D iana

Thought I’d spend the day catching up on some reading, but James’s exhaustion is contagious. Or maybe I’m more worn out than I thought. One minute, I’m watching the lines of pain fade off his brow; the next, I’m waking up to muffled hoofbeats. I wander out to the balcony in time to watch a man with a Clydesdale trudge by, making his way by lantern-light. Feels like I dozed off in the twenty-first century and woke up in the middle ages .

A pair of strong, warm arms encircles my waist. “Was that an actual horse ?”

I point down the street. “See for yourself—an actual horse’s ass .”

He laughs. “I’ve been called worse .”

“Funny guy. How’s your head ?”

“Mm, all better.” His lips brush the top of my head. “Thanks for staying with me. Woke up a few times, but your heartbeat put me right back out. Like a puppy with an alarm clock .”

The horse passes under a low-hanging arch and is lost to the night. I listen after it, but soon there’s nothing to hear. “Can’t believe how quiet it is. Like we’ve got the whole town to ourselves .”

James pulls me closer, rocking me to and fro. “Maybe we do,” he says. “Maybe aliens came down while we were sleeping and beamed up everyone who ran out to look .”

“Why not the horse guy ?”

“Oh, he’s kind of a lush. He was passed out in the hayloft, dreaming his horse turned into Isabella Rossellini .”

“I could see that.” I find myself leaning into his embrace, enjoying the warmth at my back. The stillness of the deserted street only makes the intimacy more welcome. “Have you been here before ?”

I feel him shake his head. “Went to Rome last year. On business. Some guy ran up and unrolled the cuffs of my jeans while his friend made a video. Think I might be a YouTube star .”

“Weird....” It’s getting harder and harder to concentrate on what James is saying. His solid presence floods my senses. I can feel his breath ruffling my hair, the slow pump of his heart. The weight of his arms, holding me in place, sends an unexpected thrill through my body. I felt the strength in those arms earlier, massaging the knots out of his shoulders and biceps .

I could get away if I wanted to. He’s not holding me that tight. But I find myself toying with the idea that he could make me his prisoner, chasing the possibilities .

Images flash by, one after another: his thick, corded forearm pressed to my throat as he pounds me into the mattress; his hands crushing mine, pinning me to the wall from behind; fingers digging into my thighs, my hips, my ass; arms lifting me like I’m weightless .

I wonder if he’ll draw it out or take me fast and hard, if he’ll be shy or sure, rough or tender .

Maybe he won’t at all—at least, not now .

I slide my hand over his. The night air has turned his knuckles to ice, even as his palm warms my hip. He had cold hands on the plane, too—and when he slipped the ring on my finger. Cold hands, warm heart ?

James has gone still. He’s not rocking me anymore. Can’t even feel him breathing. Could he be...waiting for me ?

I graze my nails up the backs of his fingers. That earns me the slightest intake of breath, delicate as the touch itself. Emboldened, I brush my thumb over the dry skin of his knuckles. His hand gives the faintest of twitches. I follow the tendon of his thumb to his wrist. His pulse is racing under the skin. I press my fingers to it, drawn to the rush of blood and life .

He shifts his hips, and I feel that same surging pulse farther south .

I don’t quite dare press back against him. I’ve undressed him, bathed him, held him naked in my arms, but this is something else. He’s awake now, alert, all that strength coiled behind me .

I curl my fingers around his wrist... But where to guide his hand? Up, over my shirt, where my nipples are already peaked with cold and arousal? Down ...?

My courage melts away. I spin out of his embrace. “ I — “

He straightens. Reaches for me. “Wait—You all right ?“

“I need a bath!” I duck around him, evading his hand and his concern. It’s not a lie, exactly—I could use a dip. But what I really need is time. A moment to catch my breath. To figure out how I’m going to...what I’m going to.... He’s probably expecting someone more experienced. Someone with a clue .

I turn on the water. On the other side of the door, I can hear James shuffling around. Digging through his suitcase, from the sounds of it. Probably looking for something warm to wear, now that I’ve ditched him for the tub .

Normally, I’d love this—the rising steam carrying the mineral scent of the water, the heat soaking into my bones—but this is a temporary haven. Even if I dawdle till James falls asleep, he’s going to wake up eventually, and —

There’s a hesitant knock at the door .

