Author's Note: I've been working on this chapter (and one for my other WIP, "Of Magic, Miracles, and Moonlight) for what feels like forever (nearly two months, methinks!). Real life presented obstacles in the form of exhaustion (Christmas in the retail world), technology challenges (don't even get me started) and illness. I'm thrilled and excited to finally have something to share today! However...it's coming in around 16 pages, and I worry I'm straining my Kind Readers' patience with such a long, ultimately self-indulgent chapter; but only YOU can be the judge of that.
However (again) I decided to go forward despite the length for two reasons. First, so few people are actually following this story, that I dare to think those that are will bear with me and find the delight I intended for Jamie Fannie in every paragraph of this chapter. And second, I have pleased myself, I admit unabashedly-again, as so few people have an interest in this tale after all. So onward to the words we go, shall we? As ever, thank you for reading...and please don't hesitate to let me know what you think! xx
Fannie woke with a start, an hour or so before dawn. She'd been dreaming that same dream again, though some of the details had changed. She had been waltzing with Jamie, trusting in his lead, trusting in him entirely, as she always did now. Her charismatic, brilliant, beautiful Jamie; her stalwart soldier, her lover too far from her arms. In dreams she danced with him—on her luckiest nights-though in the waking world they hadn't yet had that chance.
They hadn't really had the chance for very much at all, their time together having been comprised of only seven nights in total, a few summer afternoons, plus all the daylight hours of those last two days he'd been in London. Her friends insisted that it wasn't nearly enough time for her to believe they had a future together-if he even survived the war—but they didn't know her Jamie. There was no if when it came to Jamie; there was only when he would return from those foreign fields, only the when, when he would call upon her again at last, a triumphant hero-to dazzle her with his charmingly crooked smile, his full-throated laugh, and the way he spoke her name that made her want to melt into whatever he desired of her. He would conquer the Germans as handily as he had conquered her, and so return and fulfill the promises he had made to her. And redeem those she had made to him. Fannie had staked her heart upon it—after years of holding it aloof-and her faith in him was resolute.
Contrary to her usual wisdom, Fannie had begun to fall for Jamie Stewart from her very first hour in his company. Intrigued by the eloquence and confidence of his dinner invitation, flattered by his shameless declaration of infatuation, she had chanced meeting him—believing that the vow she'd undertaken after New York City would be enough to protect her (as it had been for years) from hazarding her heart. She had been a green young thing in New York, naïve in the ways of men, and idealistic about romantic love, and thus had learned the hardest lessons of her life: trust not the honeyed promises of men; gird yourself well against the flattery and lies they tell to win their way into your bed. After Nathaniel had destroyed her little world and left her bereft of honor and innocence, Fannie had sworn to never allow a man to get the better of her in a love affair; to never let her heart overrule good common sense…and to always, always be the one to do the leaving, rather than the one that's left behind. How could she have anticipated that this extraordinary stranger would effortlessly lay waste to all those years of safeguarding her heart?
Or of how quickly and spectacularly Jamie Stewart had made her break the rules she had set for herself—from nearly the first moment she had laid eyes upon him in The Savoy; how tall and straight he had stood in his officer's uniform, his shoulders broad, his posture impossibly perfect, like a golden arrow notched and ready to fly straight, unwaveringly to its mark. Then there was the pale blue of his eyes, catching glints of the candlelight, watching her with an unlikely mix of cool calm and banked heat; 'twas that heat that had sent the first shivers of longing down her spine, and the first warning that she might have met her Waterloo at last. Her dearest Jamie's eyes—which had haunted her sleep in the nights that had followed their initial meeting, and long after his leave had ended and he'd departed for his base in Surrey-were a pale, crystalline blue, but with changes in the light they became a deeper, more compelling blue, and which she was later to learn could also hold a kaleidoscope of color, all too easy to lose herself within. The power of his forthright gaze, and the unabashed hunger that it held, were such that soon Fannie realized that she was likely to allow him to lead her…anywhere.
In spite of her steadfast rules, her then unknown cavalier had proven too handsome (in equal measure to his other sterling qualities) for her to disregard upon that first meeting. A noble brow that sat well with his obvious intellect, and the finest of smile lines beside his remarkable eyes; the planes and angles of his face like some gorgeous Renaissance sculpture, with full, sensuous lips that would be the envy of most of the chorus girls she knew, and which left her pondering how they might feel in the kissing, and how they might spoil her skin were he to trace them upon her secret places. And though Fannie normally preferred her men clean-shaven, that rule fell by the wayside as well, without even a bit of internal debate—the color of his mustache a shade darker than his auburn hair, and combined with his complexion and bone structure, a perfect and fitting touch of masculinity.
