The Arch of Love ~ Paul McCartney

34. I found

Notting Hill, 15 September '67, 1:05 AM

Contentment. Absolute contentment. That's what I felt. I could lay there forever and wouldn't mind. I was completely and utterly content with my position right now.

Paul had come home to my little apartment a couple of hours earlier, full of stories of long days on set. The Beatles had started filming yet another film. It sounded very interesting and Avant Garde, though I had to admit I didn't really understand it. Not even after Paul had showed me the pie chart that should describe the film. How anyone believed you could write an entire film with just a pie chart, was beyond me.

But he was definitely excited about it. He was almost bouncing off the walls and he had managed to channel the excitement he had about this new film, into some amazing sex. It had left me drained of all energy. After a ten-hour work day and a good session of bed yoga, I could barely keep my eyes open.

I didn't mind it, however. I knew Paul needed it. Even though he wasn't one to show emotions and especially not his grieve, I knew he was still very hung up about the passing of his manager. I could see it in everything he did and everything he said. I let him do whatever he needed, because I knew that was how he worked through the grieve. I may not be the one living with him, or the one he called his girl, he chose me to be with while he mourned. That was enough for now.

What started as an emotional kiss, had soon turned into something much more heated. He was forceful and deliberate, making sure I felt what he felt, that I needed what he needed. And I did. I needed him, his touch, I needed to feel him. I craved for it, longed for it when I was deprived of it for too long.

His hands were everywhere as he undressed me, paying no attention to where exactly my clothes landed. There was no point in worrying about that now. That would come in the morning. For now, all there was to think about, was him and me and us and the fact that we hadn't seen or tasted or felt each other in those six days.

There was not much time, nor was there need for foreplay. The way he looked at me, his eyes darkened with lust and urge, made me surrender to his skilful hands. One was softly massaging my breast, putting the right amount of pressure without making it seem like he was kneading some bread dough. His other hand had found its way in between my legs where he made sure I knew exactly how good he could make me feel.

It felt amazing! Loud moans escaped my lips, but I was growing impatient. 'Please,' I begged him with a groan. My own hands had managed to get the clothes from his body and had travelled down to the place, I was sure, needed attention the most.

'In a hurry, are we?' he chuckled, but he made quick work of connecting our bodies in the way that lovers do. We moved in sync, rhythmic and then without rhythm at all, slowly and then faster, whatever felt good at that moment.

'Arch,' he moaned my name loudly, or was it a groan? He connected our hands above my head, holding himself up like that. 'Shit... I can't...'

Though he wasn't able to finish his sentence, I knew what he wanted to say. He couldn't hold it back any longer. He groaned and panted heavily as he lost himself in his high. My toes curled at the sensation of seeing him coming undone from his orgasm. Our eyes never once broke their contact and I could see how his look changed from dark and lustful to loving and careful.

It took him a moment to regain his breath after he fell next to me, but then he looked at me apologetically. 'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I couldn't hold it any longer.'

I propped myself up on one elbow so I could look at him better. He was sweaty and still panting. He had found nirvana, but hadn't taken me with him. 'That's alright,' I said, but Paul shook his head.