at two. Never a one-night stand, not even a sex-friend. Compared to many, she was mild, or frigid. Entirely unmodern and patronizing; for her, sex was the equivalent of a deep engagement, a bond that nothing could ever break. She didn't trust enough to let anyone touch her that way unless they were here to stay.
But God, having Tristan so close, yet so far was driving her crazy. Crazy enough to make her feel like a nympho ! And the fact that she kept seeing him in this frock – in her memories – tended to spook her just as well. Father Tristan was untouchable, whereas the man, caused her hormones to go haywire.
And every single moment his scent washed over her, or she felt his warmth against her skin, she had to kick herself not to push him. Every fiber of her being wanted him, every single cell screamed in agony, asking to be made complete, to taste and prod, to caress and cherish. But layers upon layers of clothes still separated them, the perfect wall to represent how his mind wasn't ready to take that leap.
Taking a deep breath, Frances stirred the vegetables into the cooking pot. Her lips quirked; sedimentary cooking indeed !
The next morning, Frances parked in front of the school, wondering what was playing in Tristan's mind for him to ask for the car. His secretive smile told her not to pry, so she just surrendered her keys and stole a kiss before the surroundings became more crowded. At this hour – almost nine – most of the students were already in classes save her promotion. Both she and Tristan exited the rounded vehicle, her eyes lingering upon the beautiful man that was hers. With the heat, he had reluctantly accepted to wear short sleeves. Where the freshness of his church used to cool him all day long, he now had to cope with the continental weather. Not that Frances was complaining; short sleeves exposed his very toned arms. Not that his biceps were huge, but damn, she could see every single muscular fibre playing on his forearms; a true anatomic model… so distracting. Ugh ! It didn't quite help her cool down either way. And she had never seen him shirtless before. She longed to kiss him… everywhere.
Tristan's hand lingered upon her cheek for a moment, calling her back to reality. His gaze pinned her into place, the intensity reducing her to smouldering ambers.
— "Are you all right ?", he asked, his voice low.
And for a moment, the rest of the world just disappeared as she stared into the beloved eyes of this extraordinary man. Then she nodded, allowing him to let go. Her look was pensive when he folded inside her small car and drove away, leaving her quite dazed upon the pavewalk.
— "So who's the hottie ?", came a familiar voice.
Frances' eyes widened as she realized that Maëlle was fastening her bike less then ten meters away. Shit, shit shit. She had forgotten she came by bike. Of all her friends here, she wasn't likely to let this go. Well, she wouldn't gossip, but once her curiosity was peaked… And from the smirk that adorned the young woman's face, she was in for a long morning. SO busted ! Picking up her courage, Frances smiled.
— "Er. Short or long version ?"
Maëlle's smile widened.
— "Long please"
— "Then let's share lunch together. You're in for the long haul"
Lunchtime found both girls in deep conversation over the past months; the seal was broken. The only secret she kept to herself was his previous occupation, the rest flew easily. After all, she could tell everyone she had met him in church, and Tristan would decide whom to entrust with his former status as a priest.
It took her a few tries to find the proper definition for Tristan, but eventually, the term companion imposed itself. He wasn't a boyfriend – there was nothing boyish left expect for a few expressions. Boyfriends didn't tend to last. Neither a good friend, for they loved each other deeply. Nor a lover; they had not crossed that line yet. But a companion… a companion could do. They both trod into the unknown, side by side, discovering what it meant to be a couple
And somehow, it felt good to talk to someone she trusted. As if this little burden, the fear to fail Tristan, evaporated little by little by Maëlle's patient ear. The unexpected side effect, though, was her friend's insistence to meet the guy as soon as possible. Protective much ? Or just curiosity ? Whichever of those motives, Maëlle stood by her side when Tristan came around to pick her up in the evening. Frances waited, rooted to the spot; there wasn't much choice but to accept. Seeing her blank face, her friend nudged her playfully.
— "Come on, I'm not going to threaten him"
Frances gave Maëlle a wary look.
— "I know. I'm just wary of your…"
— "…humour ?"
Frances bit her cheek. Her friend was, in this school, one of the few young women she could trust. But she was such a handful of wild energy and good intentions, a little forceful sometimes. And while Frances had no trouble pushing people away – Maëlle included - she didn't quite know how Tristan would react to this surprise invasion of their new relationship. So eventually, she accepted her failure and dropped her shoulders.
