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  Then he moves closer.

  "I know it's a small thing, compared with ... everything else,” he says. “But ... we can do this however you want."

  She doesn't laugh. Or yell.

  Very slowly he moves close to her, brings his hands lightly to her shoulders. He looks at her a moment, then leans in, kisses her hair, just above her ear. He pulls back, gazes at her before he places one soft kiss at her temple. Then her cheek. Then, just at the corner of her mouth. Then, one small, uncertain kiss on the lips.

  "Would you rather I not kiss you?” he whispers at her ear, then draws back to hear or see her reply. She stays still. Quiet. He draws his hands in from her shoulders, to her neck, gently cradles her jaw. He gives her soft warm mouth a soft warm kiss. “I promise, I'm not assuming ... but I can't guess what you want. I'll just ... do it this way, my way, unless you tell me differently."

  "Okay,” she manages, sounding low on air.

  Slow, slow, he moves in again, brings his mouth to hers, barely brushing his lips over hers, then pressing them more warmly, until she brings a hand up and curves it at the back of his arm, holding him near. Little by little he makes his kiss more ardent, touching her only innocently—trailing fingertips through hair, tracing her jaw with his thumb as he draws her bottom lip between his, lets it go, then sucks it gently in again, then finally, tentatively, lets the tip of his tongue gloss the pretty, curving underside of her top lip, then her bottom lip, then teases its way into her mouth.

  At first she is still and stiff, and the only sound she makes is the strained in and out of her breathing. But as his lips touch and press and part hers, her breaths get heavier, little by little, with shy, quiet sighs.

  John stops. Draws a few inches back. Looks at her. Her eyes have that slightly unfocused look of arousal, and he gives her a small smile. Then she glances down. When she looks at him again she seems ... startled.

  "I can't help that,” he says, frank and calm. “But I'm in no rush."

  Holding her gaze he combs her hair back with his fingers, away from her face, off her neck and shoulders, then dips down, nuzzling her cheek, kissing the delicate golden crescent of her ear, then the tawny, velveteen flesh of her neck. First with just soft, warm presses of his lips before rousing her with wet, hot, sucking kisses, teasing her with his teeth and tongue. Now she's panting and wiggling a little in his arms. Making soft little noises. When he brings his mouth back to hers she seems eager. Hungry. Her hands move to the back of his head, fingers sinking into his thick, dark hair, and she presses her body against his, almost writhing.

  Breaking off their deep kiss, he draws her over to the love seat opposite the bed, coaxes her onto his lap. She's rather tall, for a woman, but he's got six or eight inches on her; now that she's straddling him, they're more on par. He leans back, and with a touch, asks her to come to him. Her body curves forward against his and she brushes his lips with hers. He answers her shy little kiss, but doesn't deepen it. Over and over she offers soft little kisses, and over and over he accepts them. Returns them. But he waits. Only when she parts her lips does he part his, so their kiss goes deeper and longer. And not until she seeks his tongue with hers does he go into her mouth, hot and hungry.

  As they kiss, his fingertips trail over her sleek skin—neck, collarbones, shoulders, arms, and down along the delicate fabric of her gown, down her back, over her hips, along her thighs, and off the edge, back to bare skin—the firm curve of calf muscle, and up. Up. The tips of his fingers slide the weightless fabric up, baring two or three inches of thigh above her knee. When he interrupts their hot, panting kiss to look at her, she looks apprehensive. And absolutely ravenous. He gives her a little smile and she mirrors it.

  Locking eyes with her he slips his fingers under the diaphanous fabric, trailing tickling fingertips up the length of her thigh then down again, slow, slow. He does it again, using his nails this time to faintly rake her smooth flesh, and she sucks a breath between clenched teeth, then smiles through a blush. His fingers keep wandering the length of her thighs, teasing their way within a few millimeters of the edge of her panties before gliding back down.

  Then he touches her, his caress brief and light and mediated by the smooth fabric of her underwear. She stills. He touches her again, as briefly, as gently. Then he curves his hand under her and rubs his fingers against her in small, slow movements.

