Robert and Clara

The snow fell outside, locking them into Clara's house. They relaxed in front of the fire, and finished off the bottle of brandy.

An ember spat and jumped out of the grate. Robert reached out a toe and kicked it back into the fireplace. Silence reigned. They both sipped their cognac. It should have been peaceful, but a tension gripped him.

"There is one thing I regret," Clara said suddenly. "I hear married ladies whispering and laughing about the intimacies of the bedroom, and it annoys me that they know something I don't."

He looked at her, startled. She continued, staring at the fire. "I've read the books, of course, and - " She broke off, flushing darkly. "But I think it's not the same. I hate not knowing."

"No," he said. It's not the same as in books."

"I was afraid of that."

He paused. "What books have you been reading?"

She waved a hand. "The usual ones." She looked at him. "Pray tell me, sir, how is it different from what one reads in the books? What does the marital embrace feel like?"

Afterwards, he couldn't have said what prompted it, just that it was the only possible answer. "I'm not good with words." Holding her eyes, he said "Why don't I show you?"

Startled, she asked "Do you mean -?"

"Yes."

She went utterly still for so long that he began to sweat. Finally she asked "Why?"

"I want to," he said, surprising himself. He hadn't realised how true it was until this moment. If she said no, something within him would die. Somehow, she had become important to him.

"Now?"

"When better? Your servants must be in bed by now. No-one is looking for us. We may never get another chance."

She continued to stare at him. Without warning, she smiled. "Then – yes."

He was caught between elation and urgency. He wanted to pounce on her, but feared that she would back out. "Take off your cap," he said. Obediently, she pulled off the monstrosity that hid her hair and half her face. Underneath, a huge mass of hair was hidden, darker in colour than he had expected.

"Take out the pins," he breathed.

She pulled out a few pins and shook her head. A swathe of long hair fell around her shoulders and down her back. He stared. The brown hair caught reflections of the fire and shone red and gold. Without the cap distracting the eye, her face looked different, sharper and stronger. And younger.

"What age are you?" he asked, too startled to be tactful.

"Thirty two." She was not coy about it. "What did you think?"

He had enough wit left not to say a number. "Older than that. That cap adds years."

"I know. That's why I wear it."

"You should burn it."

She looked amused, but shook her head. "It serves its purpose." She raked her fingers through her hair. "Now what?"

"Now." He allowed anticipation to colour his words. "Now we go to bed." He rose to his feet, but didn't allow himself to touch her yet.

She rose too, and put the guard in front of the fire. She picked up a small branch of candles, and he was pleased to see a slight tremble in her hand. Not as composed as she pretended. Good.

She led the way upstairs. The runner on the stairs deadened the sound of his booted footsteps. She opened the door to her room and invited him in.

He looked around in wonder. This was not the bedroom of a dreary spinster. The bed was huge, with frame of mahogany that had been carved into fantastical creatures. It looked solid enough to take his weight without a squeak and was littered with plump pillows. The bedside cabinet was piled high with books. There was no other clutter.

She put down the candelabra, and turned to him, the perfect hostess. "The dressing screen is over there Do you need - "

He interrupted her. "Take off your clothes."

She blinked, but he didn't relent. He wasn't going to allow her to control this. "You wanted the experience. This is part of it. So take off your clothes," he repeated.

He didn't know why he was doing this. He was a gentle and considerate lover. She would baulk and back out, and likely send him home in the snow. But here, in this bedchamber, he couldn't allow her to take control.

She obeyed.

Her hands went to the laces of her dress, and began to loosen them. He didn't offer to help, just stood there watching her. Her fingers shook slightly, but he said nothing to reassure her. In the silence, her shaking increased.

The dress fell to the floor. She wore only a light chemise under it. "That too," he said hoarsely.

She untied the ribbons that held it beneath her breasts, then pulled it off over her head. With one motion, she was standing naked before him.

He choked. He strangled an oath as he stared at her. Whatever he had been expecting, it was not this.

Clothed, she was stocky and dumpy. Naked, she was extraordinary. Generous breasts, plump and round and tipped with brown nipples, trembled with each breath. Beneath them, her waist narrowed into a curve that tempted the hands. Then her hips flared out into a bountiful sweep, with a patch of dark curls pointing down to smooth long legs.

"You're a goddess." It was true. How could this body have been concealed so completely?

She stood there, still holding her chemise, not trying to conceal herself. "You're still dressed," she observed.

