Even with all of her disastrous tendencies, Maria had never been touched by fire before.
She imagined this was about as close to what it would feel like.
The motion of his fingers brushing her bare skin was over and done with in less than a few seconds. But the sensation it left in its wake was arresting, forcing a series of seizing tremors throughout her body from the place his fingers had left their trail. It perplexed her, how she felt the impact of such a small touch in so many places at once – the tips of her toes, the back of her neck, the curve of her elbows, the space between her belly button and her waistline…
But he had not physically touched any of those places yet. She had only felt the echo of his touch reach those places, as if by some artful wizardry which only he could access. Maria remembered feeling this way only once before, during their dance. It had been his hand at the small of her back that had done it. But with the intrusive warmth of his children present at the time, she presumed that familiar trail of fire had ceased in its destruction of her body out of sheer civility.
Here, with no one else watching, it blazed unencumbered.
Georg did not apologize for his slip of the hand, nor did he fumble to quickly cover her up – both actions Maria had grown to expect of a man with any decency. But decency, it seemed, was now a virtue without value. At least in his bed.
She wanted to say something, but she was at a loss for words. She lay still, letting her lungs do the job they had been built to do, while she stared up at the intricate crown molding of the ceiling. The lingering effects of his touch finally passed, leaving her in a strange cloud of exhaustion despite having made no exertions.
Georg seemed to have no idea of this titillating treason he'd committed against her body.
"The body is a temple. Treat it as such."
Maria squeezed her eyes shut, trying to reconcile these fragments from the Bible with the actions of her husband. Though he had certainly overwhelmed her, he had not harmed her in any way, and he had not done anything against her will.
No, it had not been against her will. In fact . . . she wished he would do it again.
But communication seemed impossible under the circumstances. It was not as if they were seated politely across from one another in the parlor. They were lying next to each other, with skin exposed. It was dark. He was so close to her that his breath caused the tiny hairs at her temple to dance with every exhale. Words turned to vapor in the constricted pathway of her throat.
He rescued her. "Will you let me touch you?"
Such a courtesy was not lost on Maria. She knew that even by the Lord's command, she belonged to her husband. The Captain did not need to ask her permission for anything. For all that was holy – 'the Captain.' She scrubbed away furiously at his title in her mind, reddening in its wake. She almost wished he wouldn't ask for permission to touch her. Having the freedom to make these kinds of choices for herself felt like such a daunting responsibility. Without a word, Maria nodded her consent.
Once more his hand made contact with her bare skin, and all the flowers in Paris seemed to blossom at once in the pit of her stomach. Her body ached to move, to curl into his touch, but she felt a keen sense of guilt over it. In absolute stillness, she allowed his palm to glide across her midriff, to cradle her breast, to traverse the column of her throat. His touch there seemed to pull a sigh from her lips, and she felt the heat storm her cheeks once again.
His eyes met hers briefly, and she saw it – an expression wrought with adoration, patience turning his passion to cinders in his gaze. His hand slowed to a pause over her breast, and she welled up with pleasure so intense it made her feel faint.
Watching her face intently, he moved his arm down and found her hand lying limply at her side. "You can touch me, too, Maria."
She looked to him pleadingly, fingers already trembling in anticipation.
Sensing her distress, he guided her hand to the center of his chest and told her, "There is no wrong way." Still, her hand remained frozen against him. He leaned over her, his lips brushing against her forehead as he whispered, "Remember when we danced . . . and think of all the places your hands wanted to touch."
Her heart pounced. But how would he have known?
She barely managed to brush her fingertips up his chest and along his shoulder. Her touch was so delicate, she felt only the heat of his body and hardly anything more. The pieces were coming together, slowly, in her mind. She knew only of one physical act, but she had never known what preceded it. She could think of only one purpose for touching him; otherwise it served none but to sate her curiosity. And the same would be true for him, would it not? Why should he touch her this way? Were there stages to lovemaking, where only certain actions were acceptable? What if she made some fatal mistake? Did he plan to touch her everywhere? For how long? All night?
