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They kissed, they caressed, they sighed. The moon bathed their entwined bodies, as they moved on each other starved, avid, desperate. Consumed with want, their bodies melted and clung, gave and received. They tried to surface misery and procure ecstasy, relief, fulfilment.
He encountered her hot and ready. They joined their bodies with supreme delight, oblivious to the world around. Only the moon as their witness, their confidante, their ally. Delved in each other, yielding, taking all the pleasure they could, their tongues mimicking their joining, frantic, shameless, erotic. Until they finally obtained and granted the ultimate peak with abandoned pleasure. Paradise followed in each other’s arms. Sleep finally fell on them.
Deep into the night, Philip stirred. Selene lay on her back and he lay on his belly, half over her, an arm snaked around her waist, the other over his head, his face in the curve of her neck. He didn’t remember having felt so…sated in his entire life.
She opened her eyes. The moonlight made the vivid green languid. Their legs interspersed; she looked at him. His intense stare surveyed her. Beautiful. A real moon goddess.
“Good morning.” He managed to say.
Her hand filled itself with his sleek black hair and he revelled in her tenderness. “Good morning.”
“Are you alright?” Try as he might, his body always stormed in contact with hers.
“Yes. You?” She murmured as a cat just finished with a bowl of cream.
“Never better.” His tone lazy.
Her other hand wandered over his shoulder and reached a scar. “What’s that?”
“This?” He looked in the direction of the scar. “A bullet scraped it, missing me.”
“Oh!” Her eyes widened. “I’ve heard it was a fierce war.”
“You’re right.” He lay on his back and brought her with him. “We all went to it to fight and win over the menace.” He’d sold his commission soon after he arrived in London.
At that time, men considered war a fact of life. Without the peace movements that came a century and a half later, war and carnage would be regarded as normal, since they happened often and demanded action. Men didn’t come home traumatized. They came proud and boastful. If injured, they’d recount how it happened in a heroic tone of glory, not bitterness. The spirit of the times.
“How epic!” She commented.
“You fought a war of your own, if I eavesdropped right.” He said, referring to her half-brother’s visit. He changed the subject because he wanted to know more.
“It wasn’t a war, no.” She sighed. “My father gave me the option of being cast off.”
“I’ll beat him to a pulp!” Even though, if she hadn’t married his uncle, he’d never have met her. They’d frequent different circles.
“Not much helpful. It’s all done and over.” She played with his dark chest hair.
“But you didn’t want to marry John.”
Her eyes stared the infinite through the window, a sadness to them. “No, I used to dream of a love-match and a happy family.”
Family. In her mouth, the word acquired a new meaning. What would it be like to have one with her? He’d never thought about those things before. What if she’d already got pregnant? When he took her, he was usually so mad with desire, he never managed to prevent…eventual consequences. He wouldn’t complain if he got her with child. Then she’d have to think of marriage.
“And now?” He rolled a strand of rich brown hair around his finger.
“Now it’s all gone. I missed my chance.” Her tone so definite, it tore at his guts.
“You haven’t, you know that.” He reminded her of his proposal.
“It wouldn’t be a love-match.” She said matter-of-factly.
Ok, so she didn’t love him, what of that. They could build something together, they had the potential for that. He wouldn’t insist, though, and risk another row.
“How did my uncle meet you?” Baronets’ daughters and dukes didn’t go to the same social functions.
“A common acquaintance introduced us, when my father paraded me in St James’s P
ark.” She turned away from him and he couldn’t see her delicate face. “We were in the park and he saw this acquaintance with the duke and approached to start a conversation.”
