All the time the deluge continued. The rain that poured down soaked his garments through, leaving him wishing that he were anywhere else in the world. The roads were wet and black, absorbing all available light. The few iron gas lamps still working were partially obscured by the branches of tortured trees blowing in the storm, harangued by the dark wind and the harsh rain. Even the swinging coach lights were no use, save to blind farmers sheltering under their carts from the elements. The rain pounded down on the muddy track and the coach roof so that even basic thought was a struggle. It was as if the flood of sound coming into the brain required processing, making all the other senses dull in comparison.
When he arrived at the gatehouse, he could only just make out the pale flame of the torch light. Somehow the stark light only made it harder to see against the surrounding black night. He waited, the rain dripping off his hair and down his face. The effects of the water and the wet hair across his eyes cast the available light into rainbows and blurs. He felt utterly miserable.
The door opened a warm contrast to the cold night. The light from inside was a soft glow. Standing in the doorway was a tall figure. The light was such that he could only observe the outline of this female silhouette, a little bent against the wind that whistled into the porch. She was clutching a shawl around her shoulders to prevent it from flapping against the cold. The tassles on the woollen garment tickled his face when she relinquished her hold to raise her arms up and brush his cheek lightly, bidding him welcome.
Once he stepped up inside the world changed. It was as shadowy and sombre as outside, but not cold; quite the opposite. There was a warm fire in the fireplace with candles burning about the room. In the corner a harpist strummed softly and gradually the rain was silenced, eliminated from his mind. He took off his coat and was handed a glass of wine and a towel. While he was drying his hair he noticed the sweet smell of fresh flowers as if they were in a distant garden. The rain had drowned any sense of smell, but as he began to dry the senses returned.
He then put the towel down and swept the hair from his face, took the glass of wine for a hefty swallow. He was human again. The figure appeared not nearly as tall as before but with an inviting face and a sensuous smile.
"Please, let me get you out of those wet clothes," she offered and, in a maternal way, in a clear subtext commanded. Mesmerised by her smile and voice he could only comply. Within minutes he was standing near the fire, draped in a towel, holding on to an empty glass. He lapped up the warmth of the flames caressing his body. He should have shivered, as he was still fairly wet, but the glow of the fire preventing any chill. It was not so hot to chafe the skin, merely a gentle, warm embrace.
Soon, the woman was filling his glass again. Rather than consume this fresh glass of wine, he took the time to savour it much like he was savouring the room. He closed his eyes and let the surroundings remove the sensation of being nearly naked, wet and cold.
His head tilted back and he felt as if he was floating in the clouds on a warm summer day. The dream state was so complete that he didn't realise the woman had returned to take hold of him. She had touched him so lightly, yet so completely that he didn't come back to the world or the room until he was fully excited.
She laughed gently at the results of her efforts, stepped back and threw him a dry shirt. Bemused at this teasing retreat, he covered himself as best he could, looked down and saw that she was she was seated on a nearby rattan sofa in the sparsely furnished room, smiling up at him.
He smiled back and said, " I should be doing you a favour."
The harper was gone now and the sound of the rain redoubled on the glass panes beyond the thick velvet curtains. She strained, as she listened to the stormy night, as if checking the weather proofing of her domain and the safety of her position.
"Are you all right?" he asked, still puzzled.
"Absolutely fine," she answered eventually patting the seat next to him. They sat side by side, waiting for the other to speak.
"Would you like to stay?” she asked almost timidly. A complete change of tempo, he thought
"I'd love to,” he could hardly say otherwise.
She frowned. "Is it wrong of me to ask?"
Silence ensued until she leaned forward, pressing on his bare knee. "Tell me, is it?"
The broken conversation was a gradual release for both of them. It felt good just to talk about nothing and everything, even so hesitantly. She fell silent and waited, looking at him in the half-light almost at peace, despite the howling winds outside. The minutes ticked slowly past.
"Would it help if you… ," he began.
"Come closer now," she sighed. "Touch my cheek."
"You always seem to know…" He said, sounding slightly frustrated. As her renewed approaches commenced, the rain outside ceased and everything grew quiet.
"Hey, I don't all the time," she contradicted him, with a peculiar note in her voice. " I do know that it would be all right to reciprocate. Hmmmmm, wouldn't it?"
He nodded and, she lifted her hand and placed it on his face. Hearing no objections, she began to let her hands probe his bone and muscle, as little by little she built up a mental picture of the man beside her. The intimacy of the touch evoked memories of her childhood, when she had sat next to her uncle, running her hands across his face, as she was now doing to him. She felt the rounded curves of his cheekbones, and the texture of the muscle below the skin. The slightly course texture of shaven stubble, so unlike her own face.
It had been so long since she had known someone like this that she almost cried at the intensity of the touch. She persisted, unwilling to stop this almost forgotten act of tenderness. Sensing his hands on her face for a second she was confused. Soon she just accepted it and allowed herself to relax and enjoy his reciprocation of her touch. His fingers lightly traced her lips, and she smelled the faint scent of him. He set his drink down, taking her by the shoulders and, paused, cocking his head to one side in apparent puzzlement.
"You still don't understand, do you?" she murmured.
The briefest moment of silence ensued and then he responded:" Yes, I think I begin to .....and it's all because of you."
