Bringing her pleasure and sleep

*Calliope*
I don’t remember nodding my consent. I know I had not been able to form the words to give it. But somehow, he must have read my acquiescence because he lifts me into his arms and carries me to the bed.

Feeling his uneven gait, realizing that his leg is not as healed as he claims, I protest his carting me, but he has none of it. He is determined to give me all his attention.

He lays me on the bed with a gentleness that almost makes me weep. He brushes his lips over mine, so sweetly. I lift up for more, only to be greeted by his soft chuckle as he turns away from me and begins to go through the room, dimming lamps, extinguishing candles.

I wonder how he knows that the request was hovering on the tip of my tongue. I have never been truly intimate with a man. In truth, I don’t know if I can be. The brutes have hurt me, and while Zac had consoled and comforted me, he didn’t bed me.

He had been a perfect gentleman. He had shown me gentleness.

My greatest fear is that if he does take me to wife, I will be unable to carry out my wifely duties. Even for him.

And while I fight not to reveal it, I am quite literally terrified.

Not of him, but of the act itself.

By the time he returns to my side, my hands are aching from how tightly I have interlaced my fingers over my stomach. He places his hand over mine, and I quiver.

“I cannot have given you the pleasure you deserved for you to be dreading it so now,” He says quietly.

“One night," I point out.

He smiles. “I know. One night, more than a year ago. Still, it should have been such that you would desire it again.”

“I do not wish to be with child again before I am wed.” I say.

“If that is your fear, then relax, Callie. Nothing I do tonight will get you with child.” He tells me.

I furrows my brow. “Is the possibility not required for pleasure?”

“If that is what I left you to believe, then I was a dog." He half groans.

“No … I … no, you were wonderful.” I don’t want him to doubt his ability, nor to realize that we didn’t share our bodies. I am floundering in a well of deception, but to reveal everything now might cause me to lose Zane. How will he ever trust me?

He takes my hands, separates them, and places them on the pillow, one on each side of my head.

The only light in the room comes from the fire. I find solace in the near darkness. His face is ensconced in shadows, yet I can still see the rough planes that emerge into the light with his movements. Shadows had provided comfort as well that long-ago night, and I had welcomed them, hidden in them.

“I want to touch you everywhere,” He says quietly, and my body tightens with the raspy promise in his voice. “The nightdress will be a hindrance. I'll leave it if you wish, but your enjoyment will be greater if you’ll wear only the darkness.”

“It’s not completely dark.” I point out.

He chuckles darkly, “Dark enough.”

I lick my lips, nodding. “Very well. As you wish.”

“No, sweetheart. It’s what you wish." He says softly.

I nod again. He reaches for my button. I grab his wrist, tightening my fingers around it. “I trust you not to hurt me."

“Did I hurt you before?” He asks.

“No, but … I feel more vulnerable now." I admit.

He looks at me. “Because I don't remember you?”

“Because I have withstood humiliation.” I say.

“What passes here tonight will go no further." The bed dips as he stretches out beside me. “Let me pleasure you, Callie."

He isn’t asking permission, as I have already granted it. He is simply reaffirming his intent. Before I can say a word, he is kissing me. All my doubts, all my worries are absorbed by the sweep of his tongue through my mouth. My fingers find their way to his hair and I am glad he had unclamped them earlier, set them free so they can go where they want.

I feel his fingers combing through my hair, and I imagine it longer, wish it longer. For him, I will grow it to my waist, past my waist.

His mouth leaves mine to rain light kisses over my face, so many that I wish I counted, because I suspect he is kissing each freckle. Only how can he see them in the dark unless he has memorized their location? Perhaps he has. He has studied me often enough, intensely enough.

Just as I had studied him in the hospital. His skin had been bronzed. It is not quite as dark now, no doubt because he is not outside as much. But I suspect with his leg healed, he will be riding over the hills. The sun will again paint a golden glow over him, so much more attractive than the freckles it bestows on me.

He trails his mouth along my chin, my throat, igniting sparks of pleasure wherever it touches. His hand leaves my hair to skim along my arm, up and down, up and down. I can feel the warmth through the cloth.

What would it hurt, I wonder, to simply ease out of the sleeve so I might have skin upon skin?

As though he has read my mind, I suddenly find my arm free of the confining nightdress and his rough palm is sending delicious sensations over my skin, my shoulder, my collarbone, my breasts.

My eyes fly open to be greeted by the deep shadows of the night. I can barely make out the silhouette of his lowered head, so how is it that he is able to so unerringly touch me, never clumsy, each movement as smooth as though he has practiced a thousand times?

I don’t want to think of the other women he has known. They have taught him well or perhaps it is truly as they said: Practice makes perfect. I cannot find fault with his past when it ensures now that I find such enjoyment.

I feel the air brush against my skin, my nipples puckering with the gentle teasing. I realize he has somehow managed, without me noticing, to work my nightdress down to my waist. It will be completely lowered before too long.

What is the point in fighting the inevitable? He is correct. The night is the only clothing I need.

“Remove it,” I rasp, surprised by my rapid breathing, the hoarseness of my voice, as though I have screamed out his name a thousand times.

Before I draw in my next breath, my nightdress is gone, discarded. I hear it whispering as it settles on the floor. Gathering my own courage, I tug on his shirtsleeve. “And this."

