. . .

THE CRUCIVERBALIST COURTSHIP

Chapter 10 - Summer 1937 (part 2)

Amy awoke in the dark. After a second of confusion, she remembered exactly where she was . . . and realized that she was alone. She sat up in the silence, looking around in the shadows, and then frowned. When had Sheldon left the bed? Had he gone to sleep alone on the other side of the suite? She had not been sure what she thought of such an idea until that very moment, when the reality of it made her sad.

Now wide awake, Amy turned on the bedside lamp and that's when she noticed the clear if distant sounds of Sheldon's shower running again. He had shut the bedroom door behind him, it seemed. She glanced at the time on the alarm clock; it was just past eleven. Hopeful that meant he had just awoken himself, Amy got out from under the covers. The sound of bathing made her notice how . . . sticky she felt. She went to the bathroom to sponge herself off.

Just as before, Sheldon's shower continued and Amy found herself alone and at loose ends. Not knowing whether or not Sheldon would return, and too alert to fall back asleep, she tied her dressing gown tightly over her translucent negligee and headed for the library. Sitting and stewing were not options. She simply had to get a book or something to read to pass the time. The grand house was dim and quiet, but Amy knew the path well. The library was dark with the curtains drawn over the French doors, so she flipped on a single table lamp. She would grab the first book she saw and run back upstairs before he even knew she was gone. If he planned on returning.

But, of course, one does not simply rush into a library and grab the first thing one sees, and, even as Amy scurried close to her beloved Jane Austens, she paused to pick the perfect one. Mr. Darcy's letter to Elizabeth? Mr. Knightly's declaration of feelings? Even Catherine Morland's delicious imagined frights in a manor house did not seem out of place this evening.

"There you are."

Amy yelped and turned. "Oh, Sheldon."

"I thought I lost my bride, but it should have immediately occurred to me that I'd find you in the library."

"I - I woke up and you were gone, so I thought perhaps I'd read whilst I waited for your return."

He stepped close, very close, and Amy pressed the copy of Northanger Abbey to her chest. "Are you so impatient as that?" he leaned to whisper, and Amy closed her eyes at the strong scent of his special American soap. He had on his dressing gown and his pajama bottoms, but the deep V of his chest was bare, accented with a smattering of dark hairs. The manliness of it struck her in a way she would not have expected.

"Y-you showered again?"

"Leonard recommended it." Sheldon reached for the book in her grasp, and she let him take it. His arm easily stretched over her shoulder to put it back, and Amy had to squeeze against the shelf to make room. He did not move away when he said, "He suggested something that perhaps might prove . . . helpful. I felt that - that perhaps I should have taken his advise the first time."

"The first time? Are you saying . . .?" Amy's pulse increased. "Should we - should we return upstairs?"

Still very near, Sheldon brushed a lock of hair away with his finger, turning his knuckle against her skin and following the line of her cheek. "You look beautiful here, Amy. You always have."

"Here?"

His reply was a kiss, warm but rapidly heating. He pressed her against the spines of the books behind her, his hands trailing down the sides of her dressing gown. She wanted to bury her hands in his hair, but it was still damp, so she settled for holding onto his broad shoulders. He felt . . . softer, she realized. There was not so much tension in his body and his movements were less stiff.

Almost before she realized it, he was untying her dressing gown, the sheen of the satin allowing the knot to loosen with ease. As it fell open, he pulled back and looked down at the exposed strip of her body. There were no blankets to cover her now.

"What a scandalously sheer garment this is. I did not know they made such things. It doesn't seem to serve any purpose."

Amy shrugged and the smooth satin fell further, one shoulder dropping. "I believe the sheerness is its purpose."

"Perhaps," Sheldon murmured, touching her newly exposed nipple through the gown, and Amy bit back a moan.

Then he untied the ribbon over one shoulder and a triangle of fabric fell, exposing half her chest, and he bent to catch her nipple in his mouth. Amy hissed before covering her mouth with a hand. Yes, this was different than before. He seemed more confident, and when he started to suckle, Amy arched against the books behind her, her body angling to press against him, and she gripped his shoulders tightly.

Dropping her nipple from his mouth, Sheldon wrapped her waist with his arm and pulled her toward him. His lips settled back on hers as his palm slid down the space between her lingerie and the dressing gown, leaving gooseflesh behind, and then, suddenly, his fingertips met the flesh of her thigh before they trailed back up, stopping to toy with her dark curls.

