When the Morning Comes I

Laura’s bedroom was dark save for the glow of the dial from the stereo system. She was nestled at the center of her bed, beneath the covers, in the embrace of Bill’s body. Her fingers were idly stroking his lower back, while his hand held her head against his chest, tucked just beneath his chin. The delicate notes of a piano played low across the shadows.

He hadn’t known. For years, he’d thought Carolanne had given herself to him when they made love. But she hadn’t. Not the first time, not the last, nor any time in between. No, that beautiful gift, that complete trusting had come from a veritable stranger, a fact that filled him with a measure of grief and a surfeit of joy. He would never be able to thank her enough, would never be able to do enough to repay her for it.

Closing his eyes, he shifted until he could kiss the top of her head. He did so then murmured warmly against her scalp, “Thank you, Laura.” It was probably the dozenth time he’d said since they’d settled under the covers, but he felt the need to say it again. He felt her smile against his chest, then there was a delicate kiss to his skin, and an echo of his sentiment, making him smile, then chuckle when he asked, “Are you getting annoyed with me yet?”

“Not yet,” she replied on what he recognized as a happy hum.

Feeling her body shift again, he gave a happy hum of his own. She felt so good, soft and warm. He wanted…

Nuzzling closer, he whispered, “I want to look at you.”

“Mmmm.” The sound was half-giggle, half-hum, with a faint sultry undertone. “You mean you haven’t seen enough?”

“I might be an old man, but I am a man,” he countered.

“Mmm, that you are,” she concurred then stirred, her hand leaving his back and pushing the covers away from them. He rolled onto his back as she slid across him to turn on the bedside light. He blinked against the sudden brightness, but smiled when she sat up and swung herself astride him.

He let his eyes move over her slowly, from her knees to her thighs to her hips. His attention lingered on the russet-colored curls of her sex, stayed even longer when she moved her hands down to part her lips, exposing her folds. They glistened faintly in the light with the beginnings of arousal.

“You like it when I look at you,” he observed.

“Yes.” Her voice was thready, soft. “You actually look at me.”

Bill slipped a finger over her, rubbing lightly, enjoying the slick warmth. Looked up to see her eyes close, lip caught slightly between her teeth. He focused on her clit and she began moving into his touch, prolonging it, as her head slowly fell back.

He wondered from her answer…

“He didn’t?” he asked, gaze still on her, taking in her reaction to his attentions, enjoying seeing her enjoy them.

She shook her head, let out a shaky breath when he slid his finger back and into her. “Not in a long time.”

Bill let his eyes wander from her face, over her neck, her arms and shoulders, her breasts and belly, back down to where his hand was stationed, and he shook his head. “He was a moron.”

She laughed in spite of being so aroused. It started out as a little giggle then became a full-throated laugh, her head tipping forward, sending her golden hair tumbling around her face. He laughed, seeing her so tickled.

“Oh my gods, Bill,” she panted when her laughter began to ease. She pushed her hair back with her hands and looked at him, eyes positively awhirl with happiness. Fingers still raking the wild mass back, she said, eyes flashing, “Frak, I needed to hear that.” She leaned forward then, hovering over him, with a secretive little smile on her lips. “But if you only knew.”

“Mmm, I know what I need to know,” he said softly, beginning to stroke his finger in and out of her. Her eyes fell closed again and she trembled. “You’re wet,” he said, his gaze drifting down between their bodies to focus on her breasts, swaying slightly just above his chest. “You’re absolutely beautiful,” he breathed then looked back to her face, rumbled low, “And I can make you cum all night.”

She tightened around him and looked at him. “Is that arrogance I hear?”

“No,” he shook his head, nowhere near as sure of his abilities as he was of her capacity when properly tended, as she leaned closer, gaze dropping to his mouth. “I know you.”

“Yes,” she whispered then covered his mouth with hers.

They didn’t make love again, nor did they frak.

When their kiss ended, she took his hand from her and he let her, watched as she gently cleaned his fingers, then welcomed her when she stretched out atop him, head on his shoulder.

“When do you have to be back?” she asked as his fingers tucked the strands of hair that had fallen across her cheek, back behind her ear.

He sighed, not in annoyance but a measure of resignation that came when confronted with reality after being locked in a bubble with her since that party he’d once dreaded. He huffed a small laugh, to think he almost hadn’t gone. “I catch a shuttle back to my ship tomorrow afternoon,” he said, touching his lips to her forehead.

She sighed and nuzzled closer and he hugged her against him. “Then I can make you breakfast,” she said softly.

He smiled. “Or I can make you breakfast.”

“You can cook?”

He chuckled. “Yeah, I can cook. My grandmother taught me as a boy.”

“I may have to let you cook then,” she replied, hand sliding across his shoulder. He felt her smile. “Just to see how good you are.”

“I’d be glad to,” he said and meant it. He hadn’t cooked in a while so it’d be good to practice a little. He considered what he might fix, asked, “You have plenty of eggs?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Any fresh vegetables?”

“Some, I usually go to the market on Sundays and pick up a few things for the week.”

“Is it close?” he asked, fingers trailing along her upper arm.

“A few miles.”

A few miles was good. He could run down and pick up something if he needed it. He’d have to get up early and check.

“What are you thinking of fixing?” she asked.

“Omelets,” he replied, curling his fingers around her shoulder and leaning his head against hers.

“I haven’t had one of those in a while.”

“Sound good?”

She nodded slightly. “Mmm-hmm, very.”

“Good,” he whispered, closed his eyes. “Omelets it will be.”

< Still of the Night IV | When The Morning Comes II >