And so upon these autumn days and nights, Jamie Stewart lived both in her heart and in her most blessed dreams. It seemed to her now as destiny—or at least a destiny that had come of his determination. Fannie hadn't stood a chance as he had pursued her during June's midsummer heat, squiring her to fine luncheons and decadent late night dinners, strolling her through quaint city parks and lush arboretums, escorting her to the National Gallery and the Victoria & Albert Museum, generous in spoiling her with posh sights and gastronomic delights, and all while being remarkably conversant on a wide variety of topics—and never, never asking for more than she might willingly give. Her company, her smiles, her laughter. Bestowing modest kisses upon her to begin with, which grew to a passion she had rarely surrendered to in the years since she had arrived in London.
At each evening's end, he would bid her goodnight outside the door of her Hackney flat, and Fannie would allow him increasing liberty in touching her—knowing she was crossing the line of propriety, but craving the worship of his strong hands—all the while imagining how it would be to lay beneath him. To give herself over to a man—to this spectacular man—as she had not done so completely since Nathaniel. To give Jamie all the pleasure he surely desired of her-knowing instinctively that he would place her pleasure above his own. Fannie burned for him in her lonely bed those last few nights, well after he'd left her warmed from his feverish kisses and breath-taking touch—her best comfort those nights the certainty that he burned for her as well, in his fancy Mayfair mansion, miles and miles away from satisfaction.
On the final night of his leave, she had dared inviting him in, reading first his surprise, and then his eagerness, in his astonishingly beautiful eyes. She'd had a long moment of doubt as the gas lamp flickered to life, wondering what he would think of her shabby little room with its threadbare rug and second-hand furnishings. He must already have surmised that much of her glamour was borrowed—clothes and jewelry on loan from The Apollo's costume stock—though he was too much of a gentleman to mention it. But what would Jamie think of her living so poorly? Why she hadn't even a bottle of good whiskey to offer him a drink! Would he want her still, once this sad bit of her truth was finally revealed?
Yet it seemed he made no particular note of the poorness of the place, as she waited by the bed: instead of disapproval, he offered her his sweet, slightly lopsided smile, while he raised her chin to kiss her gently. Fannie remained still, with her eyes closed, and gave a heartfelt sigh. Jamie hummed softly, before rumbling her name, "Ah, my dear, lovely Fan…"
She opened her eyes and beamed him a smile, understanding that their surroundings mattered not a bit to him after all, for he only had eyes for her this night. She stepped into him, sliding her hands beneath his lapels, guilelessly offering her lips to him, beginning to melt when he kissed her slowly, and gladly molding her body to his, all while held tight in the shameless demand of his embrace.
Jamie's kisses were patient and satisfying—and as they deepened, tasted of the hot need building between them. Fannie had dared her fingertips to the nape of his neck, brushing them through his hairline; his body tensed against hers, and he groaned into her mouth. She felt an unexpected power in this, and surprise that she might draw a little recklessness from the man who seemed so perpetually in control. The silken claim of his lips, the insistence of his tongue thrust against hers, and the compelling strength of his hands gripping her shoulders, all made her whimper, heating her blood beyond anything she had ever felt for any would-be lover. Beyond even what she'd felt in her naiveté, once she had finally allowed Nathaniel to seduce her.
Gasping for air, Jamie had released her from his probing kiss, and Fannie had opened her eyes to find him looking at her wide-eyed, as though shocked at his own behavior. "I don't want to hurt you," he husked desperately, "My darling, forgive me…"
"You haven't, dear…my dearest Jamie," she rushed to assure him, brushing her lips upon his, breathing her trust in him against his skin. She scattered soothing kisses on his cheek, promising him, "And I know you never will."
He straightened his shoulders and gently urged her away enough to study her face, giving the barest shake of his head as he took in her simple truth—prompting her to her sweetest smile, and moving her to trace first his brow, and then the perfect line of his cheekbone. Jamie caught her hand in his and turned his face to tenderly kiss her palm.
