Recovery (chapter 2)

In Chapter 1 (Smile High), Clare and Findlay had a very memorable plane flight on the way to their holiday together. But that was just the beginning.

*******

Finlay had been looking forward to this holiday with Clare for a long time. They both recognised he travelled far better than she did so after they arrived he had showered, then stepped out into the morning bustle of the city to finalise arrangements and gather a few supplies. He couldn't bear to be away from Clare for long so an hour later he was back at the door to their hotel suite, quietly turning the handle and slipping into the darkened room.

He knew Clare was the grand love of his life. Although they had only been together for a short while, they both knew this was the relationship to which they wanted to devote their attention for the rest of their days. Finlay was determined to do everything he could to deepen his commitment to Clare and to foster her attachment to him.

To Finlay, it seemed miraculous yet inevitable that they had found each other. Clare's breezy charm, Celtic good looks, and the values and interests they shared had drawn Finlay in from the first time they met years earlier. Her passion inspired him; her insights helped him see his own challenges more clearly; her humour delighted him. He felt he was the luckiest man alive that Clare felt the same way about him. Then on top of all this, they shared the same crazy libido and willingness to try new things. Finlay was inspired to find new ways to drive Clare to distraction and she did the same for him. The clothes and lingerie she wore, the adventures she suggested, and her willingness to go along with his romantic excesses, all left him in a perpetual state of erotic arousal and contentment.

But for now, it was important Clare get some rest, so they could enjoy the holiday together. He quietly padded across the darkened room to a chair at the end of the bed and settled down with his smartphone to reply to messages. He was determined to give her three to four hours sleep, at least, before he suggested they have an adventure.

Damn she's hot, thought Finlay as he looked across to the bed where Clare lay, sleeping peacefully. She had also taken a shower and flopped down on the bed with a towel draped around her. Now she lay on her stomach, bare from mid back and mid thigh. He could just make out her face in the darkness, relaxed and beautiful, her waves of long dark hair reminding him of the way he had stroked and massaged her scalp as she lay in his arms on the plane. Closer to him, her shapely legs were splayed out before him. He could see the definition in the muscles of her calves and thighs, her warm brown skin, and just the vaguest hint of her sex somewhere up in the darkness under the towel.

There was little to distract him from thoughts about Clare in the muted light of the curtained room. Incrementally the silence and darkness began to heighten his awareness. He could hear her quiet breathing as she slept, with the occasional little sigh as she dreamed her calm dreams. The warmth of the room made her comfortable in her near nakedness and from time to time she would shift in her slumber. Every time she moved, the towel would ride a little higher up her thighs, the sight of which made him to want to glide his hands across her silky skin. His senses were so heightened by his focus that could even smell the mix of subtle aromas generated by her body: the water and soap of the shower; the freshly laundered towel; the mix of unique smells he recognised as coming from her skin; but under all that, a dusky subliminal pheromone exuded by her sex. He knew that smell, even from the faintest trace. He knew it was there, almost imperceptibly. And once he noticed it, he could think of nothing else but Clare.

Finlay put down his phone. He was as hard as a rock.

He looked at his watch - an hour had passed since he returned to the room and that made it two altogether. But he had promised himself to wait at least one more hour before he woke her. He knew the time now would crawl by but he committed to double down on the experience and savor the process of being driven mad by his desire. He could see the towel around Clare's slumbering body was coming loose and beginning to gape at the bottom and he was almost overcome by the need to touch her, to stroke her, to make love to her. But he resisted. He prided himself on his willpower.

This is going to be a long hour, he observed to himself. Every moment his resistance was tested and while he might not recognise it, when it came to Clare his willpower was not strong. It inevitably crumbled: that subliminal smell; her calm breathing; her shape in the darkness more imagined than seen. His overwhelming love for her left his mind in a riot.

It was already an unfair contest. Then she stretched and sighed gently in her sleep, loosening the towel completely. He was done for.

Perhaps she might overheat, he thought whimsically, knowing it wasn't true but resolving to treat this as a serious risk to Clare's comfort. As quietly as he could, Finlay stood up and stole the few steps over to stand next to the bed. From this close quarter, Clare was even more beautiful and desirable. He could see the tiny hairs at the nape of her neck, her perfect rounded shoulders with their fading freckles, the contour of her spine complementing the smoothness of her skin. He could see the disruption to her skin made by the impression of the towel, loose and lying draped around her, but unfastened. At its other end the towel was beginning to part open and when he bent down, he could see her sex in the shrouded darkness, under the curve of her perfect bottom. From this close proximity, her unique signature was no longer just a pheromonal hint to his subconscious: he could clearly detect the subtle, musky aroma he knew to be Clare.

