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tender touch filled my heart with a warmth I never
dreamed I'd feel. Nothing was rushed; nothing was
grotesque. When we were naked beside each other,
we were silent, speaking only with our eyes and our
lips. His fingers made secret places on my body
tingle, places I never imagined would ever feel as
alive. I closed my eyes and clung to him when he
moved over my breasts with his lips and touched me
with the tip of his tongue. I felt as if I were falling, but
as long as I held on to him tightly, I would be safe,
forever.
He didn't rush to put his manliness inside me. It
was as if he knew what I had experienced under the
gritty, violent pawing of Octavious Tate, as if he knew
I had to be brought back to a virgin state first and
then, gently, affectionately, lovingly, taken on that
ride young women dream about from the first day
they realize what can happen between them and some
loving man. It all happened now the way it was meant
to happen. That horrible violation of me was erased
with every tender caress, every word of love
whispered.
When we coupled on the bed, we paused and
gazed for a long moment into each other's eyes. It was
then that I realized the act of love could be the
ultimate confirmation of our deepest feelings for each
other. We weren't taking from each other as much as
we were giving to each other. I could hear Pierre's
thoughts, hear his plea: "Come with me, soar with me,
for these precious moments forget everything but us.