He leaned in and filled it with a hesitant kiss. Her momentary surprise turned rapidly to pleasure. She revelled in the silky texture of his lips pressed to hers. They fell into the kiss and she joined into the embrace without reservation. His tongue pressed between her lips. They parted to accept him, and the touch of his lips was multiplied by the taste and texture of his tongue upon hers. It was a touch unlike any she had ever known before. How long did it last? A second? A minute? An eternity?
"You are more than welcome," she uttered eventually, breaking his confused train of thought.
She pressed against him, relishing yet another touch added to so many others. Tingling with pleasure, she luxuriated as his hot palms travelled over her. She thrilled at the feel of his fingers pressing into her flesh. With his free hand he took her hand in his, locking his fingers through hers. The sensation of his fingers interlocked with hers, on top of everything else, left her gasping for breath.
"Do you really want to do this?" He asked, as she panted for breath. His hand worked up under her blouse and cupped her breast in her hand.
"Was he mad?" she thought. Of course she wanted to do this. She had wanted to do this all her life. But it wasn't just this, it was everything that went along with it: friendship, trust, tenderness, touch, intimacy, and maybe love.
She answered by unclasping her hand from his, and removing her blouse. The silence deepened as she disrobed. He tried to remain objective, but found it increasingly difficult. The last half hour of slightly inhibited conversation had already evoked desire. The sight of a woman preparing for pleasure evoked yet another level of desire.
She sat on the rug in front of the couch as, gently, he placed his hands on her shoulders and pressed lightly to lay her down. She had other designs and resisted. Slowly, he raised her hands to his face, and began to know him again.
Understanding, he closed his eyes and mirrored her movements. A gentle caress down the cheek and across the lips, the soft feel of fingertips as they trace down the windpipe to press in softly just below the adam's apple. Palms against chest and breasts, exploring the contrasts, wondering if the other was feeling the same sensations. Tracing along the diaphragm and the abdomen, and then a thrill as the touch drifted lower.
She cooed with surprise as she explored him in her hand. It was so different to her dreams. Yes, he had told her, but now she knew. It felt so alive to her as it throbbed in her hand, hot, fleshy yet hard, and then she felt his hands on her. She gasped with anticipation as his fingers parted her, and then began to explore her folds and crevasses. The thrill of the foreign touch was a pleasure beyond words, feeling, or thought.
The only sound was the beating of their hearts, and their deep measured breaths. The faint perfume of alcohol, and the musky scent of man mingled with the scent of woman. And always there was the touch. Now she truly knew him. And with the knowledge, wanted him more than ever. Slowly, she leaned back on the floor, and he followed, kneeling besides her.
She let the shoulder straps from her dress slide off her shoulders and down to the floor. She lay in front of him, nearly close enough for him to touch her stomach or her breasts to caress beneath his chest. Then, she cuffed his wrists with her hands, a gentle imprisonment, and led him down from the couch to the thick rug spread across the floor. As she lay back, he tried to take control of his hands and began to glide his fingers across her skin, learning the curves of her shoulders, breasts, hips. His hands and eyes moved over her body, feasting on the delight of her soft skin and the delights of her seductive curves
His head drifted closer to her body to let his hair fall across her skin. He was moving almost hypnotically along her body, hair and hands caressing every inch. As his face moved closer, his lips joined in the caress. He began at her calves, along behind the knees, then up the thighs, along the waist and up to the breasts . He stopped there to suckle her.
He was discrete and gentle at first but, as he felt her growing tension, he allowed his hands to pressing harder on her flesh . Trying to connect with her moaning arousal , his lips moved back down her body to stop along the hips. He nibbled gently on her hip bones, gnawing at the pleasure that she expressed, wanting a part of it.
She lifted her hips and he took the signal and moved between her legs. Her distinct moisture mingled with his own. It drove him further down. He could feel the heat of her body embracing his face, welcoming him in, just as the hearth had done on his arrival here.
He reached out with his tongue and savoured the soft wine she was offering. Her hips began to rock as they drifted together. Their pleasure echoed to the music of their sighs. He reached around her hips to pull her closer and press his body next to her. Her hands moved along his back clutching at him and driving him deeper still.
Then she moved her hands up through his hair and pulled him roughly towards her face. As their eyes met, he instinctively began to rotate his body against hers. He pressed down upon her, his hips spreading her. Their eyes were locked as he slid to the floor to take full possession of her body.
There was a moment of awkwardness as he positioned himself, and then he entered her. A rising wave of pleasure followed as he filled her. His wonder brushed against her special palace. It seemed to be a completion, until he pulled away, before, just as quickly, returning.
Over and over again they repeated these actions, until she wanted to shout from the sheer pleasure of his skin brushing against hers. The feel of her legs wrapped around him neatly counterbalanced the smooth texture of his back against her hot palms. Each panting exhalation was a thrill in itself.
At the crescendo of their love match every cell in her body came vibrantly alive. Her cries of pleasure echoed through the dark night. They moved together in rhythm, finding the edge of the storm that he had come through. Embracing their new found synergy, they rejoiced.
Later.........much later she reached out and touched him with a thoughtful
caress. Her eyes again returned to his and, watching the simple blink that
concealed them from him for an instant, he knew that they still had
all the time in the world.
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