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“Then don’t be,” Marion said, lifting her pelvis forcefully so his naked manhood met the hot, secret place at the core of her. Simon couldn’t hold back. Guided by the inviting tilt of Marion’s hips, in one fluid movement he was sheathed inside her, grunting with the power and gloriousness of it.
“God, Marion,” he moaned. “Marion, you feel so—”
“Tell me,” she whispered erotically. “Tell me what to do.”
“Marion.” Her words were already making him groan, but then Marion arched her back, her fingers digging into his skin as she opened her legs wider. Simon gasped, nearly collapsing against her with the pleasure of the sudden warm, delicious stretch of her.
“Just do that, my love, just—” he gasped.
She needed no more encouragement. She drew him in, almost greedily, squirming her hips up to his pelvis so that he felt every inch of her. He had to bite his lip until it bled to try and control his passion and thrust gently, but then Marion cried out unexpectedly.
“Oh, god, Simon, don’t stop! Please! More!”
Simon lost his senses entirely. He followed the pitch of her voice as it rose, and thrust again and again and again, knowing that with each movement he was bringing his wife home to him. He lost himself in the feeling of her, in her warm thighs wrapped tight around his hips, the rippling pressure of her muscles inside her pulsing against him, the taste of her nipples, the taste of her neck, the taste of her lips, all of it drove him over the edge. Soon, far quicker than he had ever anticipated, he felt Marion’s trembling reach its peak, heard her glorious squeaks and gasps as she neared her climax.
“Can you feel it, Marion?” he growled, pressing his forehead against hers, wanting to capture her at the moment of passion. “Can you feel me deep inside of you? Are you nearly there?”
She whimpered and thrust her hips upward to meet him, her lips biting his desperately.
“Tell me, Marion,” he commanded his voice sharp with the intensity of it.
“Yes!Oui!”She gasped, and then she was arching against him, her hot damp breasts pressing up against his chest. “Yes! Come with me, my love!”
Simon obeyed. Her words sent him toppling after her, gripping her hair tightly and gasping against her throat as he thrust, again and again, almost desperately, feeling himself fill her and being glad, so glad, that she was his and his entirely. With a final, mind-altering plummet, he released himself completely.
“God, I love you!” he cried out without even thinking. “My one love, my only love.”
When he looked down, he saw the tender wonder in Marion’s eyes and felt it echoed in his own. How wondrous it was to share such an exquisite union with this woman.
“Are you alright?” he asked gently, flopping carefully beside her, not wanting to lie completely atop her and put too much pressure on her bruises. “Did I hurt you?”
His fingers reached out to trace the flowering bruise pattern on her cheek, but Marion smiled.
“No, my love. You could never harm me.” She kissed his cheek. “I am only very tired.”
Her skin was gloriously flushed in the afternoon light, and her breasts rose and fell heavily with her sighs. Simon smiled, instinctively reaching out to touch and caress her skin, marvelling at its perfect colour and texture. He felt like he could stare at her forever. He could tell she was exhausted and reached down for the light, cotton blanket and pulled it over them both. She settled down against him, sighing contentedly.
“I love you,” Simon whispered.
“I love you, too,” Marion whispered back. He loved the little smile on her face when she said it, the way her long, dark eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks. He wanted her to feel sure that she was the love of his life, the only one for him. He hesitated, watching her drift towards sleep, but then spoke softly.
“I…I have something for you. Not a present, exactly, but it is important.”
“Oh?”
The eyelashes fluttered open and he marvelled at her dark, beguiling eyes. They reminded him of dark skies and firelight—he could get lost in them, and gladly. He cupped her face gently, hoping that this gesture, along with their lovemaking and the intimacy they had shared since the assault, would be enough to reassure his wife that she was first in his heart.
“I had Hughes get rid of Stella’s old chair in the library,” he said.
“How did you—?” He noticed the surprise in her face, then an endearing flush of embarrassment, as if she felt she had been caught out in her secret insecurity.
“It was time,” Simon said softly, holding her hand. “Time to look to the future, and live in the present.”
His heart sang with contentment as he saw a quiet joy flourishing in her eyes. How he had come to know those eyes so well, to see every thought and feeling that passed through them.
“You didn’t have to do that for me,” she said quietly, stroking his naked shoulder. He realised he had never been so comfortable being this vulnerable, physically and emotionally. It was freeing. It was revelatory.
“I know,” Simon kissed her softly. “But I wanted to. I wanted you to know that you are the only wife in my heart, the only one that I love, the only one that I—”
“I know,” Marion stopped him with a kiss and smiled up at him softly. “I know. Me, too.”
Simon knew that she did. He settled back against the pillows, pulling Marion into his arms. He had never known that it could be like this, that the satisfaction of marriage could be so entirely complete. He loved Marion, but more than that, he felt entirely known and understood by her, and he would continue to be. Every day. For the rest of their lives.
The End?
