Torrents of gushing pleasure washed through her, working through her arms, down to her toes, and up the back of her throat.
Her screams and guttural cries of pleasure bounced off the walls of the boathouse and swam through his ears, from one to the next, he smiled as she screamed.
The pleasure was unbelievable. Indescribable. She'd never had such a strong orgasm, never experienced a better feeling. He had brought her to nirvana. He had slain her, laid her mortal body to rest, and revived her in a land far beyond the depths of human capacity. It was simply ethereal, how the ripples of pure euphoria arose in her.
Her toes curled now, her knees rose up into her chest and her thighs clenched together. Her back arched and she threw her head back into the pillow. She was a formless being laying on sandy piques of warmth as a tidal wave of watery ecstasy washed over her.
She had separated from her physical body and floated above herself, that carnation feeling unimagined pleasure too.
He had taken his hands off of her moments ago and now watched in astonishment. He'd had wonderful sex, yes, even amazing. He'd had his fair share of toe-curling and sheet-gripping nights. He'd even had sessions where he thought the woman he had been fucking was playing it up from how she sounded. But he'd never seen something like this. The sounds she made were... demonic, to say the least. She sounded like she needed an exorcism! He was shocked. Never before had he given a woman an orgasm like this.
Her orgasm had gone on for more than a full minute. Hot, thrashing, lightning was erupting in her body. He couldn't help the grin that rested on his features. He couldn't believe he'd done this to her.
He knew then that it was love that had created this. He loved her, truthfully and totally. He had never felt that way for anyone in his entire life and would never again. He would have given the sun to her, stolen it right from the heavens to bring it to her feet. He would give her the eyes from his head if it would please her.
But it seemed this was enough. From the looks and sounds of it, it may have even been better.
Finally, she stopped thrashing but the moaning lingered. The hot waves of geysering pleasure were tapering off but remained still. She lay flat on her back and looked into the enchanting eyes of her lover. They were jade, just as they'd always been. His face was full of something she hadn't ever seen and didn't understand.
When her orgasm ended fully she gave a hearty, full-faced laugh.
They lie back into the bed together, her face in his chest. He smoothed her hair down and ran his hands through it. He always admired how beautiful her hair was. It was a dark orange color and smooth, like fine strands of magical gold. It was the softest and prettiest hair he had seen in his life. In the sunlight, it seemed to glow in an otherworldly sense.
"Was I good?" He asked.
She snorted. "Was I good?" She imitated him, "that's a stupid fucking question!" She almost sounded angry that he had been so good. "I feel sick from how hard I was screaming."
"So I was good?" He asked again. Pompous.
"Duh."
The smell of sweat and candle smoke was dense in the air as they closed their eyes. The room was quiet, save for the sound of crashing waves against the support beams of the boathouse.
"Jimmy?" She asked, ensuring he was still awake.
"Yes, darling?" His voice was thick and heavy. He was tired, just about to drift off to sleep before she had spoken. Making her feel such a way had taken a great deal of energy from him too.
"Goodnight," she pressed a light kiss to the underside of his chin. It was all she could reach. She was far too sleepy to move any closer to his lips.
"G'night, love. Sweet dreams." His voice trailed off and he soon fell from consciousness.
She followed suit, closing her eyes and allowing a thick cloud of pink-tinted dreams to envelope her.
-
The morning sun had sprung and it painted shapes on the bedroom walls. When he woke he was greeted with the sight of her sleeping peacefully. She was turned on her side, facing away from him. He could see her lovely hair and reached out to touch it. He stayed that way for a moment, caressing and admiring her.
Her skin was soft and pale. He hadn't seen what the effect of the Summer sun would do, but he could imagine her tanned and burnt. He imagined it would bring out the spots on her skin, highlight every freckle. He looked at her exposed back and saw the spray of dots, tracing each one with his eyes, as he so often did.
Lucy lay at the end of the bed, curled around their feet. She liked to sleep here and he was starting to notice this as he had been home for the last week. She purred, which alerted him to her state of consciousness. She was a good cat, he thought, and gave her a light pat on the head. She stood from the blanket, stretched, and made her way down the bedspread to join him on the pillows.
