A/N: As my regular readers know, I usually post late on a Sunday night (Australian time). RL has been getting in the way of that lately, but I'm planning to return to Sunday nights soon. Stay tuned…
This chapter takes place early in the morning (or very late at night) after Malcolm and Ruth's dinner at L'Auberge. I give you fair warning - it's M-rated and full on from the get-go. The last few chapters have been fairly heavy going, so this one is slightly more light-hearted, although no less intense, in its own way… ;)
Her body, glistening with perspiration despite the coldness of the night, arches and strains beneath my hands; a strangled sound escapes her, and then another, as her hips suddenly rise off the bed, demanding that I finish what I have started. Looking up, I make an enquiring noise; for answer she clutches my hair with her hands, and she shifts slightly to allow me better access. "Don't stop!" she orders, voice roughened with desire, so I increase the pace until she is thrusting towards me, moaning; I apply more pressure while maintaining the same rhythm, and with a wordless cry, she comes, shuddering all over. Ruth falls back onto my bed, one arm over her eyes, twitching and gasping, her whole body in spasm; I move up the bed towards her, my pale skin blushing with excitement, her arousal filling all my senses, and murmur in her ear, "I'm not quite finished, my love, and nor are you." She looks at me incredulously; I reply with a steady gaze as I pin her wrists above her head with one hand. Her eyes widen in surprise, and her breathing becomes shallower and faster. "You're so beautiful," I tell her, my own breath hitching in response. I nudge her thighs apart, all the while watching her eyes; her huge, coal-black pupils burn, firing my blood, and I know exactly what I am going to do: I want to master her, to possess her, body and soul, and to make her mine as I have never before succeeded in doing. We have already joined together once tonight, urgently, but that was an encounter driven by mutual hunger and need; now, I want to take her in the way that I have been fantasising about for weeks. What a difference a month makes…
Slowly, I slide into her wet, welcoming heat; she groans in contentment – So far, so good – and I begin to move. After the first few seconds, she joins in; a few more strokes, and she takes control, beginning the familiar internal rhythm that she knows will swiftly push me past the point of no return. "Not yet, my love," I instruct; withdrawing completely but keeping her wrists pinned, I look down at her, drinking my fill of the unbelievably sexy sight beneath me. Her full breasts; her hair, falling away from her flushed face, the diamond pendant at the base of her throat glinting in the faint light coming through a crack in the curtains; her soft white belly, now taut with anticipation; and at the most unexpected thing of all, her newly bare mound, jutting provocatively in this position: I can't stop my fascinated gaze from returning again and again; it feels like warm, wet silk, pulsing in response as I touch her. I seem to recall that you wanted to know what a Brazilian wax is, she had purred, earlier in the evening, as she undressed slowly in front of me, her eyes meeting mine innocently… dear God, I thought my heart would stop altogether, as she stepped out of her black lace French knickers, and turned to face me. She is at once the most sensual, and the most practical, woman I know, and it only makes me want her all the more…
Ruth is magnificent as she writhes beneath me, whimpering in protest at the unexpected interruption. The sight spurs me on, but I want her to know that I am in charge now, and that I intend to take her to new heights of bliss; so I tease her, taking her hard nipples into my mouth, one by one, while I stroke her everywhere that my free hand can reach, with the lightest touch I can manage, before leisurely tracing a trail of kisses from her throat to her navel, tasting the salt of her skin, until she is begging. "Please…now…please…" she breathes, as I continue my journey, both astounded and gratified at the effect I am having on her… me, gawkish, geeky Malcolm, straitlaced and shy to a fault with women… with every woman, that is, but this one, my beloved. Oh, Ruth… patience… patience is a virtue, and I will teach you it tonight… drawing my hand along the side of her face, and gently down between her breasts, I lock eyes with her. "I love you, Ruth, and tonight I mean to prove it… I want to make you mine, until you cry out in ecstasy, until we truly become one flesh, until you beg me to stop, and go on, in the same breath." She stares at me, breathing fast, eyes glittering in the faint light, and in that moment, the gauntlet is flung down: I'm yours for the taking, her look declares. If you can. If you dare… "Please, please, just fuck me!" she implores; she has never used that word with me before, and I know my plan is working.