Fannie kept her gaze focused on his face, content to allow him to decide their course. Releasing her hand, Jamie deftly pulled the combs from her hair, tossing them onto the bed behind her, and loosing its thick, dark waves into his hands. "So soft," he murmured, fingering a generous swath, then moving in to nuzzle it, while deeply inhaling its scent, "I knew it would be…I've wanted to do this from the moment we met…I've needed to, sweet Fan…"
She nodded, clinging to him, trembling with a need surely equal to his own. "I know, darling…I know," she managed, kissing along his jaw and the side of his neck, "It's been the same for me." You rob me of any shred of modesty, she had thought; you make me want everything I've denied myself for so very long!
"Ah, Fan," he exclaimed, swiftly echoing her thoughts, "I know I should be a gentleman…I am, I swear I am a gentleman…but you make me so eager to forget myself…and each time I leave you is harder than the last…" Fannie swore she could feel his honor vying with his need to taste and touch and love her.
"You…you could stay a while, you know," she suggested, inspired by the naked plea in his mesmerizing eyes—then turned shy, having spoken aloud what was most on both their minds, "If…if you'd like to, that is…"
He was bold in his scrutiny of her, as though trying to discern how far her offer meant for them to go. The heat of his gaze made her feel like a rare, tropical flower beneath the scorching, midday sun—needing to bask in its life giving light, yet wondering if its intensity would mean her immolation.
He did not speak, but moved to loosen his tie instead, and she reached to help him pull it away from his collar, finally unbuttoning the top two buttons for him. The urge to kiss the base of his throat, to savor his warmth and his scent, was undeniable, and he moaned her name when she gave into it.
Eventually, Jamie tugged her silken shawl away, leaving it to puddle on the floor at her feet, allowing him to warmly nuzzle to her shoulders, and run his fingers on her bare back. Impatient for an equal share of his skin, she plucked at his jacket between kisses, until he chuckled into her mouth, "Let me do it, darling," while pulling back enough to do so. Fannie watched him remove his jacket and fold it carefully before laying it on the battered steamer trunk at the foot of the bed, marveling at his precision, at his calm despite the growing heat in the room. Jamie's back was to her, and the sight of the lay of his braces stilled her breath for several moments, for it accented not only the strong breadth of his shoulders and upper back, but also the very masculine beauty of the gracious curve of his lower back into his trim waist—all of it conspiring to awaken in her a frisson of unexpected lust. There was no other word to describe it, as it roiled through her belly on downwards. And she still barely breathed as he turned her way once more, overwhelmed as she was by his every detail. No man had ever affected her so viscerally, and Fannie realized that tonight she would freely give him whatever he asked of her. Without hesitation.
Standing before her again, Jamie drew her against him with one hand on the small of her back and the other cupped warmly against her neck. "Are you quite sure about this, love?"
Unable to speak it—for fear her voice might quaver like a foolish schoolgirl's—she nodded ardently; to hear him call her so had sent a sharp thrill of longing coursing through her veins. Then he was kissing her again, stealing her breath, tasting her so deeply that Fannie went weak, knowing his embrace was the only thing keeping her legs from giving out. They broke from the kiss, both panting for air, and her knees simply buckled, landing her gracelessly upon the bed.
Jamie gave a quiet, satisfied chuckle, his grin a little victorious, and looking quite pleased with her reaction. Before her widened eyes, he slid the straps of his braces away, leaving them to hang at his sides—an invitation she could not resist. Fannie reached for him and hooked her fingertips into the waistline of his trousers, to pull him nearer, prompting him to thread the fingers of one hand in her hair, willing her even closer. Hands atremble, she began untucking his shirt, tentatively at first, but with growing confidence as she undid his lower buttons, all as her purpose coalesced. To touch his skin, to taste it, to adorn it with soft, slow kisses, became her sole imperative; the sight of his flesh, the lean, firm muscles of his abdomen, even the depth of his navel and the knowing what lay further below making her pant with desire. She spread her hands beneath his ribs, loving his virile warmth and the strong, clean scent of him, gratified by his sharp intake of breath when she finally touched his bare flesh, and thrilled at his throaty moan and at how completely in thrall he appeared to be in her caresses.
"Ohhhhhh, gawwwwwwd," he moaned again, at the first brush of her lips upon him, burying both of his hands in her hair; how quickly their momentum had changed! Now it seemed that with each kiss she was weakening him. She tilted her face enough to look up at him, and saw that Jamie had let his head fall back a bit, the lines and angles of his striking face relaxed as she'd never witnessed before, relaxed with the pleasure she bestowed upon him. It made her ache to please him all the more.