  "Wait.” He calmly withdraws his hand and looks at her. “I don't,” she falters. “I know we're going to..."

  There's a little crease between her eyebrows and she's looking off toward the empty corner of the love seat.

  "You'd rather I not touch you. Like that,” he offers.

  "It just feels so ... intimate, I guess.” She tries to meet his gaze. “I thought you'd just lay me down and be on top of me. I don't know why, but that sounds easier, somehow."

  "I want to ask you something,” he says. “Another indiscreet question."

  "Okay."

  "Have you orgasmed before?"

  Her eyes flicker, then she blushes. Then smiles, looking down, away from his probing gaze.

  "Maybe. But I don't think so."

  "You're not sure?” he pursues in a gentle voice. His grin has a teasing bend at the corner.

  She shakes her head.

  "I'm pretty sure I can make you come,” he says, walking a fine line between objectivity and seduction, “just touching you softly like that. Over your panties. I thought it would be good to let you feel that—the pleasure—before I..."

  "Pop my cherry?” she says, her taunt tinged with real anger.

  "Yes.” There's no trace of his teasing grin now. Then, “I know I can't make this—what's being done to you—there's no way I can make it right. But I thought it might be better to try to give you one experience of pleasure before I take your virginity. Since that can hurt.” She nods. “I understand what you mean, about touching this way seeming intimate,” he goes on. “But it's also small. Quiet. This little touch between one part of me and one part of you. Sex—however gentle or slow—it's large and loud. I mean, all of my body moving against yours.” He smiles, then lets out a soft laugh. “It's sort of the difference between wading in a foot or two of water, and diving into the sea."

  She doesn't say anything.

  "But I'll do what you want me to do."

  After a long quiet she says, just audibly, “It felt nice. What you were doing."

  John smiles. Presses one small kiss to Eva's shoulder.

  "Good. I'm glad,” he whispers into her hair.

  It's quiet. They're still, their cheeks almost touching. Her chin settles on his shoulder. His hands, soft and unmoving, are on her hips. After a minute or more has gone by she touches the back of his hand with her fingertips, moves his hand down, between her thighs. Then she circles her arms around his neck and pulls herself close against him, her face hidden against his neck.

  He barely seems to be moving. Just his fingers dance delicately between her legs. At first she's quiet, but then her breath comes quicker, then it rasps faintly, then she starts to make a low, soft, whining sound as he touches her. And then, just subtly, her body is moving against him, her thighs pressing against his, her hips twitching. John curves his free hand behind her head, holding her to him as her body flexes and she makes a sound like she's crying. But that noise only comes a couple times. Now she just sounds winded. His hand stays, still, pressed against her, for another moment. Then he wraps his arm around her waist and holds her and she presses herself against him. He strokes her hair. Rubs her back. Then, after minutes have gone by, he kisses her neck, just soft little touches of lips.

  "All right?” he asks in a whisper.

  She relaxes her arms and leans back to meet his look.

  "Nope. I'd definitely never orgasmed before.” Then she smiles, and he smiles back, but she's blushing and looking down. “You're good at that,” she laughs.

  "It doesn't sound like you've got many people to judge me against."

  "W
ell, you're better at it than I am. And I should be the expert, shouldn't I?"

  "Now that you've ... I bet you won't have a problem getting yourself there again."

  She looks at him like she's unsettled by him. When he gives her a quizzical look, she looks away. He leaves it alone. His hands slip away as she shifts to rise. His eyes follow her over to the side of the bed. She turns to face him, and then he rises, too, and moves toward her.

  "If we wait a little while,” he says, “I can try to get you excited again. How you were, before you came. It'll make the sex nicer for you.'

  "No. Let's go ahead, John."

  Like it's the first one he gives her a careful kiss, lingering a long time on her lips. Then a tentative try at a deeper kiss. She yields to him. Lets him. He is all restraint, and she is all doubt. Hesitantly he fingers the straps of her gown, but then he pulls his hands back, touches a button on his jacket.

  "Is it better if I get undressed first?"