Now what do I do ?

“I, uh... Just a second!” I look around: nothing to hide under. No bubbles, no bath milk .

“It’s okay—you don’t have to let me in.” The door creaks as he leans against it. “Just wanted to check on you .”

Letting him in might not be the worst idea. The tub would be a nice buffer, keeping things from getting out of hand. Meanwhile, I could win back some goodwill, dispel any suspicion of prudery .

I draw up my knees to preserve some semblance of modesty. “It’s fine. Come on in .”

“You sure ?”

No, but ....

“Yeah, it’s fine .”

He circles around the tub, to sit where I sat this morning. His hands rest on the lip of the tub, not quite touching my shoulders. “Did I do something before? To scare you off ?”

I shake my head. That was pretty much all me .

“’Cause if I did—If you wanna slow down — “

“You could wash my hair.” My eyes widen—Where did that come from? Did I really just ask him to wash my hair ?

He dips his hand in the water. “I could do that.” His fingers skim the surface, narrowly avoiding my bare skin. “But only if you want me to .”

“I....” I nod .

“Need you to actually say it.” There’s a note of amusement in his voice. He lifts a waterlogged lock and lets it spill over his fingers. Fat drops of water splash my shoulder, trickle down my neck .

It might be nice ....

“I want you to .”

I close my eyes as he empties a double handful of water over my head, then another, and another. Warm streams and runnels tickle my scalp. Soon, a light citrus-mint scent fills the air. James tilts my head back as he starts to rub the shampoo into my hair, roots to tips. I find myself relaxing into it, stretching out in the tub. He’s doing a thorough job, slow and methodical. He even wets a cloth and swipes it across my forehead every so often, to keep the suds out of my eyes .

“That good ?”

“Mm-hm ....”

“Lift your head .”

I raise my head. He cradles it in both palms, and starts to knead the soap into a lather. That, now—that’s better than good. Wonderful, in fact. In some dim corner of my mind, I’m aware of making a sound, something between a hum and a sigh, but any embarrassment I might’ve felt is eclipsed by a profound, cozy contentment .

James supports my head as I slide down to rinse out the suds. His fingers comb them away, slow and patient. I open my eyes and watch the bubbles spread out over the water, drifting in all directions .

“Here, head up.” James pops open another bottle, and I feel cool, thick conditioner being teased through my hair. It’s refreshing after the heat of the bath. Easy to lose myself in the sensation .

“That’s really nice .”

“Yeah?”

“Better than the hairdresser .”

He laughs, low and rich. “Just don’t ask for a trim .”

In this moment, I’d probably let him cut my hair if he wanted to. Well, maybe not cut it, but I’d chance a hot curling iron. I’m starting to trust him—or maybe he’s hypnotized me, lulled me into a malleable state with those sneaky fingers .

I let him lower me into the water again. His hands wander, this time, exploring my neck and shoulders. When I don’t protest, he grows bold, following the lines of my collarbones, the tops of my breasts. I breathe deep, half-hoping he’ll keep going, but his hands glide back to my hair .

He works his fingertips behind my ears, sweeping away the last of the conditioner. “Probably should’ve talked this out sooner ....”

“Hm?”

“It’s funny: we’re married, and I... It’d feel weird to just, I don’t know, treat you like any other—“ He clears his throat. “Sorry. That came out all kinds of wrong .”

“I don’t want to mess it up either,” I say. Think that’s where he’s headed .

“Yeah—that’s what I meant.” He smooths my hair down over my shoulders, parting it in the middle. I shiver as he runs a finger down my exposed neck. “I like this. These freckles, down your back. I could kiss every one of ‘em.” He walks his fingers down the knobs of my spine. “Mm, water’s getting cold. Let me grab a towel before you turn into a prune .”

Like a gentleman, he turns his head when I get out, though I can’t imagine there’s much he didn’t see while he was doing my hair. Tried to keep my arms strategically placed, to start with, but I ended up needing my hands for balance, and after a while, it didn’t seem to matter. I saw him naked first, after all. Naked and hard, at one point. Think he might’ve been asleep when that happened. Certainly didn’t make any effort to cover it up .

The towel’s almost sinfully fluffy. I take my time squeezing my hair dry and patting every last bead of moisture off my skin, but soon there’s nothing left to do but wrap a fresh towel around me and follow James into the bedroom .