Delicately, Fannie traced a single finger along his lowest rib, subtly testing his reaction, and gaging his sensitivity. Jamie held still, but she could feel a growing tension in his muscles, elicited by the power of her simple touch alone. She stretched her neck enough to place soft kisses along the same path, and he moaned her name, jerking his hips against her slightly, perhaps not even meaning to.
With his skin so warm and smooth beneath her tender lips and his hands lost in her hair, Fannie slid one hand up through the dusting of pale hair on his sternum and pressed her palm against his chest. She felt the slow, steady rise and fall of his breathing and the strong beat of his heart—but it was the deep vibrations of his drawn-out groan that moved her the most. Mesmerized by the texture of his skin against her mouth, by the flex of his strong fingers in her hair, and by her growing need for every inch of him, she began to rise from the bed, seeking to kiss her way across his chest, while murmuring his name. She whimpered when he seemed to hold her down—but only so he might drop to his knees before her.
Dazed by his strength, his presence, his scent so intimately close, Fannie only managed to open her eyes when he called her his darling. "You've bewitched me, sweet Fan—as no woman ever has," he declared, tenderly taking her face in his hands before brushing his sumptuous lips upon her cheeks, so gently that she moaned without meaning to. I am the bewitched, she had thought, without a hint of regret, while his kisses filled her body with delicious warmth and longing; I am lost now, lost but unafraid—and there is nothing for me now but to concede myself to his will.
Though he knelt at her feet, Jamie was no penitent, nor a beggar for her favor. Fannie was keenly aware of her vulnerability—that were he not an uncommonly good man, he would take her exactly as he pleased—but she fully believed that her trust in him was not misplaced. Although he was clearly hungry for her, he remained patient; though he was keen, he still strived for restraint—even as he settled her back against her feather pillows and joined her on the bed, aligning his body along hers enough to lean over her. It was the most delicious compliment to her femininity, to feel the fullness of his desire lodged between them, while his deep voice went even lower and quite rough with need; to hear him hail her as his sweet angel, as she succumbed to the insistence of his perfect lips adoring the flesh of her neck, her shoulders, and the swell of her breasts.
When he ran his hands beneath the straps of her bodice, she allowed him to slide them away, shrugging enough to free herself from the satin and tulle. Emboldened, Fannie had sought his mouth to exchange hot, wet kisses with him while he nimbly unhooked her corset. Even the fleeting thought that he seemed to know how to do that all too well, the brief recognition that he must have already known a fair share of women in this way, could not cool how vitally she yearned for him. Instead, Fannie had wondered if he could feel how hard her heart was beating for him through the thin cotton fabric that remained between his practiced, confident hands and her skin—and then he had slid her chemise away as well, pulling back enough so he might look at her.
Jamie's beautiful mouth had gone slack at the revelation of her naked breasts, and moments later his darkened eyes—pupils blown large with lust—had lifted to look into her own, as though for permission to go on. Fully submissive, Fannie had softly closed her eyes, and nestled her head a little deeper into the pillow, moaning with shocking abandon when he cupped both breasts in his large palms, kissing them, nuzzling them, and then finally taking her tightened nipples to suckle upon while she nested her hands in his hair. In that exquisite moment, she knew that she had already fallen in love with him-far too soon to be safe, and ever so far from the wisdom that had held her chaste for so long.
Nearly helpless with the need which Jamie had kindled throughout her body, Fannie had to bite her tongue to silence the wanton, unseemly words that begged to spring forth from her lips. He had settled his hands along her ribs, possessive of her flesh, flicking the tip of his tongue against the hard bud of her nipple drawn deep into his mouth—making her groan with the joy of it. He only left off so he could kiss his way along her lower ribs and then down to her navel, his full lips pampering her skin while he tried to tug her dress further down. Fannie lifted her hips, shamelessly allowing him to slide it completely away, leaving her bare to him but for her flimsy cotton knickers. "…so soft…so flawless," he breathed against her flesh as his lips dusted across the narrow span of her hips, "…more beautiful than I dared imagine…and just utterly…utterly…intoxicating…" Jamie's words, coupled with his tender attentions, drew from her a most sinful moan—which melted into a sudden fit of breathy giggles from the graze of his whiskers upon the sensitive dip of her belly.
