Part 4 : in glorious sunlight

Margaret swallowed thickly as she stared up at him, her mouth open, unaware of the restraint he demonstrated as her pink tongue darted out to wet her plush lips. He arched an eyebrow, reminding her that she had yet to give him her answer. She shut her eyes.

"Very well. Show me."

Her eyes remained shut as she heard a sigh of relief rumble from his throat. He lifted her hand, turning it upwards, and placed a lingering kiss on her palm, while his other arm reached for her. She felt the firm splay of his hand against the small of her back, as he pressed her against him, every inch of her softness moulding into his hard lines in such a way that her many layers of clothing had never allowed before. He cupped the back of her head, relishing the silk of her loose tresses as they carded through his fingers. His mouth upon hers, she recognised that, but there was a softness there, a reverence to his kiss, that she was certain she had never tasted before.

Her small hands crept up awkwardly up the loose fabric of his sleeves, and she clutched his shoulders. Unsure of what to do with herself, she leant against his arm, parting her lips at the request of his tongue that hungrily begged for admittance. Gently he deepened their kiss, and she gasped as she felt his broad hand slip down from her back to her derriere, and press her against him at the junction where she had understood they were to join.

They parted lips for just a moment, just long enough for John to see her eyes tightly shut. He could sense the tension in her body, but did not remove his hand.

"Open your eyes, my love," he murmured against her.

After a moment's hesitation, she opened one grey eye, then the other. Rewarded with a gentle kiss on the lips, he turned his attention to the soft line of her jaw, murmuring to her as he went.

"Forgive me, dahlin'. As your instructor in these matters, I am found wanting. If you'll permit me, I'd like to carry on from here."

A faint hum of approval was all Margaret could muster. The scrape of his stubble and the softness of his lips against her were an assault on her senses, and she was grateful to be held so firmly in the circle of his arms.

"First, I shall kiss you, as I have done so far," he brushed his lips across her forehead, down her nose, and against her lips, by way of demonstration.

"Next, I shall study the shape of you, if you will permit," here he ran both hands possessively down her hips, bringing them up to the curve of her rear with a squeeze, "it will guide me later," he added with a rakish grin.

"Then, in the name of progress," he continued, hiding his face against her neck, "I shall explore the places to which I have yet to gain admittance," he pulled away to read her expression, "if you are agreeable, of course."

Margaret could not speak. The sensation of his hands on her body, his lips on her skin, and the hypnotic thrum of his voice held her spellbound. She nodded her assent, unsure of what she was agreeing to.

A sudden wolfishness came upon his face, and he shut his eyes with a faint groan. Setting Margaret away from himself (though she still clung to his forearms), he pulled at one end of the smooth satin knot that held her gown in place. The garment fell open, and slid off one of her shoulders, and John's eyes widened hungrily at the sight of her rounding breast beneath the thin material.

He brushed the rest of it off her shoulder and crushed her into his embrace once again. This time there was no softness: gone was the gentle push against her lips, replaced by a wild plundering of her mouth and an untamed exploration of the curves of her body over her nightgown. The weight of his hands, the press of his tongue, the thrill of his lips and teeth and he nipped lightly at the skin of her neck and shoulders proved too much. Margaret threw her arms up and around his neck in an act of complete abandon to his love.

Before she knew it, his shirt was removed, and she felt the coarse heat of his chest against her own bare skin. Bare skin? Yes, truly, as bare as Eve had ever been in Eden, her nightgown lying in a satin pool at her feet. When had that happened? But there was no time to think on such things. Not with the heat, the thrum, the weightlessness she felt throughout her body… oh!

She was weightless because he carried her, scooping her up by her thighs, which she wrapped around his thick waist almost instinctively as he transported her across the room and onto the bed, his bed. There she lay for a moment, upright, completely nude, for he had at some point also divested her of her silk slippers, on the edge of the bed. She watched in wonder as he parted from her, just a few inches, space enough to remove his trousers, retaining his breeches, before pressing both palms against the mattress to loom over her.

"Now, my dahlin'," he breathed, his eyes roaming down her naked form, "our joining is not any one single act, no. This is what separates us from the… how did you put it?" he placed a kiss at her mouth's corner,

"...beasts in the field?" a kiss below her ear,

"...our joining is an act of worship," a kiss at her clavicle,

"...a sacred act," at her sternum,

"...between goddess," at the curve of her breast,

"...and acolyte," at its peak.

