XII. – Fear Evaporates
The thin band of gold shining through the chink in the heavy brocade curtains about the bed meant that it was nearly noon, but perhaps not quite. It was also just enough to give his perfect body a faint halo of light, illuminating the chiseled musculature of a young, athletic Englishman and a tousled head of soft, wavy, rich brown curls.
Shyness had dissolved quickly on both parts. She had been stunned at how responsive she had been when he had awoken and nuzzled her neck and throat, placing a warm, lingering kiss in the hollow and breathing her name as though he were saying a prayer. That he should cherish her so much was heavenly, and she had arched to him, whimpering in need. True, he had now broken his promise not to touch her, but she found that she had wanted him to break it, especially in such a perfect way.
And when she arched into him, he gasped softly and pressed closer, as though desperate to be near her, to touch her, to learn everything about her without words. His trembling palm pushed her nightdress up and cupped her quivering thigh, and she cried out without thought – not from fear, but from want. He found her mouth in a dizzying, hungry kiss, and she had startled herself yet again by actually trying to push his own nightshirt out of the way, eager as she was to touch him.
This was nothing like the experience she'd had at the age of twelve. This was delicious and aching. The hunger she tasted on his lips wasn't frightening, it was maddening.
Moments later, with the restriction of clothing finally out of the way, she had gasped in delight and wonder at the way the sun gleamed on the curves of biceps and the ridges of a taut, flat stomach, and she had been pleased when he blushed at her blatant staring. He was truly just as shy as she was. And her own shyness and fear evaporated, as quickly as that.
She reached for him, wordlessly begging him to come to her, and he did.