Fannie covered her mouth at her outburst, batting her eyes innocently at the imperious look he shot her way. Though he raised a brow and pursed his lips, his eyes flashed with good humor "Well, that's a first," he quipped, "You might have mentioned you were ticklish."
She was surprised to feel a heated blush flood her cheeks, considering the liberties she had already freely granted him. "I…I didn't know I was…ticklish…there, I mean…" Fannie gave a little shrug and raised her chin, defying her embarrassment.
Jamie studied her a moment, humming his appreciation quietly. The amusement in his eyes held true, though his desire for her had clearly not abated. "Whatever am I to do with you, lovely Fan," he marveled, almost to himself, before he drew a deep, deep sigh.
Her mouth had gone dry at the heat in his gaze, and at the first answer that came to her mind. "Anything," she had finally managed, unable to quell the tremor in her voice, "Anything, Jamie…everything…if…if you'll still have me…" Fannie held her arms open to him, aching then—even as she did now in the remembering-with all that she was, to feel his skin against hers and to lose herself in whatever he might want of her.
Even as a child, Fannie Moore had always had a vibrant imagination. Her mother—a polished, brilliant product of good breeding and the finest boarding schools in New England—recognized that fact early on in Fannie's childhood, and fed it well, knowing that this trait was solely her gift to her only daughter. Susannah Moore had taught her favorite child to read before the age of five, inculcating in her a love of classic literature, and moving her along to Shakespeare, Chaucer, Homer's epic poems, and Malory's Le Morte d'Arthur by Fannie's early adolescence. Many an evening, Silas Moore would return with his sons from their fields of labor, to find his wife and daughter seated at the kitchen table, reading aloud in turns, or discussing some fine story point in a vocabulary that far outstripped his own; he would scowl at times, but offered no complaint, for he understood it was Susannah's greatest joy to share her culture with Fannie—and Susannah's life had held too few joys since she had fled her family, their fortune, and the future they believed they had written in stone for her.
Exposed to these timeless classics, Fannie's imagination learned to take flight—and the seeds of romanticism were deeply planted in this corn farmer's daughter, to flourish through her growing years. Was it any wonder that she eventually chose a career upon the stage, rejecting (as her mother had in her own prime) her father's plans to marry her to a man fifteen years her senior, in order to consolidate their farmsteads? It had seemed to Fannie—then and now—that she had been born and bred to tread the boards.
Yet Fannie needn't employ an actress's vivid imagination when it came to thoughts of her Jamie; she only needed to close her eyes and clear her mind of all distractions, and such dear, delicious memories would fill her that she could nearly taste his kisses again. Nearly feel the way he had touched her, nearly hear him calling her his. Oh, those few but precious interludes, when he had more than called her his—when he had claimed both her heart and her body for his own! Lost in such longing for him now, she closed her eyes against the hints of dawn's new light filtering through the curtains on the single window of her flat, seeking some share of the sweetness which Jamie had lavished upon her that June night.
She smiled to recall how he had met her silly burst of laughter with easy humor, and then breathed a long, satisfied sigh to remember what had followed. Jamie had moved into her beckoning arms, kissing her tenderly before skimming his lips across her cheek and breathing his warmth against her ear with whispered endearments. Fannie smoothed her hands over his chest and beneath his shirt to stroke his back, arching up against him, answering her need to feel his flesh against her naked skin. He gasped at the sensation, his kisses growing hungrier upon her neck and shoulders, his touch becoming a little fierce, caressing her thoroughly, palming her breasts and using the flat of his hand to tease her stiffened nipples. Fannie's mouth had fallen open as she breathed in time with his caresses, moaning gorgeously, "Darling…my darling…ahhhhhhhh, Jamie…"
He hummed wickedly, lowering his mouth to her collarbone while tracing his free hand across her skin, forging a gentle path along her ribs, then gliding his fingertips in slow, narrowing circles around her navel. Fannie shifted under his touch, subtly raising her hips and seeking to close the gap between their bodies. "Patience…patience, darling," he urged her, "I know what you want, sweet Fan…and I promise we'll get there soon enough…" Powerless to defy whatever course he had planned for them, she purred in soft concession.