  She nods a faint yes. He strips. When he's down to his shorts, which hint blatantly at his erection, he stops. Looks at her. Waits.

  "It's not going to work if you leave those on,” she kids mirthlessly.

  He slides his skivvies off and stands before her naked. Hard. His big frame is heavy with muscle. She's blushing. Her eyes slide down from his face, and lock onto his cock. Staring at it like she's making a study, she finally looks back up to him, and grins.

  "Sorry. I guess I've never seen one before. In person."

  "That's all right."

  Now that he's naked, it's obvious that his breathing is tense. He's working to keep it even, to keep his voice smooth.

  "Can I ... touch?” she asks, her eyes darting away from him.

  "If you want to,” he answers in a soft, smoothed voice, his abdomen quivering.

  She moves nearer. So near the fabric of her gown wafts against his shins, now and then, on some faint breeze in the room. With just the tips of her fingers, she touches him, and he stays quiet—maybe he's holding his breath—as her fingers curve around and she draws her hand slowly up, along the length of him, over all the textures and contours of him, and off. She steps back.

  "It's so ... delicate."

  "It is, in a way."

  While John watches, Eva pulls up the hem of her gown and slides her panties down and off, the skirt of her gown draping modestly down the whole time. She looks up at him.

  "I don't want to be undressed. I want to do it like this.” She gets on the bed and lies down. He lies down beside her.

  "I'll start like before,” he says, running the pad of his thumb along her jawline. “All right?"

  "Okay."

  With tentative caresses, tender kisses, he begins. When he draws her to him so their bodies press together, she lets him. Soon she's the one deepening their kisses. Running her hand along his naked side, exploring the curves of his hips, his waist, the muscled length of his arm, his jaw, his chest. When she brushes her thumb across his nipple and gets a soft, low groan, she does it once more.

  He keeps his touches innocent. Just her face, her hair, her arms. Nothing hidden under the gown.

  Breaking a deep kiss and looking at him Eva says “Can we? Now?"

  He gives her a smile and a soft kiss on the lips. Eva seems to clamp down on her breath as he draws up the hem of her gown, just to mid-thigh, then coaxes one knee aside and slips over her. Like a doctor considerate of his patient's modesty he holds her gaze as he slips the gown up the rest of the way, to her waist, as he coaxes her to raise her knees and plant her feet on the bed.

  His hand goes between them, and she sucks in a sharp breath as he rubs himself against her.

  "All right?” he asks.

  She nods her head, holding her breath again. Her body is cadaver-stiff.

  "I know you're scared, Eva. But if you can, try to relax. Does this feel good?"

  After a pause she says, “It feels ... strange. Different from what you did before. Intense."

  "Direct contact,” he whispers.

  Her chest is rising and dipping with her rapid, shallow breaths, and a moment later she starts making her soft moan, muffled behind tightly closed lips. Her body softens a little, is quivering a little. He takes his hand away, then, and curves both his long, strong hands against her head. He traces her eyebrows, her temples with the pads of his thumbs.

  "When I go inside you, it might not hurt. If it does, though, the pain shouldn't last long.” He kisses her brow. “All right?” he asks, and she nods.

  His back flexes, and his hips shift almost imperceptibly and she sucks in a breath. He pauses, then continues on the same trajectory, his movement slow. Restrained. Her eyes go wide and she makes a small squeaking sound. Now she's panting as his hips press down, closing the final distance.

  John goes still, then plants little kisses down the side of her face, then looks at her as his hips draw a little back, then press in again, driving a small sound from her.

  "It hurts?"

  "Not so much. I'm okay,” she says in a reigned-in voice.

  "Okay."

  His body is trembling as he moves slowly over her. Inside her. He tries a kiss and she yields to his mouth, parting her lips. Her fingers uncurl from the wads of sheet she'd clutched at her side, and she puts her arms around him, indifferently at first. But soon she's holding him to her, and her mouth seems more eager than acquiescent, now.