Maria could feel her heart pounding harder with every question that plagued her mind, knowing she would never have the courage to ask him a single one. Their eyes locked in the moonlight, and he shifted carefully so that he could adjust the blanket. At that moment she caught a glimpse of his entire naked body. It was such a fleeting picture that it taunted her terribly when he was just as quickly covered.
She had not realized he was naked. Suddenly, she felt foolish for clinging to her chastity.
Before she could second guess herself, Maria carefully slipped the fabric of her robe off her shoulders and revealed her bare torso.
Georg was silent for a long moment, appraising her body, perhaps a bit taken aback by her bravery. Then he was bowing his head, kissing her neck, allowing his hands to roam across her unveiled skin with tragic gentleness.
"Abandonment of modesty becomes you," he whispered feverishly as he kissed her.
How he could form anything of sense to say was beyond her. Maria grappled for any words of her own, but was left without access to the language she'd learned from infancy. She moved shyly against him, attempting to follow his lead in this strange, entangled dance. Then he slowed his pace at last when he saw her expression of complete vanquish. He settled down beside her, and at last she was permitted to catch her breath. They looked deeply into one another's eyes for a long while, and she was reminded of the days when she would catch him staring at her from the corner of the room.
"How much do you already know?"
She immediately knew what he was asking, and her cheeks flamed. She broke his gaze, looking down bashfully. "Very little, I'm afraid."
She peeked back to Georg's face then, not knowing what to expect. His expression was difficult to read.
"Shall I . . . illustrate for you, then?"
She could neither concede nor object - of this he was quite aware. So he took the matter upon himself, reached out beneath the covers, took her hand within his and arranged her trembling fingers around that part of him which could not be ignored. A gasp fled her lips and he hesitated for a moment, holding her hand firmly within his as if fearful she would pull away. Then, ever so timidly, he began to move her hand, traversing a warm, solid length she would never have designed even in imagination. Yet there was a softness to him that did not exist elsewhere in nature - it was an unreachable perfection that teased her with each guided stroke.
His voice was unrecognizable when he murmured, "It will be like this…" As his hips moved forward in three slow, willful thrusts, and he squeezed her hand with intention, "...within you."
She realized she had been holding her breath, only able to release it once he let go of her hand. She mourned the loss of his touch as much as she was relieved by it. In spite of his fervent demonstration, Maria was left more confused than before.
"Now," he directed, sounding more like himself, "lie against me." He helped her turn to face away from his body, so that her back was snug against his chest. She followed his gentle instruction, grateful for any guidance in the wake of her ignorance.
For perhaps the first time that evening, Maria relaxed, luxuriating in such comfort to have his warmth envelop her, his heart beating faithfully against her back; his deep, rhythmic breath causing tendrils of her hair to tickle her ear. His lap came flush against her bottom, but she was not threatened by that part of him now. She knew his intention for this time was not yet to convene with penetration - it was not in the language of his limbs. She could enjoy his body for the security he provided, his arms circling her with an impassioned embrace. He more nuzzled her than kissed her for those precious moments of intimate silence. She smiled to herself, filled with pleasure at the thought that he must have known she needed this. And though she had never dared to envision what this night would be like in such detail, this was perhaps as close as it may have come to her unrealized dreams.
"It feels strange to remember our first meeting now," Maria mused openly, her voice softened by fondness.
"I suppose it does," he admitted, wholly unquestioning of her desire to reminisce. "I never had a governess challenge me the way you did."
Though she faced away from him, Maria quirked an eyebrow. "I challenged the convent much more than I challenged you."
"That is debatable," he muttered into her shoulder.
She managed to laugh in spite of her nerves, stroking his hands where he held her.
"All the while, I would have never guessed you were hiding such affection from me," she pondered in bewilderment.
"The more a man suppresses his emotions, the more he comes to be enslaved by them." His words held a dark, weighty truth which secretly titillated her. "I believe you were quite more aware of my struggles than you would ever admit," he murmured, his deep voice resonating through her body with their closeness.