Lost in the bliss of his slow, lingering touch, time had ceased to exist for her. Finally, Jamie slipped his elegant, cunning fingers beneath the waistband of her knickers, teasing their tips into the curls that covered her sex, making her moan in the deep of her throat. Fannie knew she was begging, but she hadn't the will to stop herself. "Ohhhhh, Jamie…oh, touch me please…mmmmm…please, I need to belong to you…ahhhhh…make me belong to…youuuuuuuu…"
She gasped of a sudden, raising her pelvis to seek dearer contact, when he rewarded her pleas by spreading his fingers across her mound and then cupping them between her legs and pressing lightly upon her point of greatest sensitivity. "You are mine, sweet Fannie…as I've wanted you from the moment our eyes met that first night, when you sang to me from the stage…" His confession, growled against the tender hollow of her throat, sent her heart soaring. "I'd have you forever mine, darling…your body, all mine…your heart…all mine…"
"Yes…oh yes," she affirmed, encouraged enough by his declaration to dare her hands lower; to grip his hip with one, and lay the other on the cloth concealing his erection. "And you're mine then, Jamie," she implored him, "Truly mine?"
He grunted, struggling to maintain some semblance of control despite her heady willingness; with his face buried against her neck, he promised, "Yes, my sweet…however you'll have me…for however long you'll want me…"
"Now…let it be now…" she panted, moving her hand to his fly, so very eager to begin that she hadn't even paused to marvel at the novelty of its zipper closure, "Jamie…let it be now…please. Fill me now…show me I am yours…" Fannie slipped her fingers inside the slit in his drawers, running them boldly through his coarse hair, then smoothing her fingertips against the hard base of his erection, before finally grasping him full in her warm, soft hand.
Jamie loosed a desperate, strangled sound from deep in his chest, throbbing in her hand, and pressed his own palm harder against her most secret flesh. Fannie gasped in surprise, though she swiftly angled her hips to allow him even more intimate access, while stroking his length with her palm. All the care she had taken in all her time in London—rarely taking a lover, while ever withholding her heart-had come to naught; the idea that he could be her ruin never crossing her mind, her need to be completely his overriding all other considerations. Fearless she became, trusting Jamie entirely, as equally desirous of his pleasure as her own.
His kisses became a bit rough, roving across her chest, as he dared grazing her skin with his teeth; grazing her breasts, then lapping his tongue upon her areola before sucking it hard into his mouth. The decadent sensation sent heat like flame coursing through her belly, which met and merged with the heat stirred in her deepest places as he cleverly fingered her clitoris. No penetration had ever brought her to such a depth of arousal; no lover had ever played her body with such hungry passion. Fannie gripped his cock harder, rubbing her fingertips along it's stiff ridges, and Jamie cursed incoherently as his mouth fell away from her breast, his focus turned solely to the rapture of her touch.
"Christ, Fan," he growled, rising up to let his face linger over hers, "The sins we might commit together!" She nodded her readiness, hypnotized by his hunger, equally hungry for his mouth to stop her breath, and to feel the fullness of his weight upon her as they coupled at last.
Fannie clung to him tightly, her free arm anchored around his neck, wishing he would tear away her knickers at once and just fill her. Fill her to the brim and spend himself deep inside her. His mouth grew even rougher upon her, and it was heavenly to feel him lose control—nor would she rue the bruises that colored her skin from his fierce kisses, come the day's light.
But his breath grew suddenly ragged against her skin, and his body shuddered with unresolved tension-so that she urged him on. "My darling, yes…please…take me…touch me…love me," Fannie stuttered, shocked by her own brazenness, but certain that her heart was now meant to beat at his bidding alone. Yet her plea—meant to assure him of her pure and resolute desire-only seemed to increase his distress.
Jamie grunted amid his most frantic kisses, then leaned his forehead against hers, drawing a gasp through teeth clenched with the strain of fighting the urge to thrust against her hand. He breathed hard and hotly-though to Fannie his breath was ever sweet—and muttered disjointedly, "…no…we shouldn't…this isn't right…"
Stunned at his sudden rebuff, Fannie blinked back tears, "Jamie…please, my darling…I promise it couldn't be more right…we couldn't be more right, than we are, right now…"
His body shook hard against hers, wracked in the battle of desire versus honor, and all too soon Fannie could feel his tension lessen as he made his choice. Jamie kissed her forehead, his breathing less tortured, striving in manner and voice to be solicitous and patient, "My sweetest temptation…my darling Fan…we shouldn't…I can't…I won't do this to you…" He withdrew his hand from her knickers and laid it on her wrist, seeking to guide her hand away from its own intimate quest. "You're beautiful, Fannie; a perfect, lovely dream, and any man would consider himself blest to gain your favor…and your trust…"
Tears betrayed her, slipping unbidden along the soft curve of her cheeks. "I…I don't understand, Jamie. Don't you…don't you want me?"