I brace myself as I settle between her thighs; with every ounce of self-control I possess, I sink slowly and deliciously inside her again, and after a moment, begin to thrust deeply and with determination; she gasps, a thrilling sound, as she responds with her own movements; usually, she would prefer to ride at this point, but I want tonight to be different; if she speeds up, I deliberately slow down, so that she has to match my pace; if she begins to push towards me, I pull back, and wait; it is excruciating, in the way that great pleasure often edges into the beginnings of pain, but the sensations are extraordinary. Cunningly, she manages to hook her feet behind my thighs, pulling me even closer, but I am still determined to retain control; shaking from head to foot with the effort, I maintain the tempo. Ruth's eyes are screwed shut tightly, and her face is a rictus of erotic intensity as she concentrates on her next climax, which is building rapidly, if I am reading the signs right; releasing her wrists, I touch her just as she has taught me, and she comes savagely this time, hands clenching the sheets, bucking erratically against the weight of my body over hers, swearing with each breath as it takes her hard. She is completely inwardly focused on her own pleasure, which I almost feel as my own as she convulses all around me. I could stop now, and let her recover, but I have accepted her challenge, and I am determined to wipe every other lover from her memory, even if only for a little while: and for that space of time, there will only be the two of us, in all the world. Like hitting the reset button…tabula rasa…
Relentlessly, I continue; her eyes fly open in surprise, only a rim of blue iris visible against the black depths of her pupils, as our bodies meet again and again, harder and faster each time; her voice, harsh with need, begs me to stop, or else finish her off entirely; she makes little shallow panting sounds, unbearably erotic. The bones of her face are stark beneath her tight skin as she strains towards me; I have never seen Ruth look like this, and the sight is shattering. This is no perfect, poised professional, like Caroline with Prince Hakim, but a woman in the throes of ultimate ecstasy, and completely at my mercy; realising the strength of her need for me is the most erotic moment of my life thus far.
As I feel her slick muscles clutching at me, and see her arching beneath me again, her hand slides between us, moving with urgency; I increase my momentum, rocking further forward until she bucks wildly, stiffening and then flailing against me, swearing like a trooper one moment, and almost weeping with the sheer relief and magnitude of her release in the next. The swiftly mounting sensations of my own pleasure finally, inevitably, overwhelm me; my heart seems to swell and burst as everything goes black, while bright sparks of light dance across my dazed vision; every muscle in my body locks, and then it begins; crushing her shivering, sweating body fiercely to my own, I finish buried deep inside her, as what can only be described as a barbaric yawp in what might be Welsh, or might not, forces its way from my throat; it is a truly cataclysmic orgasm for us both, and a fitting end to the night we have spent rediscovering each other.
I flop down next to Ruth, heaving for air, my head spinning; it's funny, I muse, how extreme fear and complete ecstasy can affect me in the same way, and then for a few minutes I am aware of nothing but the sound of our breathing, slowly returning to normal as we lie next to each other, and the aroma of our exertions, which clings to our overheated skin, and hangs over the old four-poster bed like an invisible canopy. Ruth snuggles into my side as she begins to cool down; wrapping an arm around her shoulders, I hold her close, burying my nose in the softness of her hair as it falls across my pillow. With my free hand, I reach for the thermal control unit on my bedside table, and nudge the room temperature up a few degrees, as I am too exhausted even to sit up and retrieve the duvet from where it fell as we threw it off in our earlier frenzy.
Ruth speaks first, her voice full of wonder. "Fuck, I'm so shagged out, I can't feel my toes…so, who are you, Superman? What the fuck did you do with my nice, mild-mannered Malcolm, and where did that come from?" I can't keep the pride out of my voice as I say, "I take it that you enjoyed yourself, then." For once, I phrase it as a statement, rather than a question, and she exhales slowly before replying, "I think I saw God, the last time…it was amazing!" "Yes?" I prod playfully, and she turns her head to give me a look, one I have not seen from her before. It is the look of a desert dweller who has just discovered that the ocean is vast, and wet, and constantly in motion; slightly bemused, a little awe-struck, and radiant with the joy of this new discovery. "Yes!" she replies emphatically, and I beam back at her. Mission accomplished… for now.
