Communion 2

Richard opened the door to Cabin 37, swung his suitcase and a shopping bag in behind him, set them down, smiled at Leah standing by the mantel, and smiled, "Hello, lovely." He stepped to her, took her two hands in his and twirled her around as if in the opening bars of a soft rhumba. "Twelve months is much too long to make a man wait to offer up such beauty to the gods of love."

"Twelve hours would be too long to wait for you," Leah purred as she pulled him closer and took his face in her slender fingers. She brought her lips just into contact with his and breathed, "There's a reason I wore a skirt, my love. And that reason has been wet for an hour waiting for you and your touch."

He smiled as he pulled back slightly. "Then I'm sure it can wait a little longer – and it will be all the better for that, my love. Let's have some of that wine you set out."

Richard stepped to the small table in front of the bay window and poured from the bottle of merlot. Leah set two slices of fontinella cheese on rounds of baguette and offered one to him.

He raised his glass to her. "To us. For always and forever."

"To us. And to once again finding the heat that feeds our souls."

They looked in each other's eyes, sipped the merlot, and shared their bread and cheese. With each sip and sharp-flavored bite their eyes and lips moved a little closer. With one eye on the picture of Monroe on the wine bottle, Richard drew Leah toward him with light fingers on her cheek. Their lips met, he closed his eyes, and they rose from their chairs without breaking the kiss. Leah mouthed yes into his ready mouth and reached around his head to keep him close.

Richard tore into her kiss as if to feed the hunger of the damned. As his tongue met hers, he felt her hips pulse against his wiry frame and he met every motion with a push of his own. Soon he had lost any sense of where he left off and where Leah began. She was a part of him again. After so many weeks and months and hundreds of nights apart, she was with him, in him, beside him, around him. They were waves again in the same ocean, stars in the same sky, bees dancing again on the same sweet petal.

Leah turned to bring her back against Richard and pulled his hands to her breasts. "Worship them, like you do. Please. They need you so much now."

He breathed into her ear, "Of course," and began gliding his hands over the silken gold blouse made taut by her fullness and the rhythmic arching of her back against him. "They're beautiful, they are you, they are yours, I want them to be mine." He could feel her nipples tighten and swell through the fabric. As he scraped one with the tip of his finger, she moaned and turned her mouth to his.

"Yes, make them yours."

Richard held her kiss and brought one hand over her shoulder to slide into her blouse where he cupped first one breast and then the other, giving each its due attention. Leah answered by grinding her ass hard against him and urgently sucking his tongue into her kiss. He twisted her nipple between his thumb and finger until her gasp broke their kiss. She pulled his hand away and slowly brought it down her side to the hem of her skirt. Her breath caught in a staccato when she left his hand to do its will.

He reached beneath her skirt and found her wetness through the fabric there. Sliding two fingers lingeringly up the to the waist of her panties, he could feel her tremble. She parted her legs as he slipped his fingers under the hem at the height of her thigh and he heard a low moan rise from deep in her chest as he slowly moved them down the hem, barely allowing them to graze her skin. When he had found that place where his fingers could reach through to emerge along the other cheek he suddenly lifted the panties hard into her. Leah groaned and leaned forward to support herself on the arm of the couch.

He lifted her skirt and jammed the hem of it into the waistband, exposing her ass cheeks to him. The years had been kind to her. Skin still taut, clear. Thirty years of this and he still wanted her as deeply as ever. The guilt would come, surely, as it always did. But now, how can a man refuse this?

Leah's moans grew rhythmic now as Richard stroked her bare cheeks repeatedly with his fingertips, gliding them from bottom to top and down again. He continued for long minutes, savoring the feel and the resulting sighs and moans as he varied his touch and the pattern of his strokes.

"Oh, lover, you're making me wait too long. I'm so wet for you. Please make me yours again."

"In good time, my sweet. Besides, you like surprises."

The pitch of her moans rose, telling him she heard the anticipatory sound as he undid his zipper. He reached around her hips and slid a hand inside the hem along the front where soon he found the wetness that was her core. She gathered her breath and her hips rounded forward into his hand as he curled two fingers into her. As his breath condensed on her shoulder, his fingers curled upward inside her, pressing into that most deeply sensitive spot.

"Oh yes, more. Oh my God! Yes." Richard pressed his fingers into her more deeply and increased the pace of his motions as her cries rose in pitch and fever. Just a few more, just a few. Yes, her shudders and cries reached a crescendo just as he dug his fingers deep into that spot and lifted her off the floor.

While she was still in spasms he pulled the fabric aside from her ass and entered her wetness and warmth quickly and deeply. "Here, lovely, here. Enjoy me." And he could tell she did, for her spasms continued and her cries resumed, but with a raspy and more profound note now, as if he was somehow stroking into the very center of her being. After a few thrusts she began to push back against him, the hunger of months without such pleasure showing in every motion. He could feel the temper of her need around him as she squeezed and thrust back on him and he returned her heat with his own. Their pace quickened and soon he began pulling on her hips to strengthen his thrusts.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it? You wanted me to fuck you hard and fast like this, didn't you?"

"Yes. Yes. Yes. Yessss." With each cry she took him into her and he could feel her inner muscles clenching as if to keep him inside forever. But his own desire was too much for her strength and as he approached his climax he was moving in a furious, mindless rhythm.

His vision narrowed. He saw only white around the edges as he struggled to focus on her hair, her neck, her back – anything to keep his grip on reality as the fierce uprush began to overtake him. Months of denial and desire erupted in a hoarse, primal cry and he slumped against her back. Her own screams echoed his, filling the small room until both of them were silently pulsing.

He felt the syncopation of their pulsing, held himself close inside her, and finally breathed, "You have my body; you have my life."

"My body is yours. I'm real once again."

On the table by the window the bread and cheese reflected the afterglow of the now-dropped sun. Marilyn was still stretched out on red satin on the half-full bottle, and two glasses still held their promise of new life, memories relived, and memories yet to come.