Fannie would never forget the tenderness and quiet disappointment of his small smile, "I do, love—to the depth of my immortal soul. I do." He kissed her salty tears away, "But I must do far better by you, Fan. You deserve so much better than for me to taste of you this way…and take you. Take you in the heat of the moment-only to leave you behind, before…oh Christ…before our sheets have even cooled."
Her blood felt no less cooled from the heat he had raised it to, though she had begun to see that this was a vital truth to him. Her beloved, beautiful Jamie. A good and honorable man—just the sort it seemed she'd been waiting her whole life for. Fannie sniffled, accepting his choice, rolling her head to the side in resignation.
Jamie nuzzled her cheek, and let his lips linger near her ear, offering a jest, a quiet bit of comfort for her to take away, "I'm already regretting this, love—you know that, don't you?"
"I suppose," she sighed, wanting to hang upon his every word.
"And surely you understand that…ah…god damn me…I'd make myself derelict in my duty if I tasted of you fully this night…for I just wouldn't be able to leave you—as I must—in the morning." Jamie moved to her side, to lay his face a whisper away from hers. "Dearest Fan, I'd need to lose myself in your bounty again…and again…in the days and nights to come…and so how could I bear to be leagues away from you by nightfall tomorrow? You must be merciful, love—don't you agree?"
Crestfallen and weak with wanting him still, she laid her palm—still hot from caressing him so intimately—against his cheek, while whetting her lips before kissing him in acceptance. The passion he had brought her to would slowly bank—it must, for how could she endure his departure otherwise—but Fannie knew it might never fully abate. Insouciant, more for his sake than her own, she set her conditions, "I'll grant you a stay of mercy alright, Jamie Stewart—but only if you stay and hold me in your arms this night." His eyes flickered with hesitation, until she added, softly persuasive, "Give me that memory, at least, to cling to, if you cannot allow yourself to love me properly." Fannie finished with a quiet pout, hoping she had won her case.
Her Jamie laughed heartily, wrapping his arms around her, his naked flesh sparking hers with that same heat, threatening to topple her reason and make her beg him for all that he had put behind them. Oh, how wicked his laugh had been, his eyes gleaming with sudden mischief. "Oh, I think I can manage an even more delicious memory for you love—but only if you are willing."
Thus, it was that Jamie had loved her most unselfishly that night, giving Fannie sheer pleasure, and taking nothing for himself but the sweetness of her satisfaction—and the surety that she belonged to him however he might choose to have her. She had realized during their earlier play that she was in love with him; by the time he left her flat that morning, she had been hard pressed not to declare it aloud, fearing it might sully his future intentions towards her.
"Hands by your sides, darling," he had commanded her, once she had given him her consent, his voice so rich, deep, and potent that she couldn't even consider defying him. He had insisted that she leave her knickers on, determined not to face the temptation of her fully naked, all too willing flesh. Jamie had laid his lips against her ear, making his will crystal clear, "I want to hear you moan my name, sweet Fan.
I'm going to touch you and feel you open to me, darling. I'm going to make you slick with desire…make you throb for release…" He had circled the tip of his strong middle finger on her engorged nub, making her moan hard and whimper for more. "Yes," he breathed hotly against her ear, "Just like that, Fan." He had tugged her earlobe between his teeth, and she hissed in surprise before nodding her compliance. He began to stroke her thoroughly, exploring her moist folds, touching her, teasing her, building her towards a glorious consummation.
"Good god, you're breathtaking, Fannie," he had husked against her throat, his once gentle kisses roughening as he moved across her skin, leaving the telltale bruises of love bites where he neck sloped into her shoulder, "And you are mine now, aren't you, darling?"
"Yes…yes…oh yes, Jamie," she had exclaimed, writhing beneath his touch, seeking fulfillment, "…all of me…yes!" Confident of his skill, he had eventually slipped a finger inside her wet heat, heightening her pleasure with his unexpected, appreciative moans, then sliding a second finger in place, while leaving his thumb on her sweet spot, to work her to the most intense orgasm of her life.