"May I?" he whispered, his lips only pulling away enough to form the words.

"Yes." She kissed him as he discovered her.

His finger moved slowly this time, tracing the valleys and ridges of her private space, and Amy exhaled slowly into his mouth. When he found the part that ached for him, she bit back a moan. It seemed that he needed no instruction, having learned from the first experience, his touch both gentle and slow, a delicious agony of pleasure building within her. Kissing became impossible, and she tilted her head back and closed her eyes to shield her from Sheldon's piercing gaze. She had not expected that he would watch her so closely, and she didn't wish to appear . . . what? The pressure increased with the gradual ramping of his speed as his finger created shapes and waves of bliss within her.

At the least second, she had sense enough to clench her jaw and bury her face in his shoulder, her climax coming in a series of huffs and almost-snorts against the fine broadcloth of his dressing gown. It was a fight she knew well, holding back the overwhelming euphoria for propriety's sake. His strong arm still encircled her, holding her upright against the bookcase. The last swell of pleasure receded and she slumped back, her head lolling over the row of Austen's, which, later, in her memory, would please her greatly.

But, now, she opened her eyes to find Sheldon studying her, his eyes dark, his lids narrowed. He looked . . . confused?

"What's wrong? Are you in pain?" he asked, his voice thick with concern.

"No. No!" Amy grabbed his biceps. "It was - Sheldon, it was - quite good."

"But your face. You tried to hide your face from me, but I saw you worrying your jaw. Like you were fighting off pain. I do not want to hurt you. You promised you would tell me if I did."

She debated about telling him that she always did this, muffling herself under her quilts between the paper-thin walls of her rooming house, but she did not know if such an idea would startle him. "Oh, Sheldon, it was the very opposite of pain." She cupped his cheek in her palm. "I was trying to be quiet. So no one heard me. That's all."

"Why?"

"Because - because it's unseemly, I suppose."

"Amy," he leaned forward and kissed her lips, gently, "do not be silent. Please. For months, all I wanted was to hear the sound of your voice, to know what it sounded like when I read your words in the newspaper. And then I did, here in this room, on our walks, and then in your letters, and I shall never tire of it in any of its forms. I want to know all of them."

"Alright." They studied each other a moment, until Amy finally said, "Perhaps now we should move upstairs?"

Instead of answering, Sheldon took her hand and tugged her toward the unlit fireplace, walking backward as he led her. Amy followed him, amused and surprised as this was even farther from the door. She let him draw her to the center of the four chairs there, and she watched as he drew her dressing gown off her arms and gently laid it over the ottoman. Then he untied the other strap of her negligee, letting it fall to the floor, the loose gathering under her bust being no match for gravity. Now Amy stood before him, completely naked and yet she did not feel exposed, not with Sheldon. Instead, she stood calmly as he removed his own dressing gown and laid it over top of hers.

They stood before each other like this, as though they were Adam and Eve. Amy took him his broad, pale chest, the smattering of dark chest hair, the flat but not firm stomach, and then the thin line of dark hair running beneath his navel to the waistband of his pants. He had not removed these but his arousal was evident, straining against the fabric, and she wondered what was stopping him.

"I'd like to try something, if I may. I won't promise I'll do it correctly, but I have been promised you'll enjoy it."

Curiosity burned within her, but she remembered the surprise of his newly-found skill by the bookshelf, and she decided to ask nothing other than, "What do I do?"

"Lie back and enjoy, I believe."

"Where?"

"On the ottoman, I think."

First, she sat and then Sheldon knelt in front of her. It occurred to her what, perhaps, he was going to do. She had read of such a thing, something said to be French in origin although she doubted it. But first, he buried his face in her breasts and lavished them with kisses so that she arched for him to get closer. It was so easy, then, to fall back on her elbows and allow him to kiss down her body, past her navel, over the jut of her hips, spreading her legs for him as he went. He went still for a moment, looking down between her thighs, and she wondered if he'd lost the nerve or the intention, but then his gentle fingers spread her open and her nails dug into the fabric beneath her. He looked up at her, his eyes bright blue. He lowered his face but his eyes never left hers. The first feeling of him was his fingertip, feather-soft, even lighter than his exploring had been earlier, and she almost giggled at the sensation. Then something else, a kiss she realized, to her most private of spaces but firm enough that she drew a hard breath. She saw, for a second, his tongue escape his lips and she threw her head back at its first pass over her, not just a dart but a long, languid path up from her center to the small bit, swollen still from his earlier efforts, that made her moan deeply. She did not know if she could have silenced it if she wished, as it came from some buried new part within her.