— "No. just you."
Maëlle gave her a mock stare from above her long nose when the little grey car appeared before them, effectively cutting the argument short. Frances' heart plummeted in her shoes, wondering how this impromptu meeting would go.
She shouldn't have worried, for Tristan took the introduction in stride. His smile was genuine, his manners impeccable, if a little distant. In the end, it was Maëlle who retreated to her bike, quite fazed by the imposing presence of the former priest. Frances watched her go, realizing the error of her ways; Tristan had no need for her coddling. Support, yes. But no coddling. After all, he was a people's person, and nearly ten years older than she was. There was no need to shield him away and lock him in a tower like Rapunzel, even if he used to be a priest.
— "Do you want to drive ?", Tristan asked.
Frances took a good look at him, reeling from her last revelation. His strong hands, his shy smile but confident poise, the exposed muscles of his forearms… Apart from the night of the concert, Tristan had never driven while she was in attendance. As an implicit rule: her car, she was on the wheel. A good time as any for a change. So Frances smiled, plopping into the passenger's seat.
— "No. You're on the insurance list now and I'm grateful for the break"
The smile he addressed her told her appreciated the gesture; she wondered if he might have interpreted her coddling as a lack of trust ? Or an attempt to hide him from her friends ?
— "So, will you tell me why you needed the car today ?"
Tristan seemed in a good mood, but he still didn't answer the fated question.
— "Patience, my little padawan"
Frances huffed, then tried to fight the smile that crept upon her face as Tristan's right hand grabbed hers over the gearstick.
— "I'll show you instead"
— "Fair enough"
Seeing that she was willing to relent, he questioned her about Maëlle. By the time they reached her flat she had almost forgotten the nagging question at the back of her mind. But Tristan had not.
She found the response in the bedroom where, now, a lovely bedframe had sprouted to life. Until now, they slept on a mattress with a springer underneath. Now, dark wood dressed it, a solid piece of work with a sober look and sturdy planks. Mouth agape, Frances let her fingers run across the smooth furniture, eyes lingering upon the headboard.
— "Do you like it ?"
Frances nearly jumped; she had been so absorbed in her observation that she had missed Tristan's approach. She grabbed his hand, dragging it across her waist, warmth fingers resting upon her stomach as she smiled. And despite the heat building up already – the weather was stifling - she had no intention to let go. So, instead, she leaned into him with a blissful sight.
— "Yes. It looks much better this way. But… How… ?"
— "Picked it up today. I bought a few tools as well, your screwdriver was hopeless."
Frances chuckled; she wasn't much of a manual girl, needle aside. She'd built all the furniture in her flat with her father – IKEA, fortunately ! - who was as hopeless as she was. Good memories from two years past that caused a chuckle to shake her slender frame.
— "Can't fault you there."
His hand tugged at her waist, effectively turning her around to face him. There was a seriousness in his gaze that caused her eyes to widen.
— "It's my contribution to the rent you won't let me pay", he said.
Frances scrunched her nose; there was no bite in his words, but she couldn't miss the slight accusation.
— "Does it bother you ?", she eventually asked.
— "A little."
Right. The experience of this very afternoon came back to her, and instead of protesting that he had just been kicked out of his institution and was without resources, she took a deep breath.
— "All right. How about we take a moment and sit down ? We could make a budget together."
The former priest nodded, his poker face impenetrable; if he was surprised by her easy acceptance, not a clue showed on his beautiful features.
— "I would like that"
Frances, took a leap of faith then.
— "I think… If you pay for some of the rent, it would only be fair that I don't take it from my parents. Which might lead to some questions..."
Tristan nodded again, thoughtful. True, he had forgotten that Frances wasn't working to pay for her studies. Given how hard said diploma was to obtain, he doubted it was even possible to pass and work at the same time. He respected her parents for allowing her this luxury, and Frances for wanting to reduce the burden over them. He knew she wasn't one to take advantage of people, yet, it still made him proud to have found such an honourable woman.