He reached out and carefully took the top corner of the towel from underneath her arm, dragging it across to uncover her back and buttocks. He slid the towel's other end off her side. Now she was lying naked on the bed, and she was beautiful. Her wild black hair flowed luxuriously across the duvet, accenting her slumbering face, draped across her back. Her smooth tan skin was unlike any other he had ever touched. Silky and fresh, he could remember the way it would slide back to shape under his firm hands. Her shoulders and back were those of a goddess, with the mere hint of the contours of her muscles under the perfect curves of her shoulders, waist and hips. The slope of her buttocks rose up from the bed, seemingly inviting his touch, then spread to reveal her wide open sex nestled between her parted inner thighs. Her legs, toned and athletic, beckoned him closer, whispered to him to run his hands up and down their length.

Moving the towel had registered in Clare's slumber but not enough to wake her. She flexed her pelvis and let out a contented sigh. Her bum rose slightly off the bed as she stretched, revealing still more of herself to him. She was irresistible. Finlay could no longer think rationally. Surely it's been nearly three hours, he thought as he studiously avoided checking his watch, now she needs to relax, properly.

Slowly, silently but urgently, Finlay took off his clothes and kneeled between Clare's feet. He gently rested his hands on each of her calves and paused, soaking up the quiet sounds, smells and sights of the darkened room. Then with the lightest possible touch, he glided each hand up her calves and thighs to her bottom, back down around the sides of her legs, across the soles of her feet and onto her calves once again. He barely touched her as his hands glided to trace the contours of her legs, just brushing the tips of the almost invisible downy hairs that covered her skin. But the effect was electric. Clare's breathing stopped, then slowed. Finlay could see tiny ripples of goosebumps rise up across her body as his hands passed. He could barely contain his calm, methodical strokes as the desire built within him.

Then Finlay leaned forward, suspending his body above Clare on his left arm as his right continued to glide higher, up over her buttocks, her back, her shoulders and neck. While his hand barely touched her, it covered every inch of her skin as it traced a path, from the nape of her neck back down to her bottom, then with two hands again to her heels. He could sense Clare was half awake now, but lying still and experiencing the incredible sensations. Her goosebumps grew more prominent, now constantly present across her whole body, heightening her awareness of Finlay's barely perceptible touch.

Gradually, Finlay increased the pressure with which his hands passed across Clare's body. While in places his touch was light, particularly along her sides, in other places he began to massage the muscles under her skin. He progressively worked her thighs, buttocks, back and shoulders as he passed across them, his dry palms sliding across her warm skin as he gently kneeded her. She began to groan rhythmically as she felt the tension pass away from her muscles and as the desire and anticipation in her mounted. She particularly responded when he massaged her buttocks, arching slightly to meet his hand. As she did, her reaction heightened Finlay's desire further and he suddenly broke into a sweat, moistening her skin and halting the smooth gliding of his hands. Time to move to the next level, thought Finlay with enthusiasm.

With one hand he continued to massage Clare's thigh, with the other he picked up a small bottle of warm oil he had bought earlier and placed nearby on the bed. He began to drizzle the oil over his massaging hand as he traced a path across her body, gradually coating her from neck to toes with a thin layer of oil. Then he slowly and patiently proceeded to massage her, his firm hands gliding across her skin, digging deep into her tired muscles, releasing her remaining tension. He gradually increased the attention he devoted to her inner thighs, progressively moving higher to brush her sex and ass as he passed. As before, Clare gradually responded more strongly to this increased attention. She began unconsciously grinding her bum up into his hands, encouraging him to deepen his touch.

Finlay was acutely aware of his desire to progress their lovemaking rapidly and he knew Clare was feeling the same way. But he also knew their connection and their pleasure would be far greater if he continued to build slowly towards that goal. So he gradually lightened his touch and focus, then stopped his massage momentarily.

Clare lay on the bed, waiting for Finlay's touch, knowing it would come but without knowing where or when. He could see her quivering body anticipating his next move, the goosebumps reigniting over her skin, the shallowness of her breathing. Each moment he waited the tension mounted, her longing grew.

Then with the lightest of touches, he brushed her sex with his index finger, barely touching her. He paused again but more briefly, before brushing her again. Each time he paused, but gradually the frequency and intensity of his touch increased. Clare moaned with pleasure, her bottom lifting each time as her wet sex yearned for a deeper touch.

Finlay began to slowly stroke Clare, gently tracing the contours of her sex, brushing her, then sweeping his hands up across her back to massage her shoulders and neck. Each pass of his hands was slightly more concentrated than the last, building, driving, focusing all her thoughts on these sensations and all of his thoughts on her pleasure.

