Disclaimer: I have never really written such an intimate scene before so hopefully, it is decent. Also, if you do not like sex scenes... why are you even here? :D
In the pale light of an early-winter morning, he worshipped her body.
With slow, light fingers he drew circles and ornaments into her skin, alternating his palms with the rougher texture of his knuckles. Her eyes were closed and whatever clothes she had worn had disappeared. She was no longer sitting astride his lap. She was lying on the altar of his bed, surrounded by the sea of soft blankets and pillows. Completely exposed to his gaze and will, because that was exactly what she wanted to be. She chose to trust him, to submit to him tonight, so chase of the terror of what had happened before. Then she was used against her wishes, against her pleading, brutalized without a thought. Her dignity and her right to choose was snatched away from her. Not tonight. Tonight she offered herself, gave herself entirely to the man she wanted. She only prayed he would not refuse her. She could not live with that.
He knew all that. He realized from the moment she had led his hands to her breasts and encouraged him to fondle, squeeze and simply feel, that she needed him to love her, asked him to love her and nothing more. His heart was bursting with unspeakable emotion at her fragility and yet her utter bravery mirrored in her decision to relinquish control. She was the one to initiate things, but he would be the one leading them on - or stop and withdraw.
He would not stop. He could not. He did not want to.
His lips followed his fingertips. All over her precious face, placing the lightest of kisses against the tender skin of her eyelids and temples, drinking from her mouth deeply. Her neck and her shoulders were perfectly smooth, like living marble. Her natural scent surrounded him completely and he felt almost light-headed then. Her head was arched back against the pillows, her arms resting above it. He could do whatever he wanted and she decided to let him. To trust him. He would not hurt her, not he. Not ever. She would not admit the terror which was still raging inside her soul at being so exposed and vulnerable. She would conquer it. With him, the one whose gentle hands now cupped her breasts and thumbs tenderly circled their hard peaks, even as his hot lips pressed repeatedly against the spot of her madly-beating heart. Her breath caught in her throat. She felt icy cold everywhere where he was not, and impossibly at whatever place he touched. The fear was slowly slipping away, chased away little by little by Harm and his earnest ministrations to her body.
Soon his fingers and his lips were joined by his tongue. He wanted to more than just to remember her shape, just to caress every tiny spot which made her tremble and sigh. He wanted to taste her and so he did. He slowly moved downward. His firm, but always gentle hands kneaded he outer thighs and his mouth made love to her belly. He stayed there for a bit. She was obviously very sensitive there, her breathes coming out shorter and quicker every time he nibbled or licked or kissed her there. His overwhelming wonder at the gift that was she dimmed for a moment there too. Looking at her, feeling her under him, he was again reminded at how much weight she had lost. How much she had suffered and that it would still take time for her to heal completely. He also could not help but contemplate for a moment that the very spot he was kissing would most probably never swell with his child, and no matter what that idea was still tearing him up inside. He determinedly placed both his palms on her waist and laid his forehead on her lower belly, sending a silent prayer to the Heaven above. Let her heal. Let her conceive. Let her feel the flutter of their baby moving in here one day, one day soon. Please. I love her.
Mac was too aroused for any conscious thoughts by then. She had spent the past weeks and almost months trying not to feel and to deaden every sensation, punishing herself and even harming herself. There was always some pain or the memory and fear of it. There was no pain now. She felt as if a thousand butterflies covered her naked body and made her tingle. As if the tender blossoms of tiny flowers suddenly grew and bloomed wherever she had been touched. There was only one word in her mind. Harm.
Her legs had parted a long time ago, but he took his time. He slowly, repeatedly ran his hands down her long, long legs, pressing his cheek to her inner thigh. He breathed her in. She was not the only one trembling all over. He had somehow got rid of his boxers, even though he was not yet sure if the act would be taken as far as their bodies being actually joined. There were other ways he could bring her pleasure, other ways to help her find her release and with it the knowledge that he would never harm her, that he was not like that other one. With every touch, he was loving her as well as washing away the memory of that bastard's hands. It did not matter that he was rock hard, had been for a while now, and that it actually was starting to hurt. This night was for her and he would not cheapen it by simply taking what his body demanded. And those other ways to please her were nothing but pleasure for him too.
He dipped his head and his hungry mouth finally came into contact with her centre. Her back arched and a soft, long cry of ecstasy escaped her. His tongue delved as deep inside of her as it could, tasting and licking every crease, then pressing flat out against her whole sex, finally teasing the little bundle of nerves right above her opening. Her soft cries running into moans and he could feel the muscles in her thighs tighten under his palms. He never stopped his ministrations, but he looked up. He could not see her face, as it was thrown back, but he saw her arms move down and touched neck, her collarbone, her breasts, as if she was only now discovering this was her body, it was alive and she, as well as he, could make it feel good. Oh, so good! On instinct, his own hands left her thighs and he reached out to her, intertwining their fingers. Their joined hands were on her breasts, applying pressure and caresses at will.
She was close. It would not take long or too much for her to reach her climax. He regretted for a moment that her very first orgasm he was responsible for would not be theirs together and he tried to ignore his painfully swollen member. His hips were involuntarily rubbing against the blankets, trying to find at least some release. He had never felt this aroused. Never.
She cried out, sobbed out his name almost. Her body completely lost control and he proudly watched the spasms of muscles under her skin, as she reached the climax. It took a little while for her to come down and when she did her face was serene and her eyes half-lidded.