If he paid his part, it also meant that the bubble would burst. Cowardly as it seemed, he found the down time pretty useful to organize his thoughts. Just him and Frances, without interruptions, or questions, or … well, aside from Maëlle today. Frances' hand on his arm interrupted his thoughts.
— "Listen. I can set the money aside, for the moment, and give them back when we decide to…"
— "Tell them there's a man in your bed ?"
Frances snorted then, a mischievous smile brightening her features. Tristan's eyes darted to her delicious rosy lips; the way they quirked up, begging to be kissed.
— "Our bed…", she gently said.
And despite the heat, it was his turn to shiver. Responding to the urge, Tristan reached for her. His long fingers cupped her face, tingling all the way to his elbow. She closed her eyes, leaning into his caress, as this simple touch brought her the blissful light of the heavens. She was so beautiful, her lips offered, her body awaiting his contact. Trust. Devotion to his every whim. And Tristan had never been more afraid to give in, for his strength faltered now more than ever. The pleasure of the flesh called to him… or was it the need to be close ? The lie of a platonic love had been trampled at his feet so very fast; his body reacted to her touch far too eagerly.
Not to say Tristan was ungrateful; life with Frances was easy. She spoke plainly, about her studies, about the world, about the things he had missed while being scooped in church. As for everyday life, they walzed in her flat; partners without having to communicate aloud. Like a set of twins suns, revolving around each other. Coming closer, and closer, until he was sure to be burnt. Until he wanted to be burnt, so badly that his skin hummed.
Tristan relished in the breath she released upon his neck, right before he caught her lips. Her beautiful, heavenly tasty lips. She sighed then, kissing him gently. He pressed on with more fervor, his arms snaking around her, holding her close, so close that his chest ached. His hand slid to the small of her back as she arched, surrendering to his call, her hands travelling to his shoulders as a little moan escaped her. Tristan lost himself in her taste, breathing hard. He loved this woman, from head to toe, body and soul. He loved her to the very depths of his core, spiritually and… a little more intimately. The caress of her lips against his caused his knees to buckle, the strength of her touch, all around him, made his body hum. And he wanted more of her, so much more. His tongue searched for hers… she granted entrance without a second thought. He'd only seen such passion in theatres, this strange tongue sharing that used to puzzle him. It sent his mind reeling far, far away from the church's teachings. She smelt so good, tasted so good that he never wanted to let go.
Yet… she was holding back. She always did; he knew it. From the way her frame shook, sometimes, when she put a little more distance between their bodies. Or when she grabbed his nape, playing with the little hairs to keep her mind busy, the gesture tender to keep in control. A caress, feather like.
But today, he didn't want control. The animal in him roared to life, breaking the bonds of spirituality to allow himself to be human. Just a human.
Tristan pulled away sharply, eyes lidded, watching the dazed look upon her face, the swollen lips he had just abandoned. She waited, frozen, for him to take a decision. One way, or the other. To dive in, or retreat to the safe haven of his teachings. Wide chocolate eyes, pupils dilated, without an ounce of judgment. No expectation, no disappointment. He was free, entirely free to choose his path. Her heart beat so hard that it caused her t-shirt to pulse. Tristan lifted a trembling hand to her chest, setting his long fingers over the ribcage to measure how flustered she was by it all. To reassure him that she wasn't a temptress, but a fellow human being, feeling the same as he was. For his own heart was ready to leap out of his chest. One more kiss…
No, he wasn't ready for this. Wasn't ready to throw the church's rules through the window. Having sex with a woman, without being married… it was a sin. To be grounded in matter, rather than looking up was another. No, he just couldn't.
Perhaps his distress was written all over his face, for Frances reached for his cheek with a smile.
— "It's all right, Tristan. There is no pressure. We have all the time in the world"
The former priest remained silent, shameful of his instincts. The aim of a human being was to transcend his animality, was it not ? But he knew how impossible it was, how detrimental to one's health and existence to ignore the call of the earth. Food, love and children were part of life, weren't they ? Frances grabbed his hand, kissing his knuckles.
— "Physical love is love all the same to me. There is a huge difference between having sex and making love."
— "I can't… I am wary of lust, Frances. I don't want to …"
The words couldn't come out and Tristan felt entirely powerless to make up his mind.
