Her face and neck are now completely flushed, and I think she’s lost the power of speech.
“All I can think about is making love to you and what it might lead to,” I tell her hoarsely. “I get hard every time I think about it.”
“Ahhh… Mars… Oh… oh… ohhh…” She gasps and tenses, and I ride her through her orgasm, groaning as each powerful clench grips me and forces me farther toward my own climax. I’ve held on for so long that I’m convinced it’s all going to be over in seconds.
To my surprise, though, it approaches slowly, as if it’s creeping up my body like vines, wrapping around me, pulling me under… I lift up onto my hands, feeling it in my thighs and stomach, condensing to a powerful tightening deep inside… And then a slow heat spreading through me and bursting into flame as I come, my cock jerking with each jet of precious fluid as I fill her up. It feels as if it goes on forever, inevitable and overwhelming, and we stay locked together in feral bliss until, eventually, the wave recedes, and I lower down on top of her gasping for breath.
“Jesus.” I bury my face in her neck, trembling from the intensity of it. “What are you doing to me?”
“Phneugh,” she says into the pillow, still sprawled on her front, completely limp and spent.
I should withdraw, because I don’t want to hurt her. I should get up and make sure she’s okay, get her some water, give her a little aftercare. But I can’t move. I don’t think my muscles will hold me up if I do.
Thirty seconds go by—or it could be three hours, I’m not sure—and then Wren turns her head on the pillow and whispers, “Mars?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re squashing me.”
“Sorry.” I force myself to move, groaning as I withdraw, and collapsing onto the pillows beside her. I’m still trembling. “I feel as if I’ve run a marathon.”
She moves onto her side as if her limbs are made of lead and rests her head on the pillows beside me. I roll onto my side, and we look at each other, not touching, a few inches apart.
“I should get you some water,” I murmur.
Her lips curve up. She lifts a hand and trails her fingers through my hair, then circles my ear before brushing back downmy jaw to my mouth. I’m too tired to do anything but lie there and enjoy her gentle touch.
“Go to sleep,” she whispers.
I close my eyes and do as my wife says.
*
When I rouse, once again, the bed’s empty.
I turn my head and look out of the window, but she’s not in the garden this time. Yawning, I get up, pull on a clean tee and track pants, and wander out.
I find her in the kitchen. She’s put on the oven to reheat the pie, and she’s stirring a bowl of mashed potatoes that Ruth obviously made earlier. She’s also set the table, and lit a candle between the place settings, which is a touch that warms me through.
“Hey,” she says as she sees me. “How are you feeling?”
“Good. How long was I out?”
“Not that long. Forty-five minutes, maybe?” She puts the bowl back into the microwave and turns it on.
I walk up to her and turn her to face me. She does so willingly, although she fixes her gaze on my neck rather than looking up to meet my eyes. I can see why. Her eyes are red. She’s been crying.
She slides her arms around me and rests her cheek on my shoulder. I wrap my arms around her and give her a hug.
I don’t know why she’s been crying. If she hadn’t hugged me, if she’d walked away, I might have thought I’d upset her, but I’m hoping it’s just that she’s overwhelmed with the intensity of our lovemaking.
The microwave pings, and she moves back. “I thought you’d be hungry,” she says, retrieving the bowl and stirring the mashed potato again.
I don’t want to push her to talk about it. I know she came into this marriage with the firm conviction that she was going to remain aloof, with the intention of walking away once she was pregnant. I was just as determined to prove that we could have something real here, if she gave it half a chance. I think it’s working… I just have to make sure I don’t push her too hard and frighten her away.
“Have you drunk some water?” I ask.
She rolls her eyes. “Yes, Marcus.” She serves up the dinner, and we carry our plates to the dining table, put on some music, and sit and eat, chatting about our day. I keep the conversation away from the bedroom, and instead we talk about our visit to Hobbiton, and what we’re going to do tomorrow. I do my best to make her laugh, and gradually the redness in her eyes vanishes, and her stiff spine relaxes.