Gradually as he slid his hands up her bottom and back, he began to lean into the movement and follow by sliding his chest up her back in a full body stroke that ended with him lying over her, surrounding her, then drawing back away from her as his hands stroked down to her feet and back to her sex. Finlay could sense Clare's mind exploding with desire. She wanted Finlay inside her and as he lay on her at the top of each stroke she would groan and drive her bum up into his groin, encouraging him to take that next step, to enter her and drive her further. She needed him inside her. He sensed it was all she had room in her consciousness to think about. Do it, her body screamed. I need you inside me. Now. Do it. Now. Make love to me. Now.

Then he entered her. At the top of Finlay's next full body stroke he filled her and they both shouted in unison. They moved as one, Clare arching up to him as his body slid across hers in perfect ecstasy. He could feel her sustained release as their bodies moved, his hands continuing to slide down her arms, around her neck, down her sides. This sense of oneness without climax or relief was their magic place. They sustained it for a time they couldn't measure, to a depth they couldn't fathom. Eventually though, they both knew it was time for Finlay to further build Clare's pleasure. Their movements slowed and he lay on her for a moment, their minds joined by a single shared thought, before he gently withdrew.

Without pausing the movement of his hands, Finlay knelt back between Clare's legs. He helped her turn over onto her back and rose to kiss her, long and deep, lying on her, rubbing his hands over her body, teasing her with his presence and his touch but as yet resisting the urge to go further. She never opened her eyes, instead focusing all her attention on what she could feel, safe in the assurance that she need not do anything for Finlay (not at this time) but could relish his touch and dedication as an act of love. She was completely bound up in her sensations, knowing he was in his own heaven from experiencing the effect he was having on her.

After a time Finlay rose to sit again between her legs and began to kneed her abdomen as he collected the oil from his side. He slowly poured oil over his hand as he spread it over her chest, stomach and legs. Then he lightly slid both hands over her whole body, feather light in some places, more firmly in others to indicate his passion and satisfy her need. Clare's body was rising and twisting now in sympathy with his touch. She groaned unconsciously as his hands worked their magic, in sympathy with his movements and with hers. He roved across her body like an expert musician, extracting the precise effect he sought from each part of her. With a feather touch he traced the contours of her neck and shoulders; with a firm but gentle hand he kneeded her breasts and teased her nipples; with sweeping strokes he glided down her sides and around behind to her back and buttocks; with a driving pressure he massaged her abdomen and down between her legs; with deep, gripping strokes he ranged down her thighs, calves and feet. But she knew from experience that this was all a prelude and she increasingly indicated through her groans and motions that it was time for the final movement of the symphony to commence.

Eventually he rested his hands, unmoving on her hips. There they stopped for what seemed like an age, as her body quivered in anticipation. Then he began to ripple his fingers, almost imperceptibly at first, the subtle but increasing sensation building the tension. His right hand began creeping towards her sex, as he brushed the fingertips of his left hand over her stomach, gradually lowering. Soon, he was running his right hand fingers up and down the centre of her pleasure as he used his thumb to pleasure her. Meanwhile, his left hand fingertips were pushing deeper into her abdomen, beginning to kneed her stomach.

Clare began to quiver and groan uncontrollably. It was like one long perpetual rolling orgasm, rippling from her calves to her shoulders, gripping her continuously as he slowly built the pressure. Until finally Finlay gave her what she craved, entering her with his fingers, massaging her with both his hands at the same time as he pushed one palm into her abdomen with waves of increasing pressure. Her whole body was in spasm, building, climbing to a new height, a deeper release. It seemed impossible that the feeling could get any more intense and yet the sensation continued to build, deepen, as he expanded his strokes, concentrated his focus. There was nothing left in Finlay's world or Clare's but this moment, this feeling, this sense that they were one, in perfect harmony with each other's bodies.

Clare let out an uncontrolled shout, her body spasming mightily as Finlay continued to firmly massage her sex and abdomen. Waves of pleasure coursed again and again through her, bucking his hands violently as her body screamed out, releasing this extreme height. It seemed to both of them this pleasure could not go on yet it continued for what seemed an age, exhausting every nerve Clare had, every movement Finlay could devise.

Eventually Clare was spent. Unable to move, drained, but warm, happy and still further in love. Completely in Finlay's thrall. She lay there unable to move, willing to do anything in her power to keep this man in love with her.

Finlay lay down next to Clare and cradled her in his arms. He stroked her hair, then gently pulled her head to his so he could whisper in her ear.

"Hello my love," he whispered, speaking for the first time. "Did you have a good nap?"

Clare gave one final, long shuddering sigh. "The best," she said, smiled, and fell back to sleep, to dream in Findlay's arms.