Still smiling, I roll over onto my back, and she props herself on one elbow, eyes glowing as she traces patterns on my belly with her other hand; it tickles, but not unpleasantly, seeing that my whole body is still tingling. Her face takes on a look of concentration as she surveys the length of my body, then glances back to my stomach. "You look different… stronger, somehow. Or have you lost weight?" I chuckle as she runs her hands up my arms, then hold my breath as she slides them back down my sides; I stroke her hair, and she seizes my hand, turning it over, palm up. "Your hands, they're usually so smooth…but is this a callus I see before me?" She traces it with a fingertip, sending a residual shiver down my spine.
"I'm afraid so," I reply, "It tends to happen when one has been dry-stone walling, without mason's gloves." Her amused look says, Tell me more. "I've been spending rather a lot of time in the garden lately… every spare moment I have, in fact. I suppose I might have lost a few kilos because I've been more active than usual (and I eat far less, I omit to add, when I'm worried and sick at heart). I had to do something to keep my mind occupied while we were….out of contact…and I've always wanted to try my hand at dry-stone work. The fields where I grew up in Wales were all dry-stone walled…and there's something so satisfying about fitting all the pieces together, like a great big three-dimensional puzzle… so I started building a little wall, just a prototype, really, at the end of the back garden, and it's come along nicely, these last few weeks. Of course, I didn't do it all myself. Colin's helped a bit too." And brought food, and drink too, when he felt I needed a decent meal, bless him, I add silently, but do not say to Ruth…she is always pleasant to Colin, but I have long sensed that a wary stand-off exists between them. She shakes her head, "The latest digital technology, or dry-stone walls…that's one of the things I love best about you, sweetheart, you can do anything, make anything…these are my beautiful, kind, clever hands, and I have missed them, and their owner, enormously." She drops a kiss on the back of each, and my heart bounds with joy at her words. Belatedly, I remember that I haven't yet answered her questions. "While we've been apart, I've been doing some… research, shall we say," I begin in answer to the second part of her question; the other enquiries are obviously rhetorical… but, still, Superman… that's a first!
Her hand stops moving and her eyes narrow suspiciously, and I belatedly realise how that might have sounded. I hasten to reassure her, "No, no, no! It's not like that! I meant legitimate research. From books, mostly." One dark, curved eyebrow rises: go on, but proceed with caution, it seems to be saying. So I do. "My love, you have been so patient with me, so understanding while I've fumbled around like a teenager, but I felt that I could be doing more to educate myself, so in the spirit of scientific enquiry, I have. I know I've still got a lot of catching up to do, but in a way, our being apart was a good thing; it gave me the opportunity to…to…" I falter, seeing Ruth begin to shake with laughter; she can't hold it in, and then she collapses onto me, nearly sobbing with mirth. I blush deeply, embarrassed, but at the same time I can see the funny side; her laughter is infectious, and I begin to chuckle too; after all, it's another kind of release, and a welcome one at that. Eventually, Ruth rolls over, pillowing her head on my solar plexus, and wipes the tears away, still giggling; forcing a straight face, she intones solemnly, "The spirit of scientific enquiry… is that what they're calling it now?" before dissolving into hilarity again.
This won't do; I am keen to explain my meaning, so I ease myself slowly upright, before falling back against the pillows stacked against the high, carved headboard; helpfully, Ruth lifts her head while I move, before resettling herself on my stomach, the fingers of one hand idly stroking my chest, before moving on to the tender skin between my ribs…I catch my breath as she drags her fingertips across with almost imperceptible pressure…almost. She is so uninhibited, so free with me, that I can't quite fathom her habitual demeanour at work; it is like a suit of armour that she wears to protect herself against the world. Perhaps we all wear one, to some extent or other…I am jolted out of my reverie, as Ruth's wandering hand brushes across my right nipple; she falls to lazily drawing tiny circles, round and round and Ahhh!… she grins wickedly, and I recognise her intent, but while I may be willing, I am nowhere near able to oblige her, and besides, I really do want to finish explaining. I gently capture the mischievous hand, folding it within my own, and clear my throat.