He was leaving for his trip today. He looked at his suitcase, which had already been packed by Gwen. He was sick to death of packing and unpacking and she took it upon herself to do it for him. He found the gesture endearing.
He got up from the bed and went to the bathroom to shower and brush his teeth. He didn't keep up with dental hygiene on tour and his teeth were suffering because of it. His toothbrush had sat unused for months while he was away. Lucy stood at the bathroom door all the while.
When he returned to the room, fresh and clean, she was awake. In her hands rested a copy of The Secret Garden. It was his book she had plucked from the shelf. She thought his selection of books was humorous. He had a collection of all types, but it was the girly romance novels and children's tales that made her giggle.
She found The Secret Garden very interesting. It was written beautifully. The mental images the story conjured were lively and detailed. She loved to lie on the couch and get lost for hours while devouring the book. It saddened her to think of its ending, much like what was to come in less than an hour.
"My mum used to read that to me when I was a kid, it was one of her favorites."
His voice started her. She looked up from the pages and smiled at him. His hair was wet and pushed away from his face, giving her an unfamiliar look at his forehead. It was square and pale, paler than the rest of his skin, just slightly. He stood with the cat in his arms, petting her gently.
"That's the sweetest thing I've ever heard. Is this your copy from when you were a kid?"
"Yeah, it is," he said, taking a shirt and a pair of jeans from the closet. They were her pants, ones that had a floral design on the bottom. They were her favorite pair but she didn't mind him wearing them.
"You should come lay down and I'll read you a passage before it's time for you to go."
He lay on the bed, clad in a button-up, his head in her lap. His hair was still damp and left a cold stain on the blanket. He felt like a child again, being read the familiar tale by a safe maternal figure. His mother must have read it to him ten times but he didn't mind hearing it again. In childhood, he would beg her to read it again and again, and he would gladly plead with Gwen to hear it now.
Her voice was soft and sweet in the stillness of the boathouse. He enjoyed the way her lips wrapped around every syllable. With every turn of the page, he was being lulled into a dangerous sleep. He would have to catch his train soon and would miss it if he didn't pull himself from the cocoon of sheets.
What was worse was the storm brewing outside. Splatters of fat rain drops on the roof were creating an atmosphere most suitable for a nap. He had been so tired from tour that nothing sounded better to him. He just wanted to close his eyes and drift off in the lap of the girl he loved most.
It had almost started. Like pearlescent wings of a butterfly, his lids fluttered closed. He was lost for a moment in the space between the outer world and dreamscape. Her voice was still heard. The breathy drawl of American pronunciation moved through the amber fortress of his mind palace. Her voice encased him, bound him in honey, and dusted sugar over his drowsy body. He was seeking reprieve in her fleshy frame.
Even Lucy was put back to sleep by the weather and reading. She was lazy today from the rain, much like her owners. Her tail had been waving and twitching before but was now still as her breathing. Gwen glanced at her every so often between paragraphs to make sure she was resting peacefully.
"They drew the chair under the plum-tree, which was snowwhite with blossoms and musical with bees. It was like a king's canopy, a fairy king's. There were flowering cherrytrees near and apple-trees whose buds were pink and white, and here and there one had burst open wide." She stopped before the last sentence of the paragraph and saw that Jimmy was asleep. She turned her eyes to the wall clock and saw the time. It was too late for a nap. He would have to sleep on the train.
She shook him. "Jimmy," she said in a whisper-soft voice. "Jimmy," she said again when that didn't work. "Love, it's time to wake up. I have to take you to the train station."
His eyes opened and he was grumpy at once. He felt like a child, so indolent and frustrated with time. There was never enough time. He groaned and writhed around in the bed. She thought he looked like a slug. His hair left a wet trail behind him.
"Do I have to go? I want to stay here and let you read to me until the book is finished." He looked at her with soft eyes. They were like lamps, bright and round.