— "It's all right. Let's take a few moments for a cuddle. I want to test this bed frame of ours"
And so they did, entirely clothed, laying down upon the sheets until their heartbeat settled. And for days on after that, life resumed, and Frances didn't allow them to get carried away. 'You set the pace', she had once told him. And she scrupulously respected her word. He didn't know if it was as difficult for her as it was for him. If so, she deserved praises because she alighted his body with the barest of touches.
One evening… one evening, he felt like he was literally going to burst into flames. Now that he knew what she tasted like, how her little body melted against his own. Neither the cold shower, nor praying helped him much. So when she started drawing crystals for a project, Tristan decided to enjoy the sunset on the terrace and work on a long Tai-Chi routine. The moves effectively blanked his mind of all lustful thoughts, aligning his body with both heaven and earth. And while the sun dipped, painting the sky pink, Tristan took a moment to meditate. The swirl of his mind became calm waters, the tempest raging inside easing away. The flow set him back in his place. A human, with a spiritual mind, and a body inherited from earth. An animal with a higher conscience, the conscience of God.
His eyes flew open as understanding dawned, deep inside.
Tristan slid the wide door so abruptly that Frances started, bouncing from the sofa. He didn't bother drawing the curtains, nor closing the blind as he pounced upon the unsuspecting lady. Giggling, she attached herself to his neck, hugging him tight. Her wide eyes told him she was wondering what had happened, so he kissed her soundly. Once, twice, a third time before breathing out.
— "I love you, Frances. I love you so much that my heart will burst"
She seemed speechless, but he didn't give her time to consider his words before he kissed her again, begging for her lips to part to latch his tongue to hers. Frances whimpered slightly, a low, gentle moan that echoed in the back of her throat. The sound was his undoing, and Tristan dragged her to her room, his lips still attached to hers, before he kicked the door close. The noise caused them both to start, Frances taking a step back, breathing heavily.
— "Tristan…"
The former priest inhaled sharply, trying to rein his frantic heart.
— "I will not shy away this time", he stated. "I will not deny my love for you either. You deserve it, in any form that is pure upon this earth."
The smile that split her face would have brightened the dark side of the moon. As she grabbed his hand, he wondered why, or how he had deserved to be watched with such awe; it filled him with confidence.
— "Are you sure ?"
Tristan nodded, his tongue darting over his upper lip nervously. Yes, he was sure. She deserved to be loved properly, soul and… body. The only issue was his blatant inexperience.
— "Guide me ?", he asked.
The young woman seemed to hesitate; probably considering her own meagre experience. But before any of them could deflate, she pushed the sheets away and sat on the bed. Tristan followed, sitting awkwardly. Suddenly, the mood seemed as thick as a londonian fog. But then, she rose on her knees and her hands landed upon his shoulders. A caress, so gentle, to allow his muscles to unclench and his posture to sag a little. Her lips kissed his forehead, her fingers trailing across his upper arms, then his chest. Tristan closed his eyes, relishing in every single touch she bestowed. When her lips landed upon his throat, kissing his pulse point, a moan bubbled in his chest. His hands tightened around her forearms ad she played with the hem of his t-shirt, little fingers grazing the skin of his stomach. So close, too close to a very sensitive part of him.
She yanked the garment over his head, interrupting her kiss and the tantalizing caress on his lower belly. He was breathing hard, blood rushing through his veins. Burning in the summer heat. Exposed now. Frances took a good look at him, her hands digging into the chestnut curls of his chest. Would she like it ? He had never given much thought to his naked body, only knowing that years of martial arts and high metabolism had toned it to respond to his demands. But he had no idea if he was good looking from a woman's point of view. The canons had changed much; chest hair and lean muscles of the 60s movies seemed to have disappeared, replaced by body builders with oiled baby skin. Once more an old soul. But Frances seemed to appreciate it; her touch was warm, firm and loving, so unlike the disgusting feeling of lust he'd learnt to be wary of. She explored him, and he was so frozen that he couldn't do anything but let her kiss his skin. Warm lips landed on his chest, trailing from sternum to shoulder, leaving fire in its wake until she buried her face in the crook of his neck with a sigh.