Afterwards, Fannie had fallen asleep wrapped snuggly in his arms, but had awakened before dawn to find her lover had stripped down to just his drawers, for the room was summer hot. She had arisen to crack the window for some cooler air, slipping out of her knickers and into a simple cotton chemise, and rejoined him on the bed, cautious not to wake him. He'd looked so perfect and so peaceful, and though she longed to touch him (in fact, to stir him back to life, in the hope that he would have his way with her at last), she contented herself to keep watch; to study the astounding details of his face, to memorize his details-even the small scar at the corner of his mouth, curious as to its origin. To watch the gentle flutter of his eyes as he dreamt, to envy his long, thick lashes, and to compose a sonnet to the splendor of his lips, recalling most especially how he had so generously spoiled her with them. She had drifted off to sleep—against her will—with one hand pressed to his chest, and her own chest filled with the fresh bloom of love.
When she next awoke, Jamie had been seated at the edge of the bed, putting on his boots. Fannie had sat up, her lips trembling against her disappointment as she asked him the obvious, "Would you really have left without waking me?"
Jamie smiled at her indulgently, and reached to stroke her cheek, weaving his fingertips into her hair. "No, love, I swear I wouldn't. I planned to wake you once I was ready to go."
"Can't you stay a little longer," she had offered hopefully, "I could fix you some breakfast." She didn't have much to offer but would gladly give him all that she had.
He had clasped her hand to kiss it, then held it against his chest, "I wish with all my heart that I could, darling—but I have to go home briefly to collect my things, before I catch my train." He stood, willing to pull her along with him to the door. "Besides, I want to remember you as you are right now—soft with sleep, fresh-faced, your lovely hair tousled from our…," he swallowed hard, his eyes flashing with that banked hunger once again, "…our adventures last night."
Fannie lowered her eyes, unwilling for him to read her honest desperation to keep him ever close. He chucked her beneath the chin gently, "Come kiss me, sweet Fan…it may be many weeks until I'll taste your sweetness again."
She brightened at that indication, relieved that he intended to remain her beaux. "Did you think that I could leave you for good," he had asked, smiling confidently, for he knew he already owned her heart, "Silly, lovely girl. Don't you know that you're my woman now?"
She threw her arms around his neck to kiss him soundly, mussing his hair and pressing herself against him to remind him of all that lay in their future. "Of course, I know," she had murmured in his ear, kissing it in punctuation, "I just wanted to be sure that you knew."
Jamie laughed again, hints of the evening's wickedness clear to her aching heart, prompting her to promise him, "I'll write you, my darling—as often as I can…"
"And dream of me each night?" he grinned.
"I swear we'll dance in my dreams, dear Jamie…every night, until you hold me again…"
"So be it," he had grinned enough to make his chin melt into multiples, and then kissed her brow and the tip of her nose, before leaving her with a last lingering kiss upon her mouth.
That had been months and months ago; high summer had turned to fading fall, and her precious Jamie was far, far away now; a world away it seemed to her, in the fields of France. True to her word she had written him, a few times a week to begin with, and then with increasing frequency after his all too brief leave in August, just before his battalion departed for France. He had warned her from the start he would have little time to write back, but Fannie would not be deterred. She kept the flame alive between them as best she could, writing of the mundane when she had no special news to report; telling him of daily life in the theatre, revealing bits and pieces of her past enough to tantalize but never quite satisfy his curiousity. That she would prefer to do in person, and to entrust him with her most closely held secrets when the time was right. At first she only hinted at the passion she felt for him, without being too blatant-but after their time in August, she had held nothing back, pouring her love for him into every sentence she penned.
Though he rarely returned her letters, the ones she received were as eloquent as his first; and though he did not express his feelings with the fervor she lavished upon him, as the weeks passed, Fannie came to believe she held his heart firmly in her keeping.
Fully awake now, and knowing she could not return to sleep-and such sweet dreams of her beloved Jamie-Fannie resolved to write to him at once. To remind him she was waiting, to remind him how utterly in love with him she was-and to remind him that as promised, she still dreamed them dancing, while looking ever forward to the day when he would take her in his arms and lead her onto the floor and dance the first of many waltzes that would populate the life that they would share, come war's end and Love's true beginning.