First Love...Only Love:

Chapter 11

Twain recognized the flash of awareness in her eyes. His fingers brushed down her cheek. Macy could not stop staring at Twain. His eyes were so dark, like the colour of molasses. She swallowed anxiously...her eyes locked on his. Instinctively, her hand closed over his. Their hands linked. A tingling sensation from Macy's fingers rushed all over her body. It made her shiver.

It's just a reaction to the chill of the air conditioner she told herself. Strangely a few moments ago she wanted it turned higher. Twain's head was moving closer to her face. She should stop him, she cautioned herself, yet no words passed her lips. When his mouth hovered an inch from hers, when his warm breadth caressed her lips, her eyes closed, her mouth opened to receive his kiss.

Why then, did she not stop Twain when he removed the glass from her hand? Why did she lean into him, when his head dipped towards her mouth? His hand slipped through her gown, cupping her starved breast. Macy stilled. Her hand stopped him. She was so confused. Should she do this with Twain ... again? God knew he was the only man in the world that held her heart.

'Macy relax,' he murmured against her lips. He could not comprehend her anxiety. They had made love previously, even if it was ten years ago and she'd had a baby. He would understand her anxiety, if she was a virgin.

'I am nervous,' she breathed heavily. It has been ten years, you know!

She did not feel so confident about her body anymore, not after she'd given birth to a child. She did not possess the boldness she did when she'd been a naive, unsuspecting teenager. Her innocent answer shook him with its strength. Twain liked his affairs short, straight forward and non-placating. Somehow this time, he doubted that would be enough for Macy....still he had to have her.

'You are so beautiful.' He watched her blush deepen as his eyes dipped to her breasts, admiring the petite, aroused pink tips.

Macy wanted him. She was too far gone. She needed to know what it would feel like to be made love to again by Twain. She may never get another chance. She just had to. Her hands roamed his body experimentally, her fingers thrilled at his muscular biceps. She sighed, pulling him closer, allowing her fingers to become buried in his dark hair, twining wonderfully in its thick strands. Macy's fingers undid the buttons on his shirt. She was kissing him back, her fingers wreaking havoc on his flesh. She heard his grunt of frustration. The settee was not made for two. Twain stood up, lifted her into his arms and marched with her to the bed. He tugged at the belt at her waist, her robe was loosened. Macy would not let Twain look at her body. She pulled him over her, her arms wrapping around his neck. Twain hastily removed his shirt, his trousers was dispensed with next. He kicked his shoes off and with lightning speed his socks went flying into the air.

Their lips locked hungrily, their hands exploring curiously. Macy clung tightly to Twain. He was so much more of a man now, so well built, sturdy muscles. His love-making so much more artful... like an expert. She needed to touch and re-discover every inch of his body.

Twain removed her gown. 'Macy,' he cried out hoarsely. 'You leave me breathless.' He lifted himself up, leaning on his elbows. He wanted to taste every square inch of her body. He had all night. He heard her pleas, urging him to end the agony, but her body was like his master, he wanted to serve and worship it at great length until she pleaded and begged for their consummation.

Macy smiled ecstatically, totally satiated, her arms possessively around his neck.

'Come shower with me,' Twain smiled, he was brushing soft kisses on her throat.

Macy kept her eyes closed. She would love to see him in all his naked glory in the shower. She would love to lather foams of soap across the expanse of his chest and Twain wanted to know how it would feel to have her body pressed to his ... all wet and hot, but she was not going to give into the invitation in his eyes. She was not going to be standing naked in front of Twain for all her baggage to be scrutinized.