Only then did Tristan react, circling her lithe frame with his strong arms, squeezing her tight as blood pounded in his ears. Hugging the life out of her, or clutching at his only lifeline in an ocean with treacherous waters… an ocean that threatened to swallow him whole. He didn't know how to navigate those feelings, those sensations assaulting his body. So intense, sweet like sugar one moment, strong like dark coffee the next. They mingled altogether, overwhelming, like a great storm ready to be unleashed and against which he had no leverage.
Frances lips trailed up, from his neck first, suckling at his pointed jaw. Her little tongue darted to taste his skin, her soft warmth reaching the corner of his mouth now. Tristan shuddered, the barest of moves allowing him to capture her mouth with a groan. His lips engulfed hers in a mighty kiss, his tongue dancing while his hand slid under her t-shirt, pulling at her until she straddled him. Another hand buried in her curls, wreaking havoc in the ringlets that fell down her back without a care in the world. The silken strands of reddish hair wrapped around his long fingers, welcoming him in their midst. Her barely heard her sigh when he lifted up the offending garment; the contact of skin over skin causing a great hum to overtake his body. His stomach pulsated now, and when Frances squeezed her hips against his, a great gasp escaped him. The need was so strong, so delicious buried within himself. Instinct…
His spirit was screaming, somewhere behind the lines, to take some distance and gain control over … this. But his hands refused flat out to leave her skin, his mouth all the same… and the rest of him – God ! – there was not an inch of him that wanted to be parted from her. She was his oxygen, the sun that shone upon him, the beacon that allowed him to come home. And he wanted to bury himself so deep inside her that he wouldn't know when his body stopped and hers started, the limits of their flesh blurring into one complete being. His hips bucked up again; Frances released a shaky moan, meeting him with as much enthusiasm, her mouth still glued to him. Locked.
So when she eventually pulled away, Tristan barely found the strength to remain seated. His body shook from the strain, his hands locking around her to prevent her from leaving.
— "Patience, beloved", she ushered, her voice low and sensual.
Her hands pushed him down on the bed; Tristan complied without a second thought, the heat of summer days coupled with his own inner fire. He was, quite blissfully, at her mercy. So when she pushed his sweatpants down, he didn't even bat an eyelash. The ruffle of clothes echoed in the room; he just couldn't look at her, too overwhelmed by the blood running in his veins to remark that she was, now, perfectly naked. Only when her hand landed upon his very taut appendage for a caress did he react, his hips bucking instinctually, a moan escaping his lips. His hands shot out to grab her shoulders, finding the smooth, satiny skin instead of her t-shirt. His eyes found hers, those warm chocolate that twinkled in the setting sun light, her hair in disarray – by fault of his fingers. Her beautiful curves, hidden within the ringlets of fire as she hovered over him, unsure of the next step to take. Both trapped in each other's gaze until she managed to escape, her hands locking on the waistband of his boxers. The garment disappeared, pulled down mercilessly. Tristan closed his eyes; shame or shyness to be exposed to her scrutiny entirely ? He wasn't so sure. Before he could grab the sheet to hide his nudity, Frances lowered her warm body against his and kissed his stomach. His hands landed in her hair once, more, trailing to her nape, her upper back and the smooth, golden skin kissed by sunlight. She was beautiful, and felt incredible under his fingertips. Perhaps, one day, he would know how to play her body as she played his now.
Her open mouth kisses sunk a little lower, and anticipation coursed through him… was she going to … ? Her hand cupped his member once more, giving it a little squeeze before her lips replaced it. Warm mouth engulfing the tip of his arousal, hot breath against his pelvis, and she sunk, slowly, lower and lower until he thought he might die. Or come altogether such was the pleasure that irradiated from his lower belly. His back arched, uncontrollable, a violent shudder that left him panting. Fortunately, Frances caught him before he could bury himself down her throat, her hand pinning his strong hips in place. Her mouth left his throbbing member and he groaned in disappointment, the containment missing.
Frances chuckled then, crawling over him like a panther, her long fiery strands following her feline moves like an artist's model.
— "Be still, my love"
Tristan's hands roamed her back, descending upon the taut waist that rippled against his touch, undulating like a siren. He caught her eyes then, their warm hue filled with love and envy.
— "You make me burn, Frances. Take pity"
Her face inched closer, her lips grazing his as she whispered.