She giggled. "Yes, you have to catch your train. Robert and Maureen will be upset if you don't make it to the cottage." She tried to stand from the bed but he forced her back down by grabbing ahold of her hands. He noted that they were soft, softer than usual. They smelled of perfumed lotion, floral and light. He smiled.
"And you're sure you don't want to come with me?"
"You make it so hard to say no. But I have to decline." She was slipping her coat on and winding a scarf around her neck.
"Okay," he stood to meet her height. He halted her actions of dressing by putting his hands on her arms, "but promise you won't forget me while I'm gone?" It had stopped raining now. The storm clouds presided though, threatening another deluge if the ant-sized humans weren't careful enough. In the back of his mind, he hoped it would clear up before he reached the cottage.
She looked into his eyes, seeing the softness fade away. It was replaced by desperation. "After last night? I could never." She pecked his lips with her own and threw open the door to trot down the stairs.
The train station was crowded and cold. The bite of English cold was bitter and cruel even in May. She kept her promise of walking him to the platform. Even if it made her sad, even if it made her want to join him, she wouldn't go back on her word.
Their hands separated as they reached the large body of the mechanical marvel. It was loud and smelly. She looked at him and saw his eyes shift once more, transformed by his altered state of emotions. It was saying goodbye all over again. She was sick of saying goodbye, sick of the feeling she was left with when he was gone. It happened over and over again. On the phone, in a letter, when he got home, when she had to go to work. It seemed their relationship was a series of goodbyes, intercut with short hellos and chaste kisses delivered with haste. She wished to have a languishing love with him, something slow and tangible. Something she couldn't have if she were to be with him.
"I'll only be gone two weeks. I'll call you when I can and you can write to me if you'd like." He had to be strong for her. It wasn't him that would be suffering. It wasn't him that was being left at home once again.
She nodded. His hands were on her arms again. "Okay. Okay, yeah, I'll write. And I'll wait by the phone. If you don't reach me you can call my work number."
He kissed her cheek, then her lips. He was trying to keep the tears from smudging across his eyes. "I will see you soon, okay? And then we can spend the last week together."
She was looking down at the ground. If she looked at him then it would be too real. He would really leave if she looked at him. "Hey, look at me." He spoke feather-weighted words. He was gentler and more considerate than any man she'd ever met. She did, she looked at him and couldn't bear the sight. It was too painful to leave him when she just got him back.
"I promise the two weeks will fly by. We've gotten through longer, haven't we?"
"Yeah." She said quietly.
"Last call for boarding!" The deep voice of a London train conductor broke their contact.
Jimmy nodded at the man and looked back at his love. He felt like a soldier going off to war. It always came down to this, the leaving, the goodbyes, the wet eyes, the sad words.
He looked at her, wind tousling her orange hair. The split ends whipped around her face, bit at her pink cheeks, and fought to break away from the confines of her black beret. She wore a long coat and his scarf. She didn't have one when she moved to England and he told her off for it. He smiled for an instant when he remembered the sweet look she gave him when he told her she could wear his scarf. It was the first piece of clothing he gave to her. It was a trophy, a token of their love. It was a handkerchief to be kept in her pocket. He was happy to keep her warm, happy that a piece of him would always stay wrapped around her neck and tucked into her coat collar.
She wore a worried smile as he turned away. The train conductor was impatient, staring holes through the couple. He made for the lip of the train fast and handed the man his ticket. He nodded and shoved the ticket back into Jimmy's hand.
She watched as he walked down the aisle and found his seat. It started to pull away as he loaded his suitcase onto the overhead compartment. The last sight of him was stashing away his guitar case under the seat. And then he was gone, not be seen for another two weeks.
She was left with the feeling, that terrible emptiness of his hands strayed from hers. She wept on the car ride home. He had just sat in the seat next to her, scrunched up with his feet on the dash. She chided him for leaving wet mud tracks on the already dirty interior. They were dry now, a light brown stain on her car. She put her hand over it when she got in and tried to remember his laughter as he protested her jabs. She wished now for the two weeks to be over with.