The next pass was shorter, concentrated on where she needed it, and her arms lost their strength. Her head fell back against the ottoman, but it was barely big enough for her and her hair fell off the edge. She tilted her head back, easily able to do so, and then she tipped forward again. She abandoned herself to the feeling of Sheldon's mouth sliding slow and hot between her legs. His hands snaked around her hips, holding her open wider, and she rocked against him. She tried, in a fracture of thoughts, to catalogue the sensations of such a new experience, to find the words to describe the feeling she never imagined could be so sweet. Was this always better than it would be with his hand? Or was he somehow more skilled at this? Then it changed, and she realized with a full body shiver that he was sucking on her gently. She felt like he was massaging her from the inside out, and, for a second, she wondered where he researched this, but then she felt his hand slide up her body and his fingers interwove with her own. It was this, the feeling of his hand within hers, that seemed to release something within her, and she tipped back again, her body bucking into him, bringing the pressure closer. She knew without looking that he was watching her, as her skin felt aflame with the bright fire burning in his blue eyes. Her whole world was reduced to the path of his gaze and the flame from his tongue.

It could have been the atmosphere of the library or the timing on her wedding night, or perhaps it was just the newness of the experience, but she knew it was Sheldon that both emboldened and exhilarated her. Everything spilled over and she let go of every hesitation and inhibition and fear she'd ever felt over her body. Why should she hide this part of their love from him, when she had shamelessly defended all the other aspects of their connection? There was nothing shameful in this love. She cried out, so loud and strong it took her a second to comprehend it was her, calling out her passion for him, letting him respond by washing over her again and again.

It ended in a shudder, her muscles weak and spent. Never had she felt a climax so intense. Sheldon was suddenly next to her, brushing her hair away from her face. She opened her eyes to him and tried to smile.

"I was correct," he said softly. "I shall hear that sound in my dreams."

"Please don't make me wait for your dreams to feel it again."

His eyebrows raised but then he smiled, a sly, satisfied thing. Then he stood, untying his pajama pants and letting them fall to the floor. Amy pulled herself upright and tried, but failed, not to look. When he reached for her hand, she let him help her to her feet, before he further arranged their discarded clothing on the floor, between two chairs, before pulling her down with him. They stretched out next to each other, Sheldon wrapping his arm around her.

"I wanted to try something else, to please you again. I rather like the repetition of the number three, don't you? But - but I think perhaps - that is, if you don't think it's too soon -"

"Yes."

"I don't want to hurt you again."

Amy let her hand explore his chest. "Please."

"And your device? Do you still . . .?"

"Yes."

It was not so awkward this time, naked as they already were, and it seemed now to Amy that Sheldon's slender hips were made to fit between her thighs. She tried not to hold her breath, and when he entered her, more deliberately it seemed to her, it was not nearly so painful as it was before. There was no pause or impediment until he filled her completely.

"Ohhhh," she breathed out under his watchful gaze.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

She nodded, her hair rustling against the floor beneath her. "Yes. It's just - like I'm being stretched this time."

He pulled back, and when he filled her again, she felt her hips rise to meet him, welcoming him back. "Oh, Amy, you feel so wonderful," he said, his voice thick. "Even better."

Wanting him closer, she wrapped her arms about him and pulled her knees up, which surprised them both that he slipped even deeper. Sheldon shivered in response, squeezing his eyes. He relaxed there a moment before he lifted up on his elbows. Their faces were so close that Amy could read the concentration on his forehead. "I'm afraid it will be like last time," he whispered, his eyes darting away.

But he had seen and tasted the most intimate part of her, and she wanted him to realize that he could, too, could let go of inhibitions and conventions. "However it goes," she said, "it will not change how much I love you."

He licked his lips and nodded.