Margaret gasped, and clutched his head closer to her. She never dreamed such a feeling existed. In her ecstasy he slipped his arms around her middle, and guided her further up the bed, supporting his weight with his left arm. He released her just long enough to see that she had, in a whirlwind of feeling, shut her eyes once again. He kissed her lips softly, and feeling the mounting pressure of his need for her, slipped the tip of his finger into his wet mouth.

"Look at me, my love."

She opened her eyes to look at him. He was atop her, his hard weight unfamiliar but somehow completely natural at the same time. There was some discomfort at her hips, and so she spread her legs instinctively, unknowingly inviting him to occupy the exact space he had dreamt of for several months now. His eyes were softer, gone was the hunger, replaced with a look of adoration, as if he were seeing her for the very first time.

"Now I will prepare you."

With gentle kisses against her swollen lips, his hand stole down her stomach to the crux of her thighs. Sensing her stiffen, as was to be expected, he deepened his kisses, while carefully carding through the soft curls until his fingers found their objective. She relaxed under his ministrations, captive entirely to the sensations coursing through her at every point of contact.

She had closed her eyes again, and when she opened them, he was but inches from her face, caressing her cheek with the back of his hand. An unfamiliar scent was on his fingers, but it did not seem to bother him, as he pressed kisses down her neck and back up again to her mouth.

"Margaret, my love," he murmured, and she could feel the rumble of his voice against her neck, "I do not want to hurt you."

"John I love you!" she breathed, though if you had asked her why she thought to say such a thing, she could not tell you. But he understood.

Slowly, carefully he took himself in hand, though when or how he had removed his breeches Margaret could not say. With one hand bearing his weight to one side of her head, he guided himself slowly, watching the changes on her countenance for any sign of discomfort.

Only once did she grimace, though the pain was quickly replaced by a curious, primal fullness that grew and grew until Margaret felt sure she would burst. Mouth open, skin flushed, she wrapped her arms around him, arching herself towards him, her eyes falling shut once more as he pressed into her. His voice travelled to her, a low rumble, cresting beneath each wave, each thrust.

"Open your eyes, my love,"

"I… I cannot…"

"Open your eyes, my dahlin,"

"I cannot!"

"Open your eyes, Margaret!"

"I cann… oh!"

"Margaret, look at me!"

His feral growl was enough to send her eyes flying open and her arms flailing above her head. She surrendered to him in that moment, entirely, pleasure exploding from her core and charging upwards through her body, to the very tips of each limb, and back again. From where she floated, suspended in the air, she felt his body's movements become erratic, before tensing, and shuddering down upon her with an almighty groan. It was several moments before his hips stopped twitching.

Hours later, or possibly minutes, she landed against the soft embrace of the coverlet, coming back to herself, damp and depleted as she was. Still he lay against her, shifting only to remove himself and roll over onto his side to lie beside her, throwing a muscular arm over her possessively. She felt bereft at the sudden emptiness.

His breathing slowed, and he lifted his head, positioned perfectly to anoint her swollen lips with a tender kiss. Wordlessly, his eyes pressed a worried question to her, his brow unfurrowing as she nodded that she was not in any pain. Sluggishly, he rose to retrieve something from the washstand, pressing gently at her knees so that she might part her legs for him once more. She felt the unfamiliar press of the cloth against her sex, and watched, curious, as he lifted it to his face, examining its contents with an apologetic smile.

She was still bare before him, but there was no unnaturalness about it. Still, concerned for her comfort, he brought her nightgown to her and slipped it gently over her head. He pulled his breeches back up, and snuffed out a candle, taking care to pour his new wife, now joined to him before God, a glass of water, which she drank readily.

His preparations complete, he slid into bed beside her, exulting in the way her body curved towards his. He set one arm to cradle her, as she nestled there, in the crook of his neck, and the other he bent behind his head, as he took in the elaborate woodwork that adorned the canopy of his bed.

How many days had he spent drowning in his loneliness ? How many nights had he felt the mockery of such a large, empty bed? He had ached to have her beside him, and now, as he felt her breathing slow into a soft, steady rhythm, she was there, she was his, the ache was gone, his satiety was complete. There would be no taking her from him, not as long as there was breath in his body. His body, now equally hers. One flesh, in every respect.

And with that glorious thought, and a look of sunlight on his face, John Thornton fell asleep.