His dark chuckle, chafing with desire, echoes his satisfaction. I feel the brush of the cloth over my skin as he pulls the shirt over his head and it joins my nightdress.

It increases my pleasure to be able to touch him, to feel the fiery silkiness of his skin beneath my fingers. I dare go no further than his waist. I know to do so would be to invite an even greater intimacy. I am not certain I am prepared for that.

Although I can’t deny that I am enjoying immensely the way my body thrums, strains, and begs for whatever release he might offer me.

Every nerve ending seems so alive. My heart pumps furiously, energy crackles around me. I can not fathom when all is said and done that I will do as he promised, and sleep soundly. I suspect I will put on my clothes and go racing through the gardens.

He cradles my breast and all thoughts of gardens skitters away. My body reacts forcefully, curling toward him, wanting him near. I feel as though I have no say in the matter. It wants what it wants, and it wants whatever he will give me.

Tension stretches from my head to my toes. He flicks his thumb over the tightened nipple. I feel heated dew gather between my legs. His tongue replaces his thumb, swirling slowly, provocatively …

I moan low, a sound that I know comes from me only because I feel the vibration in my throat. He closes his mouth over my nipple, suckling … and I sigh.

Stars dance before my eyes as though he has opened the windows and allowed in the night sky. His hands move over me, doing deliciously wicked things to my flesh. A bounty of sensations floods me, and I don’t know how I can possibly contain them all.

I am aware of his shifting, wedging himself between my thighs. His heated breath causes moisture to form on my stomach. He licks at me, his tongue circles my navel. Dipped inside. Tickles. Not the sort to make me laugh, but the kind that makes my entire body smile.

Rapture hovers, whispers delicious promises. I wish I had ordered him to leave the candles burning so I could see him more clearly, but perhaps it is the darkness that adds to the allure, that allows me to relax enough to enjoy what he is doing to me. With light, not only would I see him, but he would see me: every blush that I am certain rolls into my face as he eases farther down.

He blows against the soft curls that hide my womanhood. I jerk, digging my fingers into his scalp. “Zac?”

“Shh. Sweetheart. The best is yet to come." He promises.

“This is decadent." I gasp.

“Of course it is. Did you expect anything less from me?” He chuckles.

He doesn’t wait for me to respond, but returns to his wicked endeavors. He lightly kisses the juncture where hip meets thigh. First one side and then the other. Passion swirls through me with unrelenting heat.

He slips his hands beneath my bottom and lifts. “Bend your knees, sweetheart, put your heels on my back."

It will open me up to him more … I don’t know if I can, if I dare

“Callie, do you want me to stop?" He asks.

My body is strung as tight as a bow. It wants a release I don’t understand. It begs, yearning for more. If I say yes, he will leave me with this unquenched desire.

“No,” I gasp.

“Then do as I ask." He mumbles.

His voice is rough, as though he suffers for what he cannot have. Is it painful for him to give and not receive?

“Do you hurt?” I ask worriedly.

“Don't worry about me, love. Tonight is for you.” He says softly.

Love. Does he mean it? Sweetheart. Is it a word he uses with all his ladies? I want to ask him, but I’m not certain I want the answer. What does it matter? He uses them with me now.

I do as he bids, then hold my breath in anticipation. The first stroke of his tongue causes my breath to heave out in a rush. Squeezing my thighs against his shoulders, I release a low moan. Never have I felt anything quite so exquisite.

But he is not nearly done. He continues to stroke, to suckle, to kiss, to delve deeply, to use his tongue in ways I have not even considered a tongue could be used. The sensations mount with each touch, each velvety caress.

One of his hands leaves my bottom and reaches up to toy with my breast. The sensations intensify. I squirm and his low laughter adds to the sensations, carrying me even higher.

I have never felt anything like this, have not known it was possible. Surely, I will expire before he is done. Perhaps that is his intent. To kill me with his attention. I will certainly sleep well then for all eternity.

My back arches high and my hands are pressed to his head, holding him near. It is as though I no longer have control of my own body. He is the master of it, enticing it to do his bidding.

I want to scream. Perhaps I should. Then everything building within me might find its release.

I want to hold on to the sensations. To never let them go. Because he has given them to me. I want to treasure them forever.

I want to tell him to remove his trousers, to give me the freedom to touch him as he is touching me.

Desire surges through me. Passion rises to exalted heights. Pleasure erupts.

I cry out, thrashing about as though I am captured by another nightmare.

“Oh, God, oh, God!” My body tightens, unfurls, and catapults me into a realm of exquisite bliss.

When I return, it is to find myself gasping and Zac hovering over me. Even though he is outlined in shadows, his satisfaction is evident.

“Did I not give you that before?” He asks.

Why has he asked? I won’t lie to him. He hasn’t but only because we have done nothing of this magnitude. But if he realizes that he has never made love to me, he will realize that I didn’t give birth to Zane. He will have no reason to marry me, and I will have no guarantee of remaining in Zane's life.

So I say nothing at all.

“Shame on me," He finally mutters, before lying down beside me and taking me in the circle of his arms, guiding my face into the nook of his shoulder. “Sleep now, Callie. Sleep to your heart’s content. I’ll guard you against all nightmares."

And I believe him.