Celta Thursday: Heart Change: After consummation scene:
Celta Thursday: Heart Change: After consummation scene:
A few minutes later her ears stopped ringing enough to hear his ragged breathing. She opened her eyes to see the moonslit room of gray and silver shadows and night and Cratag's sharp eyes were closed, his smile that of a man savoring an experience. Her arms clamped around him tight, she wanted to keep this experience in her memory always, too. He didn't seem to notice the extra pressure, but that was fine. Her arms encompassed all she needed tonight.
"Wonderful," she murmured and liked the low, throaty sound of her voice.
He stiffened. "I'm too heavy."
"No." She paused, was he withdrawing again as he had earlier in the day? She wouldn't ask and spoil the moment. Perhaps she'd been imagining it. He'd been worried about Laev Hawthorn, and the last few days had been packed with change for Cratag, too. "No," she repeated.
"I'm glad you're here, that we're together here." Finally.
"If you're glad, I'm glad," he said gruffly, then added as he began removing himself gently from her with long stretching motions. "I am damn near ecstatic. Was – was ecstatic."
She chuckled, reached out and let her fingers trail down his thigh from hip to knee. "There's a washroom..." but he'd already headed there. Of course he would remember the layout of the house, he'd been through it often enough with his walks. Grinning, she thought she'd given him an excellent alternative for all those walks.
Stretching herself, she couldn't recall feeling quite as good as she did now for a long time. Longer than a long time, years, eons, her whole life. The man was a fabulous lover.
Before she knew it, he was back, and to her disappointment, dressed. His face was in shadows, but he draped her robe around her. "Sorry, for the tear, and I can't mend–"
But she'd already repaired the rips, though had nearly been sentimental and brain-softened-by-sex enough to let them be.
"Done, then," he said, and she didn't know what he meant. Whether she was finished weaving the fabric back together with Flair, or they were done with sex...surely not done with more? She refused to think so,
refused to let him think so. "Done? Oh, no, we aren't."
He smiled slowly then and she returned it. Offering his hand, he said. "Let's go upstairs then, to bed." He hesitated, then said deliberately, "Your bed."
"Oh, yes."
A few minutes later her ears stopped ringing enough to hear his ragged breathing. She opened her eyes to see the moonslit room of gray and silver shadows and night and Cratag's sharp eyes were closed, his smile that of a man savoring an experience. Her arms clamped around him tight, she wanted to keep this experience in her memory always, too. He didn't seem to notice the extra pressure, but that was fine. Her arms encompassed all she needed tonight.
"Wonderful," she murmured and liked the low, throaty sound of her voice.
He stiffened. "I'm too heavy."
"No." She paused, was he withdrawing again as he had earlier in the day? She wouldn't ask and spoil the moment. Perhaps she'd been imagining it. He'd been worried about Laev Hawthorn, and the last few days had been packed with change for Cratag, too. "No," she repeated.
"I'm glad you're here, that we're together here." Finally.
"If you're glad, I'm glad," he said gruffly, then added as he began removing himself gently from her with long stretching motions. "I am damn near ecstatic. Was – was ecstatic."
She chuckled, reached out and let her fingers trail down his thigh from hip to knee. "There's a washroom..." but he'd already headed there. Of course he would remember the layout of the house, he'd been through it often enough with his walks. Grinning, she thought she'd given him an excellent alternative for all those walks.
Stretching herself, she couldn't recall feeling quite as good as she did now for a long time. Longer than a long time, years, eons, her whole life. The man was a fabulous lover.
Before she knew it, he was back, and to her disappointment, dressed. His face was in shadows, but he draped her robe around her. "Sorry, for the tear, and I can't mend–"
But she'd already repaired the rips, though had nearly been sentimental and brain-softened-by-sex enough to let them be.
"Done, then," he said, and she didn't know what he meant. Whether she was finished weaving the fabric back together with Flair, or they were done with sex...surely not done with more? She refused to think so,
refused to let him think so. "Done? Oh, no, we aren't."
He smiled slowly then and she returned it. Offering his hand, he said. "Let's go upstairs then, to bed." He hesitated, then said deliberately, "Your bed."
"Oh, yes."
posted by FantasyAuthor RobinDOwens | 4:03 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home