"I've missed you tremendously; I missed everything about you, from the way you smile at me first thing when I arrive at work, to this. After a bit, I got to wondering if you missed me too, and what, exactly, you might be missing. I missed this, being with you like this, so much; the intimacy, your acceptance of me, and of course, the sex itself. For me, I don't think it can be any other way; I've been without it for too long not to miss it, now that I know how wonderful it can be, and I craved it. I craved you, really; your presence in my life is so precious to me, I can hardly put it into words." Ruth kisses my hand, still holding hers, at this point, and an immense wave of tiredness and tenderness sweeps over me. I recognise that it's just adrenalin withdrawal, combined with oxytocin release, but it's hitting me like a tonne of bricks.
Refocusing, I continue. "It occurred to me that while you're virtually the first for me, the same isn't true for you; I know you've had other lovers, more worldly men than me. Men who knew exactly what you liked, and what you wanted, and how to give it to you. Naturally, this made me feel rather anxious… one thing led to another, and the upshot was that I felt I should do something to… to improve my skills in this area…" Ruth's shoulders shake, but she gamely keeps a straight face. " So I ordered a stack of books online – using an alias and a ghost account, of course – and I've been working my way through them. Things have certainly changed since… well, let's just say it has been a most illuminating education." I fall silent, unsure whether to continue or not; absently, I reach across to pull the top sheet over us, and Ruth rolls onto her stomach, her head resting on one hand, her face settling into its usual serious expression as she considers what I have just told her.
"I'm…I'm not sure what to say…other than thank you, thank you so very much, sweetheart. I'm flabbergasted, really, that you would go to so much trouble for me. I know it's difficult for you to believe, but your lack of experience never made any difference to me…if anything, I think I found you even more attractive because of it. I liked the idea of initiating you…it made me feel sexy, that I was able to teach you something, because out there – Ruth gestures with her chin to my bedroom door – you're so far ahead of me, it's not funny." I frown as I sift through this not-quite-true, albeit flattering, statement. "So, are you pleased that I'm playing a more equal role in our physical relationship?" She grins then, "Oh, yes! I would have thought that I made it patently obvious, earlier, three times, actually. And for the record, I never had a problem with our…physical relationship. We fit so well together, Malcolm, and you've always been such a tender and considerate lover, so if you want to start taking the initiative more often, I'm all for it. It's funny – earlier, I could have scratched your eyes out when you first trapped my wrists, but now I feel closer to you than ever before, like my defences are down, but it's alright, because you're defending us both now…what the hell have you done to me, Malcolm Peregrine Geoffrey St John Wynn-Jones?"
I smile broadly in reply, as Ruth rises up on one elbow to kiss me softly, and I pull her into our favourite position for a cuddle, lying along my torso, so my arms can encircle her entirely and hold her close. "Mmmm, that's nice," she sighs, as my hands stroke the flawless, soft skin of her back. "Malcolm?" I barely hear her; physical satiation and sheer exhaustion is threatening to overwhelm me at any second, and my eyelids flutter shut as she rolls off me, only to return a few seconds later to throw the duvet over us both, and switch off the bedside light, before nestling back into my arms as sleep comes crashing down on us both. The thing is, I think drowsily, the more I possess Ruth, body and soul, the more I lose myself to her…there seems to be some sort of fundamental equation at work here, something like the Laws of Thermodynamics… Just before I lose consciousness altogether, I think I hear Ruth whisper, "There's so much I want to tell you," and then there is nothing except deep, dreamless sleep, holding her close, as the sere light of a late November dawn begins to seep into the cold sky.