“So, we could — “

“You could just — “

James flops down on the bed. “Sorry—Go ahead .”

“I’m not sure what I was going to say.” It’s true: I had some half-formed idea of asking him to show me what he likes, but that sounds kinda—I don’t know. Like I’m telling him to do it himself. In front of me. Fuck—and now I’m blushing .

“Sit with me.” He pats the bed next to him .

That... That I can do .

James stretches out his arm, and I cuddle up under it. The weight across my shoulders is calming. “Am I making you nervous ?”

I shake my head. “I’m doing that all by myself.” A little laugh bubbles up. “You’ve got this laid-back sort of, I don’t know—You know how some people... It’s like they’re so successful, so sure of their place in the world, nothing’s going to embarrass them? Like, they could walk down the street in white pants, with a Mountain Dew stain on their crotch, and it wouldn’t mean a thing ?”

“Hate those people.” He fakes a gasp. “Oh, you mean—me ?”

“A little bit ....”

“Nah, I embarrass.” He’s petting me again, absently stroking my upper arm. “When we first met, and you thought I was gonna upchuck in your car—that was pretty bad .”

“You flirted with me anyway .”

“Yeah, but that was more...defense flirting.” He grins. “Plus, I could tell you were into me .”

“See? Right there !”

He leans in and steals a kiss, so casually I forget to be nervous. Feels like the most natural thing in the world to grab the front of his robe and pull him in for another. He lingers, this time teasing me with feather-light pecks. My fingers find their way into his hair, twisting, holding him in place. He gasps for real this time, and shifts half on top of me, supporting himself on one elbow as he dips down for a deeper kiss .

His robe’s fallen open all the way to his hips. An untidy trail of black hair leads below the belt. My hand trembles with the temptation to touch. I picture myself following that dark line all the way down. His cock would be heavy and hot, a solid weight on my palm. He’d groan and buck into my hand. Bite his lip, or mine .

I can’t, of course. It’d be too much. Especially as he’s yet to venture below my neckline. One hand’s on my cheek, the other splayed over my breastbone, his touch almost chaste. How would it look, if I went straight for the D ?

I have to do something. I can’t be—how’d he put it?—like any other. Forgettable .

The belt of his robe brushes the back of my hand. On impulse, I grab it and tug. It comes loose easier than I thought, tumbling curtains of silk around us. His cock, set free, slaps against my thigh .

“Whoa....” James pulls back, exposing himself further. I can’t read the expression on his face—confusion? Arousal? He’s looking down at himself, instead of at me, lips slightly parted. Too late to change course now. I reach for the only part of him in easy range: his knee. Safe enough—and yet, the muscle of his thigh jumps at the touch. “Ah ....”

He leans back slightly, but doesn’t move away. He licks his lips—a nervous gesture? An invitation ?

I follow the line of his inseam with my palm, inch by inch. His breathing quickens, and I start to feel very much like we’re playing a game of chicken: how far will I dare? How far will he let me ?

I get my answer where the muscle of his thigh reaches its thickest point. His hand darts forth, viper-quick, and I yelp as I’m jerked to my knees. In an instant, we’re face to face, his burning gaze locked on mine. My heart leaps into my throat as my towel falls away. He lowers my hand to my lap and holds it there, not letting go. My own nails dig into my flesh as he leans forward, weight bearing down on my hand .

He’d be quite menacing if he weren’t smiling. He’s holding me in place, but his kisses are tender. His fingers trail up and down my side, riding that line between teasing and soothing. I realize he’s slowly lowering me to the pillows, fixing me in place with his body. His thigh slides between mine; his cock lies heavy along my hipbone, impossibly hot and thick .

James really is well-built everywhere .

He nips my shoulder, lightly at first, then harder, at my involuntary moan of approval. I rest my free hand on his chest—to caress him; to push him away—I couldn’t say. He’s so close, so real. The heat of his body is everywhere, permeating every inch of me. I can smell his aftershave, feel his five o’clock shadow scratching at the crook of my neck .

“What—what are you going to do ?”

His hand mirrors mine, gliding up to my chest, circling one nipple without touching. “You tell me .”

“I’m....”

