Author's note: This is #8 in the Helena series; written originally for my friend and muse here on Lit for the last few years, and my inspiration for this and other tales. I hope you enjoy it as much as she and I have in the creation of this story.
By the time we get back to the cabin from Cade's Cove, it has been dark for half an hour. You head off to one of the restrooms, while I go out and sit on the swing on the porch. I place a thin cushion on it before sitting just left of the center. We are having one of those Super Moon nights, and with the clarity of the mountain air, you can see the features of the moon even with the naked eye. Everything is bathed in the light it reflects at us, a white, almost blue light. A faint breeze wafts through, just enough to move the swing a few inches back and forth after the momentum of my sitting down has ceased..
And then you come out, and the moon...what moon? That envious moon, as Romeo called it? It does indeed pale before you. A simple white silky negligee, pearls...and that smile. I begin to rise, but your hand on my shoulder bids me stay, so I obey. You other hand goes to my other shoulder, and now both help support you as you climb on to my lap, facing me. One of your hands goes behind my head, the other caresses my cheek as you lean in and kiss me tenderly. My hands fall naturally to your bare legs, and now sliding my hands up and down, slowly, along the outside of them, brings a flood of passion over me.
This world holds nothing more precious in any bank or diamond mine than what I have in this moment.
Though my hands wander north, over the negligee, up over your hips, up your sides, along your arms...this transcends sex for me. I am literally holding beauty and loveliness and grace and passion in my hands. I feel it glide under my palm, my fingertips, just beneath the skin of my very soul. Down your sides again, squeezing slightly at your hips, down to your thighs, your knees, your calves; even your feet deserve more than my touch.
Back up again, slowly, as if my senses are memorizing every inch of you (they are) for any sad moments when you are not with me. My hands curve at your knees, this time sliding under the silk, and venturing behind you, to stroke and squeeze that bottom (That's no cereal box; that's a honeypot if ever I've seen one!) that teases me with every step and wiggle. They slide back to your thighs, stroking the tops now, softly, my thumbs just slightly inside the curve.
Your kisses...oh, Helena! There is nothing sweeter than your lips on mine! My eyes lost in yours, my heart full of you...I wouldn't take anything for this moment.
My hands slide to your breasts, stroking them through the silk. The pearls grace the back of my hands, and I feel your nipples stiffen beneath the silk as I caress you. One hand slides up, around you, fingers entwined into your short hair as I kiss you over and over.