"Harm," she whispered then and did not say anything more. Every feeling of love, respect and gratitude was woven into that one syllable.
He stayed in between her legs for a few more moments, breathing in her scent, much stronger now that she had orgasmed. God, he wanted, needed her. She was completely limp and relaxed now, but his own body was protesting his resistance to seek the ultimate release. This was not about him, he kept reminding himself, but with the taste of her on his palms and on his tongue, those were quickly becoming mere feeble words. Whe he couldn't take it anymore, he abruptly got up from the bed and made his way into the bathroom. The plan was simple. He would rush into the shower. He would turn on water. He would see nothing but her in his mind as he would take his member into his hand and work it hard and fast. He could not take it anymore.
"Harm?"
Her voice, suddenly alarmed and full of panic made him stop and turn. She had now moved, but her head was turned to him and her dark eyes were large, larger than ever before.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing, nothing at all. I'll be right back," he assured her. His instincts were already taking over. She saw him grab his penis and stroke it. She saw the rigid stance and tense muscles. She knew. She held out her hand to him in an invitation, her other hand moved in between her legs, where she was already missing him. She stroked herself lightly. It was nice, but it was nothing compared to what he had made her feel.
"Come here," she said.
"Mac, if I come near you right now, I am not sure how it is going to play out. I cannot, I will not hurt you."
"No, you won't," she said with such trust and conviction he made a step towards her. His eyes were fixed on her hand as she caressed herself. His own hand moved over his member with more vehemence, but he still struggled with the final decision.
She opened her legs wider then, her eyes never leaving his face.
"Come here, Harm, please. Be with me. I want you... I want you inside me. All of you. Please?"
How could he deny a request like that, so lovingly worded? He couldn't! He carefully climbed back into bed and found himself pressed against her again, his palms framing her gorgeous face, his lips yet again discovering the features of her face. His heart seemed to beat right above hers. His hardness cradled in between the soft, silky creases of her sex.
"Come home, Harm," she whispered into his ear and he felt her legs encircle his waist and hold on, as she offered him the entry into her body. Her cheek was pressed against his shoulder. "Just... Just be patient with me."
Entering her felt like nothing he had ever felt. It was so much more than just the physical reaction. It was the fulfilment of fantasies and longing of eight long years. It was the desire to please her and not to hurt her. Whatever he would do, hurting her was simply unacceptable. He was slow. Pushing just a tiny bit inside, staying and then withdrawing back. He repeated the motion, pressing just a tiny more of himself into her as she got used to his size. He knew he was well-endowed. He was never one to whip up the measuring stick when at college or the Academy (as he knew some of his classmates were), but he had also had enough sexual encounters to know the women tended to be quite impressed. For the first time ever he was terrified this blessing might prove a curse. Whatever happened, he would not hurt her. He repeated that to himself over and over. He stopped moving every time she whimpered or hissed, tried to withdraw completely, but found she would not let him. Her ankles were firmly clasped behind his knees. She would just motion for him to stop for a moment, just so her body had a chance to adjust and to relax the muscles inside for him to safely continue. While previously she had let him love her freely, without watching, she was now constantly opening her eyes. His heart hurt as he understood. No matter how much she tried, there was still the underlying memory of Webb. Whenever she felt a nightmarish memory come in as she opened her body to Harm, she would look at him. She was making sure it was him.
He started talking then when his laboured breathing allowed him to. He wanted her to hear his voice. "I love you" and "I am here" and "I will not hurt you" fell softly from his lips. She seemed calmer then, but she would still search for his face.
It felt like forever and it felt like Heaven and Hell at the same time. Heaven because it was so indescribably beautiful. Hell because his whole body ached with tenseness and screamed for release which was promised but not coming yet. Then he was finally inside of her completely. He held onto her, not moving, his face buried in her neck. She felt so incredibly soft and hot. He felt her fingers gently twining his short hair. He never ever wanted to leave.
This woman was everything. Forever.
After a long while, he felt her hips lift slowly, nudging him in a clear signal that she was now completely ready for him. He kissed her deeply and began. They gazed into each other's eyes and breathed in unison as he left her and returned, him a lost ship on the stormy seas and she the safe harbour he would give his life to enter. He was tender and slow, carefully noting everything about her. He asked her a few times, whether he was too rough, or if what he was doing was OK, if she was not hurting at all. In response she moved under him, quivering like a soft wave, willing her body accept him again and again. She would never tell him it did hurt a bit, but not because of her illness, simply because it had been too long since she had made love and he was truly magnificent. She cherished that bit of pain which let her know he was indeed here, he was inside of her, taking what she offered and giving so much back in return.
He held onto his sense as long as possible. He needed to finish, he needed it so badly.
"It' OK," she said suddenly, looking him in the eyes. "Let go, Harm. You won't hurt me. Please. Let go. Come home."
So he did. Abandoning the slow pace, though never the tenderness, he drove into her faster, his hips slamming into hers repeatedly until the only sounds in the world were his moans, her cries and the primal beat of skin upon skin.
He saw a bright, white light when he finally found his release, her name falling with a shuddering breath from his lips.
"Sarah."
Sarah. That one name was his everything. The only word he would ever need now. A song. A prayer. A promise. A breath of life.
Love.
They were both completely drenched with sweat, both shivering from sudden cold and exhaustion brought on by both the physical and emotional strain. Blindly he reached for a discarded blanket, wrapping her within it and his own warmth. It was completely light outside, when they fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, still intimately joined.
She would never doubt him again.