“Mm?” A wicked glint creeps into his eye. He’s provoking me—holding pleasure just out of my grasp, trying to elicit a reaction. Trying to get me to...what? Confess my darkest desires ?

“Pinch,” I tell him .

He does. It’s not hard, not painful, but the sudden sensation’s enough to have me arching my back, shamelessly lifting my hips. His cock jumps and throbs. “Harder ?”

I nod .

“Say it .”

“Harder....”

He follows up the pinch with a swipe of his tongue. I’m lost, overwhelmed. No one’s taken their time with me before, not like this, not like the rest of our lives lie before us, endless hours to play and explore. His unhurried lips trace the lines of my torso; his fingers drag and press and wander, mapping the spots that yield shivers and sighs .

I can’t keep up. I’m lost in his contours: the smooth planes of his pecs, the hard ridges of his ribcage, the way his abs tense and shudder at my touch. I ramble without aim, entranced with the heft of his body. There’s something—a barely-restrained thrum of potential energy, just beneath the surface. He really could lift me like a doll, bend me to his will—and I wouldn’t protest .

His lips stray below my navel, following the curve of my belly, lower and lower. I don’t even realize I’ve gone still, stopped breathing, till he lifts his head .

“Where to?” He winks .

“Keep—keep going .”

“Don’t forget to breathe.” James eases my legs apart. My hands hover, trembling, above his head. I can’t just...give in, much as he seems to want me to—Can’t risk my instincts being wrong. I settle for resting a hand on the back of his neck .

I’m not expecting the strength of my own reaction to what’s not even a touch—just the whisper of his breath against my slit. I gasp and kick, narrowly missing his hip .

“Careful....” His laugh sets his chest vibrating, and I almost kick out again. “Sensitive, are we ?”

“Don’t—don’t talk!” Every puff of breath, every rumble of speech, has me squirming in his grip. If he touched me now; if he so much as ran the back of his nail across my clit ....

Surely not ....

I hitch a deep breath, and another. James makes a faint sound, a hiss of air between his teeth. I realize I’ve got a death-grip on his neck, digging crescents into his hairline. I ease up on the pressure, and he lifts his head .

“Ready?”

“Think so ....”

I barely have time to steel myself, and he’s spreading me open with his tongue. It’s not the light touch I’d feared, but a firm pressure that awakens a deep, pulsing pleasure, intense but bearable. I feel a warm excitement building, radiating down my thighs, pooling in my belly. I concentrate on my breathing—deep and slow, resisting the temptation to tense up .

All that goes out the window when he adds a finger. He doesn’t even penetrate me: all it takes is his fingertip, flirting around the entrance, and I buck up involuntarily, pushing him away at the same time. I scrabble at his head, panting, gasping. It’s too much. I shudder all over. Bite my lip hard. Got one fistful of his hair, another of silk sheets, and my toes are curling into the mattress. Maybe he won’t know—if I’m quiet; if I’m still; if I —

“Did you...was that just ...?”

Damn it .

I can’t look him in the eye .

“Hey—it’s all right.” He’s hovering over me again, holding onto my hips like I might fly apart at any second. I risk a glance at him. He’s grinning like a cat that got the cream. “You know that’s supposed to happen, right ?”

He’s technically right. But... “That quick ?”

James nods. “And again and again, if I do it right.” He thumbs at my clit, sending a sharp aftershock racing through me .

“What—ah!” I gasp and catch my breath. “What about you ?”

“Oh, don’t you worry. I’ll get mine.” He sits up a little and gives his cock a couple of long, slow strokes. A bead of precum glistens at the tip, and he rubs it around with the pad of his thumb. “You have any idea how bad I want you right now ?”

I watch him, fascinated. “I’m starting to .”

“Mm....” He’s got this ravenous look on his face, like he’s ready to eat me alive. “Gonna invite me in ?”

This is it—my last chance to tell him he’ll be my first invited guest .

Instead, I grab him by the lapel and pull him on top of me. “Welcome home .”

He reaches for something on the bedside table, and a moment later, he’s tearing into the condom packet with his teeth. I barely have the chance to wonder if I should offer to put it on him before he’s rolled it on himself, and then—this is it. I close my eyes. If it hurts... I’m good at smiling through pain. He’ll never know the difference. He’ll —

“Oh....”