— "Ah, no pity there. You are beautiful, Tristan. So glorious"
No time to dwell upon her words for she dove for a searing kiss, her body so closely intertwined with his that he could feel the whole length of her against him. Her thighs brought such delicious friction, causing his hips to move on their own, searching her contact as her tongue swiped the inside of his mouth. It was almost too much… his heart thundered in his chest so heavily, his blood rushing, his skin humming, his manhood throbbing, begging for release. So bittersweet. And when he thought he could take no more of her dance above him, she shifted and reached backwards, positioning his pulsating member against her entrance.
Tristan's breath hitched as she slowly pushed her hips against him, taking in the whole hard length of him. Inch by inch. One little wiggle later, he was buried to the hilt into her tight core. His hips bucked then, taking her with him as she toppled over his chest.
— "Oh !"
Both of their cries mingled, surprised by the sea of sensation that washed over them. Both overwhelmed with the beauty of this joining. Frances' breath fanned upon his face, her eyes wide.
— "I love you", she eventually said.
— "And I, you", was his response, coming from the depth of his soul.
And he kissed her lips anew, burying his face into her hair as she started an agonizing slow dance, rolling over him like a wave, each move more intense than the precedent until he was grunting feverishly. He sat to join her, legs bending to allow him to latch upon her waist, hands exploring her back as she rolled, and rolled over his hips, leading them both to the point of no return. Tristan's body shook and he was unable to care how far gone he was, his mouth searched her skin, suckling at her collarbone when his hands pulled her down against his hard length. He felt his blood pulsate in his veins, rushing past his ears as she moaned against him. The most beautiful sound in the world, her sweet voice calling his name, over and over again. Her arms suddenly crushed him against her chest, her gaze locked on his, their depths so intense that he was pulled within the dark pools of her irises.
That was it. He didn't know where he began, or where she ended, and it was beautiful. Their bodies mingled, moving in unison, taking and giving pleasure alike, humming like two sets of voices at they sang their mutual love. His skin, tingling against hers, searching for more contact as the buildup became too much. He was lost inside her, buried within her depths and he couldn't help but marvel about how well her body welcomed him. She had opened like a flower, to allow him to take in her secret beauty. A present only bestowed to one man, in the most intimate of settings. Something to cherish.
He understood what she meant now. How could physical love be unholy, when it unraveled all her mysteries for his eyes to contemplate ? When it offered such a present ? The flush of her cheeks, the feverish gleam of her eyes, her hair undone, tumbling over his shoulder. Her warm breath upon his face, her smooth skin dancing around his, her taut muscles leading the dance. Her undoing, within the safe circle of his arms while her moans rose to the sky. The gift of her body, so beautiful, to a man whose attributes where meant to penetrate her deeply. He understood the trust it took to allow such a thing. Pure love, in a different form.
Transfixed, Tristan felt her core constrict around his, squeezing him so tight that he couldn't help but tumble over the edge. How he had lasted so long – mere minutes, really – was a miracle in itself. She threw her head back with a cry, reddish ringlets flying over her shoulder, exposing her neck. Tristan shuddered, his orgasm washing over him like a storm, his lips finding her collarbone to keep himself grounded. His body refused to relent as Frances dug her hips into his. Deeper, stronger, in a few disarticulated moves that send sharp strings of pleasure all the way up his spine. He couldn't take any more, his consciousness flying through the window, but couldn't stop himself from responding.
His own undoing, in the arms of a russet angel.
Frances collapsed in his arms, panting for breath as if she had run a marathon. Gently, he laid down on his back, taking the young lady with him. And despite the scorching heat of their intertwined bodies, his arms pulled her close, moist skin and all. While she caught her breath, and he regained his ability to think, Tristan caressed her back gently.
— "You are… so passionate, Tristan. I wasn't expecting you to turn my world upside down"
The former priest gave her a surprised look.
— "Is it not like this usually ?"
She chuckled, lips swollen and cheeks reddened still.
— "Not so strong. Not so beautiful. I don't thing I've ever… lost myself like this before"
And he believed her, for her skin almost seemed to glow from happiness.
— "That's good to hear. Perhaps with practice…"
— "Believe me, you need none. But I'll be happy to help you practice anyway"
A slight smirk lifted the corner of his lips. Who was he to contradict the lady ?