She turned her head just enough to look him in his eyes.
Perhaps in this, he was right. But with a shy smile she turned away again, keeping it secret as he so claimed. She grasped his hand in hers and studied it carefully, tracing each one of his sturdy fingers with mystified intensity. His wedding band glimmered faintly under muted moonbeams.
His fingers curled around her right hand in response, thumb pressing lightly along her palm. A strange flutter awakened in her belly as she watched their fingers tangle tenderly in much the same way their limbs had minutes prior. She became again keenly aware of her nakedness – of his nakedness – and of his desire as he struggled to display a gentlemanly patience with her wish to prolong the inevitable. To her astonishment, she felt his lips press a warm, slow kiss on the nape of her neck. A sigh of contentment escaped her, and he arranged their bodies so that he could look down at her where she lay in his arms.
"Tell me how you feel, Maria." The weight of his words surprised her.
"I have never before felt such joy in my life," she answered honestly, without hesitation.
His reply was so quiet it brought a tear to her eye, "I am elated to hear that." His words spoke of euphoria but his eyes revealed a secret agony.
She knew he was waiting for her permission. She could not explain how she knew this, being so inexperienced, but she did know it fully. Part of her wondered what would happen if she were to persist in testing his restraint, but her heart would never allow it. She had tortured him long enough, surely. Her throat tightened and her limbs turned weak, not knowing how else to delay circumstance. He had told her that simply lying beside him would be enough, but his expectations could not be ignored forever.
He bent to kiss her on the lips – a deep, passionate kiss, which stole her breath and swept the blood from her entire body to one explicit point below her waist.
Maria went limp as Georg drew his arm down her body, his hand resting on her lap. She felt wonderfully small and deliciously compromised, trapped beneath his arm, wholly unconcerned with his intention. Then he touched her, slowly and deliberately, outlining her hips, tracing her thighs, then gently stroking where no man had ever touched her before.
Her jaw went slack, lips hanging open, eyes hooded as she watched the ceiling. For such a soft touch, it felt unimaginably intense.
"If you do not want this tonight, you must tell me now," he whispered, a low warning.
Her hips wrenched against his hand almost unconsciously, and he repeated the motion of his fingers, eliciting the same corrupt response from her. She whimpered, and he paused, his hand lifting from her lap to tuck safely around her thigh.
"I . . . I don't . . ." she stuttered, owing her incoherence purely to the effects of his touch rather than nerves.
He quickly interpreted her broken words as forfeit. He withdrew his hand from her lap, placed the covers over their bodies and whispered reassuringly into her hair, "It's alright, Maria. Just lie with me." He tucked her body against his and settled into the pillow beside her, repeating the words, "Just lie with me."
Though relief was palpable throughout her body, she could not help but feel some sense of loss and even of contrition in the sudden halt of his advances. Even more distressing was the traitorous ache that lingered throughout her body. Every part of her seemed to weep fire for his touch, to the point where his withdrawal seemed cruel. Resistance, instead of being her safeguard, now seemed unnatural and unjustified. But she couldn't speak such a thing out loud.
Was it supposed to feel this way? She had nothing to compare the sensations to. Her feelings for him had been strong before, but they had only been a shadow of what she felt in this bed. She knew no way to tame them . . . but perhaps that was the answer. Only he could tame them. That somehow, their coupling would satisfy that unreachable ache.
She would not know unless she allowed it to happen.
Torn, Maria retreated inward as her husband attempted to comfort her, his hands never straying from the safe space of her forearms. She knew what would likely happen now. He would drift off to sleep, and she would be trapped within his arms, and she would suffer in silence as these feelings tormented her all throughout the night.
She was now faced with a crossroads: the agony of waiting for the unknown, or the agony of facing the unknown...
Author's Note: I want to give thanks again to all of those who have left reviews, especially those who left anonymously - because I can't respond in PM, consider this my personal 'thank you.' All of your comments and messages are read by me, and they all offer me much needed confidence to keep writing.
Mackenzie