A REASON FOR MARRIAGE

She took off her clothes and rushed into the shower, but even the water did nothing to calm her nerves. Minutes later she came out, headed for the wardrobe and took out one of his shirts. She went back out into the bedroom, put it on, but it seemed to even make things worse because now every part of her was enveloped in his sent.

She stopped pacing and sat on the edge of the bed, wondering what the hell was wrong with her. She’d not come here for a simple sleep over. She knew that and she was sure as hell that Simon knew it too. Her heart was thumping slow, heavy beats. She was shaking. Adrenaline washed through her system. Her body already knew what was inevitable. She couldn’t deny it to herself. It was as if the center of her being had become magnetized and could only go in one direction.

She walked back over to the door and opened it. The only light came from the living room. She walked over and paused at the door. Simon was still down there, sitting on the couch, long legs splayed in front of him, in bare feet, the dregs of a glass of wine in his hands into which he was staring broodily. Fear assailed Sara again, and she almost fled, but then he looked in her direction

Tension snaked up from him to her and an unspoken plea: don’t go. She realized that she couldn’t, even if she’d wanted to. She came into the room, clinging onto the wall as she went. She was melting inside as she came closer and closer. His shirt on her body felt restrictive. Without taking his eyes off hers, Simon carefully placed his glass on the small table at his feet and stood up. She concentrated on his eyes-dark, molten.

“I couldn’t sleep.” said Sara.

He didn’t smile, but she heard the smile in his voice. “You were only gone fifteen minutes.”

“I know I won’t be able to sleep.”

“What do you want, Sara?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I want…I want…” Her face flamed. “You know what I want. Don’t make me say it, Simon, please.”

“Then show me what you want.” His voice was soft, silky, heavy with erotic promise.

Simon was making her come to him all the way. Making sure. Sara stepped forward jerkily until she was standing right in front of him. She could barely breathe. They hardly touched, and now she lifted her hands to his shoulders. They were so wide and high. She took another couple of awkward steps. He was making no move to help her. She looked up at him, a hint of desperation on her face; she could feel sweat on her brow.

“Can’t you just…?”

“You want me to take you? To take the decision out of your hands-so on some level you don’t have to actually make it clear what you want?” He shook his head. “No. I need to know that you really want this. I won’t indulge regrets and recriminations in the morning. I’m done with that, Sara,”

Damn him. Since when had he become a psychoanalyst? But Sara’s need was too great. She moved even closer and wound her arms around his neck, bringing her whole body flush against his, leaning into him. Her breasts were crushed into his chest, and she felt him suck in a deep breath. It made her exultant. He might be displaying control, but she guessed it was shaky.

She pulled his head down to hers, her fingers threading through dark, silky hair. She lifted her face to his and angled it to try and kiss him. She felt so awkward. She aimed for his mouth, but ended up bumping his nose, his chin. She pulled back, letting him go. This was ridiculous. No doubt he’d expected her to sashay up to him, throw him down on the sofa and seduce him into mindless ecstasy. Well, he’d be waiting.

Her voice was stiff with humiliation. This was exactly what she’d feared. “I’m sorry. I haven’t…done this in…I don’t know how to…. Look, I think you expect me to be something…more than I am.”

She turned to go but he caught her wrist and pulled her back. She fell against him, caught off-balance. With the practiced ease which she lacked and so envied, he immediately cradled the back of her head with a big hand, the other holding her close against him.

“Not at all. I just wanted to be sure you were ready for this”

“Maybe I’m not, after all,” she breathed up, mesmerized by his eyes.

“I think you are.” And then he bent his head and kissed her, exactly how she’d been aching to be kissed. Both hands now threaded through her hair, messing it up, cradling her head. Her hands rested on his chest and wound higher until they were tight around his neck. They barely paused for breath; there was no awkwardness now. First their kiss was slow, sensual, a tentative touching of tongues, tasting. Then it developed into full-on passion, igniting an inferno between them.

Somehow, Sara didn’t know how, Simon had manoeuvered them and now her back was against a wall, just like he had done hours ago at the reception. He lifted his head. One hand was high on the wall behind her, the other resting on her hip. She felt as boneless as a rag doll. She looked up, her eyes glazed, her lips plump and tingling.

His index-finger traced around her jaw and down to the top button of her shirt…. His shirt. Her heart stopped and kick-started again. Faster.

“Do you have any idea how much I’ve missed you, Sara,”

She shook her head. All she knew was that she had definitely missed him too, and she was tired of pretending. Tired of holding back.

He started to undo the shirt. “As much as this turns me on seeing you in my shirt,” he said gruffly, “I think I’m going to have to burn it if it doesn’t come off faster”

“Well, They’re are yours…” Sara said matter of factly, distractedly.Content is property © NôvelDrama.Org.

“Then I guess it will be a bonfire.” His fingers were undoing the buttons. She tipped her head back to give him access, and she felt him drop his head and press a kiss to the exposed, delicate skin of her throat. Sara moaned softly.