My eyes flutter open and I roll to the side, toward him, to watch him. His face is so peaceful, so serene. It’s as if in sleep no one hurts him, no one leaves or abandons him. No one betrays him or takes anything from him. No one, no one understands this man. No one in the world. Everyone thinks he’s a spoiled rotten boy who was given anything and everything he ever wanted. But they’re so wrong. He’s wonderful, wonderful and giving. He only strikes when he has been harmed or hurt. He only takes after he has requested consent. All he asks anyone in return is honesty, truthfulness. The only time he is ever deceptive is in matters of business or competition, never in friendship or when it comes to affairs of the heart.
His breathing is even, calm. His soft blond hair tousled to one side, the only time it will ever be out of place during his day. His pale brown eyelashes too long and beautiful to belong to a man. I know the dark blue eyes beneath those closed lids can gaze right through me, through anything I may try to hide from him…he knows my hurts, my joys, my secrets. He has always seen the good in me even when I couldn’t see it in myself, even when no one else would pay me mind or have the tiniest bit of faith in me. He was there, always there.
Last night we stayed to ourselves in our hotel room. We sat close to one another on the sofa in the suite’s lounge, talking of many things, but mostly about him. He needed it. He needed someone somewhere to focus on him the way he has always given to and focused upon the rest of his world and those he holds dear. I whispered to him and told him how wonderful he is, how loving, how giving, how faithful and true. I touched and caressed his body, giving to him what he has always given, but not always received in return. I gave to him tender soft smiles and kisses as I ran my fingers through his hair, telling him how amazing is. He laid on the sofa, his head in my lap, his eyes looking up to me as I listened intently to his stories, his words. We laughed together about things past and that which we hope for in the future, our future. For the first time since I ran to him all those weeks ago on that terrible night, it felt right. I felt that in his arms; and I knew that next to him is where I should be.
Today is a cold wet morning in Dublin. I can hear the drops of rain splattering against the window of our bedroom as I pull the sheets and blankets up around Whizzy’s body. During the night the covers slipped off him to the waist (as he moves around almost as much as I do during sleep). I run my hand through the slight smattering of pale hair on his chest as I slip my fingers down his body, his stomach, following the dusting of fuzz that trails downward, lower and lower, until I grab the comforter and pull it up to his chest.
His skin is chilled and I crawl onto his sleeping form, laying my breasts against his chest and settling one of my legs between his. My other leg lies snugged up on the outside of his and I wrap my arms around his neck before I nuzzle my face into his throat and tug the blankets over my shoulders. The naked feeling of skin-on-skin makes me smile against him. The heat of my body begins to warm him and I relish in the feel of his chest rising and falling, and how the force of the air in his lungs gently lifts and lowers me.
He turns and bends his head to mine and I can feel his breath at the crown of my head. “Well good morning, my love,” the words are a soft rumble from his throat. “I trust you slept well.”
“Mmm-hmm,” I hum in reply. “I was very tired after last night’s exertions.” He chuckles at my admission. “And you?” I ask.
“I slept better than I have in quite a long time,” he replies.
“It’s because you let go of the pain, love,” I look up and lap at the underside of his aristocratic chin, delighting in the fact that I have caught him before he could rid himself of his morning stubble.
“So it is,” he whispers as he places his hands on either side of my face. I lift my head to look at him and he begins to say something else but I quickly place a finger on his lips.
“Hush now,” I say through a grin, “Let me love you.” I lift off him a bit and slide my leg to the other side of his hip, straddling him, his hardening cock pressing against my heat as he gasps.
His hands grab my shoulders, “Do not leave. I like the feel of you against me,” he requests and I decide to settle on him, my body still covering and protecting him. I like being this close to him.
“You’re beautiful, did you know that?” I ask. He slips his arms around my back and I place each of my elbows at his shoulders so I can touch and play with his hair. “Everything about you is gorgeous. I could stare at you all day. Perfectly handsome in every way. I’m a lucky girl, I am.” I swiftly kiss the bud of his mouth before he can say anything in protest.
“Stop,” he rolls his eyes and looks away, “You are embarrassing me.” He bites his flawless lips in the following awkwardness. I stare down at him, willing him to look back at me, wanting him more and more each moment I am near him. When he turns back to me the seriousness I’ve communicated in my stare is returned in his glance. The flutter in my heart and in my belly makes me dizzy as I gradually close my eyes and breathe in.
“Kiss me,” I sigh. “Kiss me like it’s the first time you ever kissed me.” And his eyes, his eyes speak volumes as I look at him once more. All the pain, all the joy he feels is in that gaze and I swear I shall faint with the thrill of his touch.
And it’s soft, soft and slow and building in passion and intensity as his lips cover mine and I return his attention with the force of my tongue. He pushes my body down a little and I know why because I can feel his hardened length begging entrance. I shimmy against him as his hand guides his cock up to me. With a wriggle his swollen tip is at my center and I am so very ready for him that I sigh wantonly into his mouth. “Oh gods, Whizzy, please,” I cry and he answers my plea when he lifts my bottom and thrusts up inside of me fully. I gasp in pleasure and pain; he freezes.
“Dorrie?” he forces me to look directly at him. “What…”
“I’m just tight and sore from last night,” I explain with another gasp of pleasure. “Besides, your manhood always catches me by surprise, Sir Knight.” I try to laugh off the swiftly fading discomfort. “I’m getting close to that time anyway, you know,” I whisper again as I begin to move upon him, rolling my hips and clenching the muscles of my inner walls. His arms constrict around my chest and he buries his nose at the top of my chest.
“Merlin, Dorrie, you drive me mad when I am inside you,” he pants as he barely moves below me. “Every time is like the first.”
Our movement intensifies but he never releases me so I decide to wedge my arms around his head in a battle to get closer to him. We don’t thrust or drive into each other, but instead make a subtle passage, one against the other in a delicate dance on the edge of restraint. His arms clench me to him desperately as he moans and suckles at my neck, traveling to my bosom where he kisses and licks. When he bites and sucks at my nipple I cry out again as a zing of pleasure dashes straight to my clit, where we rub together back and forth.
“Yes, Whizzy, harder, suck harder.” I am possessed as I beg for his attention and make a chittering noise in response to his offering. “Oh my gods, so, so sensitive,” and I am reduced to a shaking, squeaking moan as the pleasant pressure between my legs peaks and my orgasm possesses me. I fight to remain propped above him, to not collapse in a quivering heap of nerves and pleasure. When I open my eyes he is below me, staring up at me with an intensity I didn’t realize he owned.
When my shaking stops I remember to move upon him as I press myself down into him and he forces me closer in his grip. We are so tightly pressed to one another that I fear he cannot move but he somehow does, in opposition to my guess, and pushes up into me over and over.
And I watch him, just like I told him I could forever, as he mouth goes slack and his breathing becomes harsh and erratic. He looks up at me, his eyes desperately searching mine, a look of fear and passion in his gaze.
“I’m here, love. I’m here, Whizzy,” I softly tell him, and seconds later, his climax grips him and his body tenses and shudders against me. I hear him call out my name as I watch the expressions of delight and ecstasy play across his face until he eases into our afterglow.
“I love you,” he whispers against my cheek once I fall to his body completely.
“I love you too, Whizzy,” I say and feel him tense against me once more, “I really do.”
His arms tighten around me as he whispers my name and kisses my cheek.