It started slowly, each stroke long and deep within her and Amy started to greet each one, aching for the sensation of all of him. She watched him, and their eyes never wavered from each other, as they found a rhythm together, first of breath and then with their bodies. His face was serious, his mouth set in a firm line, and his eyes burning into hers. It was like that first night she saw him, the crackling ribbon from his gaze, the sharpness of his features as he studied her. Gradually the speed increased, and Amy lowered her hands to cup his bottom, each thrust a flex of the muscles beneath. Her legs came up even higher, the soles of her feet brushing his lower thighs, allowing him to bottom out within her and he grunted at the change. Just like on the ottoman, the exposure of his stare only increased her arousal, as though she was being charted by his lust. Everything about it was raw physicality: the thrusting, the flexing, the primal staring, the heaving breathing, the throbbing building within her again. But it was also something new, something beyond a mere physical joining with Sheldon, surrounding him and making him a part of her.

"Amy," he groaned deeply, hardly able to keep his eyes open now, his neck straining. Each thrust was fast and deep, his pelvic ridge rubbing against her most enjoyably.

"It's - it's - alright - ohhhhhhhh!" She arched beneath him as her eyes squeezed shut, a thrill of emotion and physical satisfaction cresting when she had not expected it. "Oh - oh! Sheldon!"

Without his head buried in her neck, Amy heard Sheldon join her, his cry a deeper sound, something fierce, and her only regret was that she could not watch him as he had watched her. At last spent, he collapsed onto her, heavy and hot onto her breasts. Overcome, Amy kissed his face, each kiss a frantic with joy.

He exhaled slowly and he rolled off of her. She did not want him to leave, even though it was hard to breathe with all his weight upon her, so she followed him, rolling so that her head was on his still-heaving chest. He wrapped an arm around her.

"I quite enjoyed that."

"Me, too," Amy giggled, happy not just to be a wife in every sense, to have experienced this new and marvelous thing with him, but also that there was no reason for him to be moody and prideful about his performance. She played with his patch of chest hair. "Sheldon?"

"Mmmm?"

"I love you. And I love that it was here, in the library."

"I love you, too." He kissed the top of her head and rubbed her shoulder with his hand.

"Sheldon?"

"Yes?"

"Will we really sleep in separate beds?"

"I hadn't thought so, unless one of us is ill. Or if it turns out you flail about and leave me bruised." He paused, and then whispered, "Do you wish to?"

Quickly and too loudly for the intimacy of the moment, Amy replied, "No, not at all."

"Good." He gave her a light squeeze.

"Sheldon?"

"Is there someone else here I am unaware of?"

Amy rolled her eyes. Coitus had not, it seemed, changed him too greatly. "The - that thing - on the ottoman . . . was that in a textbook?" She felt him stiffen a bit beneath her and she tilted to look up at him. "I'm only curious because it was so . . . wonderful."

He relaxed. "Please don't think poorly of the conversational topics I have engaged in today, but, um, Leonard suggested it. To be clear, I did not inquire." Grinning, Amy lowered her head and snuggled up closer to him.

Remembering his comment about the shower, Amy said, "And the showers, too?"

"I would have bathed anyway, of course. But -" he cleared his throat "- Leonard made some recommendations for the shower." Sheldon sighed. "Perhaps I should have given more credence to his advice, from the very beginning. But I didn't want you to think I was lecherous, although I see now that perhaps it's merely . . . concupiscent."

"Such good words," Amy murmured. "Although I don't think anything has ever been merely concupiscent."

"I suppose this shall now be fodder for your next puzzle?"

"I highly doubt it would be fit to print." She frowned. "More's the pity."

He made a soft sound and kissed the top of her head. "Will you still write to me?" he whispered.

Amy pushed herself up to look down at him. "What do you mean?"

Blinking up her, Sheldon said, "I think I'll miss your letters. And the puzzles that you claim have nothing to do with me, and yet I often find myself within the squares. Or maybe us. No, better yet, you. I always find you there."

"I would write you a letter every day if you wish. So you would know the depths of my love." Amy bent over and kissed him softly. "But I'm here now. I shall write a whole series of puzzles on rural Cambridgeshire just for you, My Lord, to remind you of it." Sheldon raised an eyebrow. "And, if you're a very, very good lord, perhaps I shall create for you an especially naughty puzzle to solve."

"I'm not certain that's a very Ladylike - with a capital L - thing to do."

She tapped his cheek lightly with her finger. "Ah, but I am not just a countess. I'm a cruciverbalist."

Amy bridged her new life with her old life with a kiss, melting into the warmth of Sheldon's strong arms as he encircled her, finding her whole life with him in their library.

To be continued . . .

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