It does hurt, far worse than I thought, and he’s barely even in. Can’t be much more than the tip, and it feels impossible—how’d I ever expect him to fit? I turn my face to the pillow to hide my expression, more of a snarl than a smile .

He rocks back, and there’s a moment’s relief before he pushes in again, deeper this time. I can’t keep quiet: a strangled sound breaks free, then another, almost a sob .

“Hey....” He pushes the hair off my face. “You all right ?”

“Keep going.” It’s really not that bad. I’m getting used to it, now he’s not moving. If I can just —

“You’re going to need to relax.” James runs his hands up and down my sides, firm and slow. “Take your time. I got you .”

I’m not sure I can, at first, but his commanding touch seems to awaken an instinctive reaction. I feel the tightness loosen in my chest, my hands, my thighs. James starts to move again, and it’s not so bad this time. He’s big—it’s a lot—but he takes it slow, distracting me with kisses .

At last, he goes still, letting me adjust to his length. His body’s flush with mine. Something like triumph races through me: This is it. The hard part’s behind me. Or rather, inside me .

I should do something. With my hands, or ....

I drag my nails down his back, slow and lazy. The light touch makes him shudder. His cock swells inside me, and for the first time, it starts to feel good —whether the sensation itself, or the excitement of feeling him respond to me in such an intimate manner, I can’t tell. I circle my hips slowly, in invitation .

“Ready?”

“Yeah.”

He goes slow, long, easy strokes that send shocks of something unfamiliar through my belly. I feel myself clench and flutter around him as he moves, without any conscious control. His gaze holds mine, deep and penetrating. If he’s looking for fear, discomfort, he’s not going to find it. It still hurts a little, a distant ache, but I want it, that sense of pleasure edging out pain. It’s intense, surprising. Something I haven’t felt before .

I encourage him when he starts to move faster, arching into each thrust. He’s shamelessly vocal, groaning deeply when I wrap my legs around his waist, hissing at my teeth on his earlobe .

At some point, I stop trying to hold back my own appreciation. He’s good at this. Not that I have anything to compare him to—but the way he manages to ignite fireworks with every thrust, the way he grinds deliberately against my clit between strokes—that’s got to take skill .

His hair’s fallen in his face, wild and unruly. A light sweat glistens on his upper lip. He’s not looking at me anymore, not exactly—his gaze is unfocused, hazy. He’s panting, and I am too .

“You—you nearly there?” He finds my hand and tangles our fingers together .

I nod. I’m not sure if I am, but he doesn’t look like he can hold out much longer .

“Mm... Hold on.” He shifts a little, pushing my knees to my chest. Suddenly, I can feel him deeper than ever, and I’m drowning. The sensation’s everywhere, racing through my body. My toes start to curl again, and I squeeze his hand so hard I feel his bones grind together. My head snaps back .

“Ah—That’s—Like that !”

He keeps going, setting a punishing pace, almost too much. But it’s working. I’m floating, spinning, hardly aware of what my body’s doing. James swivels his hips in a way that seems unfair —how am I supposed to hold on in the face of that? I’m not, and I don’t—and this time, I put up no resistance. I hold him tight, one hand in his, the other on his shoulder, riding out wave after wave of pleasure .

James follows soon after. I feel him tense and still, hear him groan my name. He doesn’t pull out right away, but drops his head to my shoulder, breathing hard. He’s trembling with exertion, still clutching my hand .

“That was—“ He seems lost for words .

I don’t even try to respond .

“Here, let me—“ He finally rolls off me, collapsing on his back. We wind up shoulder to shoulder, his leg thrown over mine, hands entwined. He’s kind of on my hair, but I can’t bring myself to move .

The calm that settles over me, in the afterglow, is almost surreal. I should be freaking out: In the space of just over a week, I’ve met a stranger, married him, flown with him to a ghostly mid-winter tourist town, and now, well—now it’s official. Consummated. No take-backs. I should be going nuts—but instead, I turn my head just enough to steal a drowsy kiss .

Outside, the darkness is almost perfect. I can pick out a couple of twinkling lights in the distance, but the stars outshine them by far .

It occurs to me I’ve never seen that before. Never been anywhere dark enough for a proper look at the stars .

Whatever happens next, I’ll always have this .