“It’s not tonight, yet ... it’s now,” he said, continuing to kiss my neck and helping me out of the jacket. “You can put it on later.” He stopped and looked at me intently. “Let me undress you.”
Deeply touched, tears threatening, I lightened the moment by saying, “Wait about an hour, Murphy, and then you’ll really have something to thank me for.”
I moaned softly under him, legs moving, one of them coming up around his waist of its own accord. I lost myself in his touch, and nothing mattered except the feel of him, the love of him. Putting my hands in his thick hair, I pulled him up and kissed him thoroughly, allowing his tongue to explore my mouth, then returned the favor, hands moving more intensely over his rough back as he moved slowly against me.
I arched at his touch, and he quickly turned me on my back, straddling me once again as I murmured his name, eyes closed. Entering, he pushed in slowly but forcefully, holding his taut body just inches above, watching my face as he did. When he reached his full length, I opened my eyes, looked at him and smiled.
“Murphy,” I said, “I’m ... I’m ...” He kissed my words away, deeply, passionately, and I began moving again, slowly, slowly, feeling every part of him deep inside.
He laughed at that, and I whimpered in protest as all of him slipped out and off . I quickly pulled the quilt up over myself as he just as quickly lit the logs. He climbed back in beside me, cradling me in his arms. Kissing the top of my head, I lightly kissed his collarbone.
“Just looking, Murphy,” I said softly, arms now around his neck, head resting on his chest.
“Time to do more than look, Love,” he said, moving to take my mouth again, his hand touching between my thighs. Exploration resuming, his manhood took on a life of its own, and we mapped each other’s curves and bumps and surfaces as the afternoon waned and evening’s soft light came through the windows.
“Never?” I said, totally surprised.
“Satisfied? Damn, Colin, how could any woman not be satisfied with you?”
He pushed me back to see if I was still laughing. I wasn’t. Seeing his doubt, I tried to explain, finding the words hard to come by. “It’s just that, well, Jim and I were young and naive and we were convenient when time came to settle down, that’s all. We loved each other, and had good sex — I mean good lovemaking — but, it was mixed with growing up and then children and responsibilities. We were good with each other. We did love each other and I think we made a happy home for our boys. That’s important to me, and I’m grateful for it.
“Comfortable?” he offered.
“ ‘Legend says that to find a solution to the problem, the Sisters of the Chapel made a novena to St. Joseph, the patron saint of carpenters. On the ninth and final day of prayer, a man appeared at the Chapel with a donkey and a toolbox looking for work. Months later, the elegant circular staircase was completed. It rests solely on its base and against the choir loft. The risers of the 33 steps are all of the same height. Made of an apparently extinct wood species, it was constructed with only square wooden pegs without glue or nails.’”