MicheW
and opened the shutter of the lantern.
He was coming towards her, out of the gloom of the barn. Tall and broad-shouldered, his pale face beautiful in the lantern light.
Oh, I thought you were not coming.
He stopped in front of her. Nothing, he said softly, nothing in this world could have kept me away. They stood facing each other, Centaine with her chin lifted to look up at him, staring at each other hungrily and yet neither of them knowing what to do next, how to bridge those few inches between them that seemed like the void of all eternity. Nobody saw you? he blurted. No, no, I don't think so. Good. Michel? Yes, Centaine. Perhaps I should not have come, perhaps I should go back? It was exactly the right thing to say, for the implied threat galvanized Michael and he reached out and seized her, almost roughly.
No, never, I don't want you to go, ever. She laughed, a husky breathless sound, and he pulled her to him and tried to kiss her, but it was a clumsy attempt. They bumped noses and then their teeth clashed together in their haste, before they found each other's lips. However, once he found them, Centaine's lips were hot and soft, and the inside of her mouth was silky and tasted like ripe apples. Then her shawl slipped forward over her head, half smothering them both and they had to break apart, breathless and laughing with excitement.
Buttons, she whispered, your buttons hurt, and I am cold. She shivered theatrically.
I'm sorry. He took the lantern from her and led her to the back of the barn. He handed her up over the bales of straw, and in the lamplight she saw that he had made a nest of soft straw between the bales and lined it with grey army blankets.
I went back to my tent to get them, he explained, as he set the lamp down carefully, and then turned to her again, eagerly.
Attends! She used the familiar form of address to restrain him, and then unbuckled his Sam Browne belt.
I'll will be covered in bruises. Michael tossed the belt aside and seized her again. This time they found each other's mouths and clung together.
Great waves of feeling washed over Centaine, so powerful that she felt giddy and weak. Her legs sagged but Michael held her up and she tried to match the flood of kisses that he rained on her mouth and her eyes and her throat but she wanted him to go down on to the blankets with her. Deliberately she let her legs go and pulled him off balance, so that he fell on top of her as she tumbled into the blanket-lined nest in the straw.
I'm sorry. He tried to disentangle himself, but she locked one arm around his neck and held his face to hers.
over his shoulder she reached out and pulled the blankets to cover them both. She heard herself making little mewing sounds like a kitten denied the teat, and she ran her hands over his face and into his hair as she kissed him. His body weight on top of her felt so good that when he tried to roll off her, she hooked her ankle into the back of his knee to prevent him.
The light, he croaked, and groped for the lantern to close the shutter.
No. I want to see your face. She caught his wrist and pulled his hand back, holding it to her bosom as she looked up into his eyes. They were so beautiful in the lamplight that she thought that her heart might break and then she felt his hand on one of her breasts, and she held it there while her nipples ached with the need for his touch.
It all became a delirium of delight and wanting, becoming more and more powerful until at last it was unbearable , something had to happen before she fainted away with the strength of it, but it did not happen, and she felt herself coming back off the heights and it made her impatient and almost angry with disappointment.
Her critical faculties that had been dulled by desire returned to her, and she sensed that Michael was floundering in indecision, and she became truly angry. He should have been masterful, taking her up there where she longed to go. She took his wrist again and she drew his hand downwards, at the same time she moved beneath him so that her thick woollen skirts rode up and bunched about her waist.
Centaine, he whispered. I don't want to do anything that you don't want. Tais-tai! she almost hissed at him. Be quiet! , and she knew that she would have to lead him all the way, she would have to lead him always, for there was a difference in him that she had not been aware of before, but she did not resent it. Somehow it made her feel very strong and sure of herself.
They both gasped as he touched her. After a minute, she let go his wrist and searched for him and when she found him she cried out again, he was so big and hard that she felt daunted. For a moment, she wondered if she was capable of the task she had taken upon herself, then she rallied. He was awkward above her, and she had to wriggle a little and fumble. Then abruptly, when she was not expecting it, it happened, and she gasped with the shock.
But Anna had been wrong, there was no pain, there was only a breathtaking stretching and filling sensation, and after the shock abated, a sense of great power over him.
Yes, Michel, yes, my darling. She encouraged him as he butted and moaned and thrashed in the enfolding crucifix of her limbs, and she rode his assault easily, knowing that in these moments he belonged to her completely, and revelling in that knowledge.
When the final convulsion gripped him, she watched his face, and saw how the colour of his eyes changed to indigo in the lamplight. Yet although she loved him then with a strength that was physically painful, still there was a tiny suspicion in the depths of her consciousness that she had missed something. She had not felt the need to scream as Elsa had screamed beneath Jacques in the straw, and immediately after that thought she was afraid.
Michel, she whispered urgently, do you still love me?
Tell me you love me. I love you more than my own life. His voice was broken and gusty, she could not for an instant doubt his sincerity.
She smiled in the darkness with relief and held him close, and when she felt him going small and soft within her, she was overcome with a wave of melting compassion.
My darling, she whispered, there, my darling, there, and she stroked his thick springing curls at the back of his head.
