Late morning

*Calliope*
I awake feeling both lethargic and rejuvenated. It is a confusing combination. How can I be both at the same time? But I am. I feel as though I have slept for a century.

Slowly, I realize that I am not alone. My head rests halfway on a strong, sturdy arm and half on a pillow. My hair is being gently tucked behind one ear, over and over, the touch as light as fairies dancing over petals. One of my legs is nestled between both of his, my sole rubbing his trouser-covered calf without any thought from me prompting it. I halfway wish I had given him leave to remove all his clothes, wish I didn’t slip on my nightdress.

Warily, I lift my eyes to find him watching me with a mixture of amusement and … dare I believe it? Yearning. Memories of the late hours of the night and all he had done to me comes rushing back with a vengeance. Heat scorches me like molten metal. My nerve endings tingles with want.

I had been more decadent in my yearnings, he had been more decadent in his actions than I had ever thought two people could possibly be. I feel a surge of guilt that all the pleasure experienced had been mine, but he seemed content with it. And I learned that I can, in fact, tolerate such intimacy. When it comes from him at least.

“Hello, there.” His voice is rough from sleep, and to my shame and relief, it sends desire sweeping through me. Shame because I want again what he had delivered, relief because I want it again. What a whirlwind of emotions. I will not risk pregnancy without a husband.

“What time is it?" I ask.

Lifting up slightly, he looks back at the clock on the mantel. “Looks to be half past two."

I can see sunlight peeking through at the edges of the draperies. Stunned, I ask, “In the afternoon?"

Grinning, he leans down and kisses the tip of my nose. “I told you I had the power to hold the nightmares at bay.”

“I’ve never slept this long. It must have been more than twelve hours.” I say with a small jawn.

“Well, you needed it.” He starts to skim his hand down my side and I latch on to his wrist to stop his actions. His eyes challenge me.

“We can’t continue" I ease up slightly for a better view. “What happened to your eye?"

A bruise, dark blue at the corner of his eye, that lightens as it spreads down to his cheek, it appears painful.

“You struck me.” He apparently awoke in good humor, finding everything funny, as his mouth curls up in another smile.

“What? No?" I remember thrashing about during the throes of passion, but … I couldn’t have.

“During your nightmare," He continues, and once again combs my hair back as though he is fascinated with it. “You didn’t realize”.

I feel horrible. “God, I'm so sorry. It seems I’m forever apologizing to you."

“And Jeanette, too." He says with a small chuckle.

Groaning, I hope Jeanette is as understanding as him. “To think you risked further injury by staying with me.”

“It is no hardship." He says softly.

Not for him or for me. But still it is a deplorable bit of behavior, when I am a guest. “If your family learns of our indiscretions … it will no doubt lower their opinion of me.”

“With their history, I doubt it.” Another chuckle escapes him, this one more heartily.

“My opinion of me is lowered. I should have had the strength to resist.” I mumble.

He looks at me with understanding. “You did. I wanted much more. You must have known that.”

“And next time you may very well have it. Is that the sort of woman you want as a mother for your son?” I say biting my lip.

“Would you want a husband who can’t remember the past two years of his life?” He returns, looking into my eyes, like he needs to know I am truthful.

I nod slowly. “If he is you? Yes.”