Hours later, the insistent shrilling of the telephone jolts me awake; groping for my mobile phone on the bedside table, I peer at it blearily, but its screen is dark. The ringing continues; groaning, I sit up and seize the sleek black portable phone from its cradle. Ruth stirs and mutters as I press the Talk button. Mother! She doesn't even wait for a salution, but launches into a long and involved story, at high pitch and full volume, while I make appropriately interested noises, and yawn silently, waiting for her to get to the point. After quarter of an hour, I attempt to interject, seeking clarification, and am soundly rebuked for my efforts, her voice growing sharper as she continues with her tale. When she eventually disintegrates into sobs, I sigh and ask her to put Aunt Emily on. Ruth is awake now, and watching me enquiringly. Her look asks, 'Do you want me to leave you alone?' and I shake my head in reply, slipping an arm around her as she heaves herself upright too, drawing the duvet over us both. If only Mother knew… the thought, for once, makes me smile. I feel as if I may never stop smiling, in fact. The line goes crackly as Mother puts the phone down, and I take the opportunity to steal a kiss from Ruth, the receiver still pressed to my ear.
Next, I hear Aunt Emily's voice, sounding strained, as she relates the story in a few sentences; over the last month, Mother has seemingly managed to fall out with the entire Bournemouth ladies' bridge club, and thanks to the ensuing ennui she is suffering, has taken to arguing with my usually unflappable aunt over every little thing; in short, she has worn out her welcome, and would I please come and collect her? I glance at my little old Dalvey travel alarm clock; Nine-thirty. I am rostered off today, and as Ruth has not shot out of bed in a panic, I surmise that she must be, too; if I leave straight away, I should be in Bournemouth, traffic permitting, after lunch. Regretting the loss of an all-too-rare day in bed with Ruth, nonetheless I know my duty, and placate my aunt by promising to drive down immediately, and pick up my mother.
Relieved, Aunt Emily rings off, and I turn apologetically to Ruth. "I'm so sorry, my love, but I have to collect my mother from her sister's place in Bournemouth. I'm afraid my bachelor days are over for another year…of course, I'll drop you home on the way." Ruth turns her head to look directly at me, and she says, "Or…" I don't understand, and say so. Her eyes sparkle as she waits for the penny to drop; growing impatient, she rolls them elaborately, and adds, "Or I could come with you…don't you think it's time I met your mother?" No, no, I don't, is my immediate reaction, but then I pause to consider this novel idea. Ruth has never before indicated that she was ready to take any sort of step towards admitting the existence of our relationship to anyone except poor Danny, much less to our families. Maybe she's had a change of heart, I ponder, or perhaps she's just as sick of the secrecy as I am… I'm sure that half the Grid knows, or thinks it knows, anyway…
Belatedly, I realise she is waiting for me to speak. "Erm, well, if you think…that is, Mother can be a bit…"I begin, and Ruth reaches up, pressing one finger across my lips. "I don't want to think, or else I'll come up with half a dozen reasons why this is a mad idea. Just say yes. At the least, we've got until Bournemouth to really decide. I can always take the train back, if you don't think it's the right time to meet her. Please, Malcolm, I was really looking forward to spending the day with you, and I'd love a run to the seaside…I don't get there all that often." Sighing, I kiss her on the forehead, then tilt her face up to mine and kiss her thoroughly. Breaking our embrace, she says, a bit breathlessly, "Is that a Yes, then? Malcolm, is that a Yes?" And because this is Ruth, and I have just had the best night of my life so far with her, and because I love her, even when she thinks up madcap schemes like this, I nod and answer, "Of course it's a Yes, my love. We'd better get moving, then; we'll need to be on the road by ten. We'll have to get breakfast on the road, I'm afraid; I've got nothing in. I was going to take you out to the little place we like in Hampstead Village." Ruth nods, "It'll be faster if we shower together, you know." I seriously doubt that, given past experience, but we do anyway, Ruth giggling like a teenager as we try to hurry, our wet bodies sliding past each other as we take turns to rinse off the soap. By half past ten, temptation notwithstanding, we are dressed, in the Rover, and heading for the M3.
A/N: Ruth is playfully misquoting Macbeth, by Shakespeare, with her callus comment. Malcolm is alluding to Walt Whitman's poem, Song of Myself, with his barbaric yawp, and a tabula rasa is a blank slate, in Latin.