  Now he looks at her, holding her gaze as he moves against her body, his ass flexing as he pumps slowly between her thighs. Her full lips are parted, so now her little sighs are liberated. His hips seem to be seeking those little sighs. They move until they get one, then work to the tune of her voice until it goes quiet, then his body shifts and flexes until he gets his accompaniment again. When a little crease dents the plane between her eyebrows he smiles.

  "Don't,” she says. “Don't watch me like that."

  "All right,” he sighs in her ear, then mouths, licks, sucks her lobe, getting more of her sighs as his body flexes and writhes against hers.

  Her hands are pressing into the flesh of his back, and underneath him her body is flexing, moving, seeking, and the room is filling with her little groans. John's mouth is on her throat, now, lips and tongue and teeth teasing the flesh just under her jaw, down by her collarbones. And then he's on to her other ear and the silken neck below it. For a moment she seems to pull herself up against him, and two long, high notes hum through bitten lips.

  He holds her close, pressing and holding himself still against her while she shudders and pants, then finally calms, her fierce grip on his back going lax, her body softening and sinking beneath him.

  "Go ahead,” she tells him.

  He starts to move.

  "No,” she says. “I want to see you."

  He lifts himself so his face hovers a few inches above her, and gives her a strange little smile. He starts moving again. Still slowly, but with a different angle, a different rhythm. Almost on the first stroke her body tenses and her eyes go a little wide, startled.

  "You okay?” he whispers, and she nods her head. “It doesn't hurt?"

  She shakes her head, then says, her voice soft, almost kind, “Just intense. Don't worry about me. Just do it the way you like it. I want to see, feel what that is."

  His fingers in her hair, his other hand slips down, under her waist, and holding her to him he begins to move, back and thighs and ass flexing. She watches his face as his body gets taut, quivery, and his breathing goes shallow and irregular.

  "Are you always quiet like this?” she whispers.

  "No."

  "Let me hear you,” she coaxes. He goes still. Breaks eye contact. Breathing heavy. “You being quiet doesn't change anything. You're still fucking me, getting off. So let me hear you."

  His eyes come back to hers and there's a still, quiet moment between them. And then be starts, his body working against hers. He tips his forehead until it touches hers, and his serrated panting fills, breath by breath, with a low, feral g
rowl. She curves a hand at the back of his neck, sanctioning this closeness. Her other hand settles at the small of his back, over the undulating muscles there, then glides down, up, from the valley of his waist to the swell of his ass.

  "I want,” he pants, “I want to kiss you."

  She parts her lips and takes his mouth in an eager kiss. Like an electrical connection has been made a current seems to shake his body in a fit of convulsive shuddering and his low, rasping growl swells to a long, plaintive groan and she breaks their kiss and holds his face between her palms for a few moments, watching him as he lifts himself over her and her eyes flicker and she sucks in her breath as he withdraws and with a few urgent strokes spills over onto her belly. She looks down, eyes moving over the pattern of puddles, at his cock—vivid and slick—still caught in his fist.

  "You all right?” he asks. He is being careful not to touch her, now.

  "I'm fine.” She sounds calm. Almost hollow.

  "I'll get a towel."

  Without touching her at all John gets off the bed. The water runs for a bit in the bathroom, and she pulls the sheet up as far as she can without getting it dirty.

  "It's warm, but not too hot,” John tells her, then carefully mops up the little puddles with the damp cloth.

  As she gets out of the bed and moves toward the window, the filmy fabric of her gown unfurls, covering her indifferently. While she stands there, staring out, John pulls on his uniform, his socks and boots. He goes to her slowly. Her gaze stays fixed on some point in the distant dark.

  "I don't know if you remember. Your first night here, after ... the mess hall. I brought you back here. You were only semi-conscious, and I was worried for you, so I stayed. I slept in your bed with you. Held you. It would be nice to sleep like that again, holding you, sometime. If you ever think you'd like that. Just tell me, if you ever want me to stay."

  "Okay,” she says. “But now I want to be alone.” She doesn't come to the door to say good-bye. Her habit is to stay away from the door. John reaches for the first deadbolt, hesitates, then turns back toward Eva. “I'm okay, John,” she says, still looking out the window. “I just need a little time to myself."