"Yes. Now lie on the bed." He knew his voice was harsh. "I want to look at you."

She moved, with small footsteps to the bed, and climbed up the steps. Awkwardly, she lay down. "Is this -?"

"Yes. Now shut up." Her eyes flashed defiance, but she obeyed. He leaned in, and drew one finger down her ribs.

She flinched at the first unexpected contact, then went still, absorbing the sensation. She moaned. He drew his fingers over the curve of her belly. She moaned again, this time louder.

"That's it. Show me what you like." He traced her entire body with his fingertips, avoiding only her breasts and between her legs. His fears that she would skitter away like a nervous virgin were unfounded. She lay there like a courtesan, absorbing the pleasure he lavished on her.

He listened to the sounds she made, unknowingly guiding him to her most sensitive areas. When he stroked her belly, she made a low humming in her throat. Along her thighs the sound rose higher. When he drew his fingernails down her rib, she squealed and flinched. He stopped.

"Do that again," she panted.

He obliged, and she made a high keening sound.

He couldn't get enough of this. Her skin was like velvet, he couldn't keep his hands off her. He stroked and teased and scraped.

She writhed against the bed. "Again," she panted.

"Don't speak," he told her. "You can make noises, but no words." He had no idea why he was doing this, he just knew that it felt right. She fell silent.

Finally, he touched her breast. It was as soft as it looked, warm and resilient. It was irresistible, and he fell on both breasts, caressing and kneading. Finally, for the first time that night, he kissed her, on the right breast. She twisted in response.

He drew her nipple into his mouth. She might have been made for him, everything about her seemed the perfect size. He sucked and she keened in response. He did it again, trying to drive the note higher.

When she was writhing mindlessly against the bed covers, he stopped. "Open your legs," he ordered.

Again, she obeyed. He took her other nipple into his mouth and moved his hand down, tangling in the silky curls, then moving lower. She went still for a second, then opened her legs wider.

She was wet, so wet. The scent of her, rich and musky, went to his head. He could not stop touching her, learning her. He found the spot that made her flinch, then raise her hips to his hand. The noises she was making grew more high pitched and urgent.

He sucked harder, and used his hand to drive her on. The tension in her body grew tighter and tighter as she writhed against him.

Finally, when he knew she was about to burst and had opened her mouth to scream, he covered it with his own mouth and swallowed the sound. She went rigid for endless seconds, then relaxed.

He watched her, enthralled.

Finally, she opened her eyes. "There you are," she said sleepily. Then she snapped to attention. "You're still dressed."

"Not for long," he growled and tugged his clothes off. It was difficult getting his breeches off, he was as hard as rock. When had his boots got so difficult?

Finally he was naked and ready to join her in the bed. "Stop," she said. "I want to look at you." He stood there, in almost the same position as she had been, and allowed her to look her fill.

Her eyes caressed him, lingering on the patch of dark red hair on his chest, and moving down his tense arms and legs, the muscles pumped and ready for action. Finally, she focused on his manhood, which was brushing his navel. Under her wide eyes, it grew even thicker.

"Satisfied?" he asked thickly. He was amazed he could still control his voice.

"No. But I'm sure I soon will be." She smiled and drew back the bedclothes.

He leaped into bed and grabbed her. He was long past the point of being slow or gentle. He claimed her mouth in a punishing kiss, and hauled her body tightly against his.

She strained against him eagerly, running her hands up and down his back, trying to learn him as he had learned her. But he hadn't the patience for that.

He dragged his mouth from her, nipped her earlobe, and nibbled his way down her neck. "Next time," he gasped before sucking her nipple again. He moved, forcing her thighs apart and making a space for himself.

He wanted to be slow and careful, but something about this woman demanded everything. He positioned himself and plunged.

She gasped.

There was a moment of narrowness, of difficulty, then it was past and he was home. She surrounded him with heat, scalding and intoxicating. He tried to slow down, to savour it, but his hips were beyond his control and lunged into her, over and over.

He was afraid he was hurting her, then her thighs came up around him and she dug her nails into his buttocks. "Harder." He hardly recognised her voice.

He released the last tenuous shreds of his control and drove into her again and again as she urged him on. His orgasm rose like fire at the base of his spine, and he was powerless to stop it.

It burst from him in an endless stream and pumped into her. He barely managed to muffle his roar against her mouth. He was just about aware that she was with him all the way.

He collapsed. He just managed to roll off her and pull her into his arms before he fell asleep.