Notes:  this is the first half of Chapter 39 (into love...).  For reasons which escape me now I didn't want it published.  However, I am currently out of my mind in a sexual frenzy of lust & decided everyone else should suffer as well.  This hasn't been edited; it has not been beta'ed.   You should tell MJ thank you because she saves everything I send her & were it not for that strange habit...

I’m stunned by the sheer intimacy of the act; if there had been no before, if there were to be nothing after, merely kneeling there before her is a feat so laced with silent trust and acknowledgment the force of it rocks through me and merges itself into some inconceivably intense lust and tenderness. 

 I couldn’t have stood through it, so it is fortunate I am already on my knees.  I lean my forehead against her, feeling the warmth there, inhaling the scent of her and lean my head back into the hand I feel threading through my hair and gaze up at her. 

 Neither of us speaks.  Her lips are parted and her eyes glitter like glass in the dim light from downstairs.  She sways slightly and I see her throat work as she swallows.  My hands are slow at the buttons at her waist and she makes no move to help me; fingers skim lightly over my temple and down to my cheekbones, feathery brushes to my mouth as I tug the jeans slowly down over her hips, then pause looking up at her.   

I slide both hands up over her knees where the jeans are puddled and when my fingers reach bare thigh I am startled by the heat of her and amazed at both the sleek softness and at my body’s reaction to it.  It takes me by surprise; the sheer warmth and smoothness and my desire to consume and touch and stroke.  I close my eyes briefly and let my hands linger there, then run them lightly up and down the backs of her thighs, watching the skin in front of me form chill bumps as she moans and her hands hover fretfully on either side of my head, grasping air.

 When I slide mine up and cup her ass, tracing the curve of it she groans and when I lean and press my face to the cleft there she stops breathing altogether.  She’s swollen with need; I can see the soft and tender parts of her emerging engorged and I run my tongue out and gently stroke and lap, feeling her swelling more against my lips and tongue.   

She hisses breath in and sighs it out and I part her with my thumbs, exposing the swollen clitoris; when I put my mouth there and gently suck it between my lips she keens,  hands reaching, head going back, eyes closed. 

 I grip her hips to hold her and kiss her there as she rocks against me, softly bumping herself into my mouth, hands clutching at my head as we learn to move together.  I ache listening to her; her breathing is hoarse and the little cries of pleasure are guttural as her hips roll rhythmically, fucking the tongue and lips I offer up.  Her legs are rigid and she spreads her feet further apart as she quickens; her breathing goes high and fast and I grasp the backs of her thighs as she grips my head and I let her pump herself against me,  mouth open, tongue where she needs it.  

“Oh Jesus,” she growls low and I know when she half sinks into my mouth and  clutches  me to her that she is coming; I hold her hips and keep my mouth on her and shudder as she arches into me whimpering, knees shaking, breath stuttering from her throat in muted whines. 

 My hands are shaking as I grip the ones she holds down to me, but I let her tug me to my feet and pull me to her.  We stand for a moment, swaying slightly staring at one another in the dim light.  Her breathing is fast and hard still and she leans to place brief kisses on the side of my neck and around to my face,  soft, soft kisses as her hand comes up to caress and stroke, careful around my bruised cheekbone and temple.   

I feel gentled, I realize in amazement; I can’t think of another word to describe the sensation and I lean into the hands near my face and when she makes an attempt to catch her breath and speak, to ask if I am alright by the steady look I am receiving, I silence her by stepping forward and slanting my mouth beneath hers.  For a moment only she seems to hesitate; then I feel hands at my waist, fingers tugging at my jeans belt loops, tugging me into her.  I reach with one  hand to follow the sinuous curve of ass to the upper part of a thigh and lift it slightly, tucking that thigh against me, skimming my fingers back to trace the cleft of her ass with my fingertips, following the curves of her again and again as our mouths taste and learn one another.

 I could stand and kiss her for hours, I realize with some part of my brain which is sitting aside taking notes of the experience.  I could never imagine skin this soft, lips so full and gentle and teasing, the thrust and stroke of tongues so intent on sensation and pleasure.  I hold her thigh as she curves and moulds herself against me, sighing and the heat of her there pulls my hands inexorably to her. 

 “I need…” she whispers in a rushed little hiss of air that I kiss in and silence before she tries again.   

“I can’t stand up for this one,” she murmurs and as she speaks I glide my hand along her hip bone and down and slide a finger into her, slowly.   

She gasps and her head falls forward and butts mine and then bumps frantically against my shoulder. 

 “Oh, God.”   

You might suppose she would be the one getting religion, but it’s me calling out breathlessly, because I could never have imagine such heat, such delicious, incredible heat surrounding me,  pulsing and tugging at my finger and I am undone at the sensation.  I withdraw it slowly, marveling and when she sighs in protest and pushes herself against me I align another to it and thrust it into her, feeling my spine melt and slide as she gasps and moans and lets her head fall into me. 

I could come listening to her, I realize in amazement.  I could stand here, like this, two fingers inside this incredible, delicious heat, listening to this woman’s moans and pants~~ and orgasm. 

She curls herself against me, one leg raised and tangled in the jeans, boots still on and voice hoarse.   

“I have to sit down, lay down, something….”   

I don’t want to let her.  I want to make her come like this, standing, legs shaking and rigid and her jeans hampering us.  This, I know, is what Sylvie feels~~ this sense of control over a being as obstinate and determined and strong as Jinny Exstead.  It’s more intoxicating than alcohol, this power, this urge to control and conquer and take.   

My left arm reaches to bolster her and I pull her to me and half crouch myself to bend a knee for her leg to rest against and I fuck her with my hand, pulling back so I can watch as she surrenders this to me.   Her head droops forward in pleasure and I see the light glint and skid across her eyes as I thread my fingers together and penetrate her, adding first the third and then the fourth as she sags into me, panting and grinding as she orgasms around my hand. 

 The power of it, the sheer tug and pull and spasm of heat and muscle undoes me.  I am shaking as much as she as she clings to me, groaning, hips bucking and rolling as she shoves herself against my hand frantically, panting and grunting.   

I know we’re going to go down about fifteen seconds before it happens; she’s climbing me like a pole one minute, leg curled up around me with her boots still on and her jean legs turned inside out; the next I’m on the floor and pinned beneath her, the breath knocked out of me.  She grins, still panting and grinding into me, then leans and bites the side of my neck, hard. 

 "Ow!” I protest and she bites me again, with only a little less pressure. 

“What’s that for?” I demand and she rests her forehead against mine, dark hair falling to either side to curtain us and smiles at me.   

“For not letting me lay down for that one.” 

 “Think what a great work out that was,” I advise her.  “You’ve got thighs of steel.”   

“Fuck no, I’ve got thighs of noodles.  Anyone  would have thighs of noodles after that. “

 “I have thighs of noodles too,” I whisper and I intend it to come out light and flippant so of course it comes out everything but. 

 “Do you?” her voice is gentle and quiet and she pauses to kiss the bruised cheekbone, tenderly before propping her head on an elbow and regarding me wide eyed and solemn, leg still curved up around my hips casually.  “Are you okay?”

 I wonder how she could think that I could be anything but okay; I wonder how she could think I could possibly be just okay.   A thousand thoughts breeze through too fast and incoherent to sort so I just smile and nod and wind a strand of dark hair around a finger and pull her down to kiss.