She lay there beside him, the sunlight shimmering across her red silk top, creating highlights and shadows. Desire burned inside him for her. But he wanted to let her take the initiative. This was the first time he'd slept in her bed, after all.

She leaned over, kissed him gently. Pulled back, her green eyes blazing with the fire he felt. Then, she kissed him again, her tongue slipped into his mouth. Pleasure exploded through him. She wrapped her arm around his neck, and he sat up, and they pressed together. He slid his hand beneath her shirt, meeting velvet-smooth skin, and slid up over her hip to the soft curve of her waist. Her kisses sparked across his neck, down to his collarbone—a playful nip—he returned the favor, gently on her neck—she laughed, and pulled him down on top of her—He kissed her mouth again, and rolled down onto the bed—she sat over him, and slipped her shirt up, and up, slowly over her stomach—to her belly button, the smooth beauty of her stomach—the hollow below her sternum—the bottoms of her breasts—then she let the shirt fall again.

She brought his hand forward, guiding it, letting him lift the shirt—he felt her stomach—his fingers brushed one breast and then she lifted it the rest of the way, over her head, tousling her hair—there she was, in all her stunning beauty, a sculpture more beautiful than he'd seen—they'd made love in the dark before, so he'd never seen her in daylight—this marble beauty—a goddess, if there were such a thing, her brown hair tumbling over her shoulders—

He worshiped her beauty. Her eyes sparkled with delight, and drew him toward her—they fit together in every way—he needed more of her—so beautiful—but dare he? Dare he touch this flawless princess, he, this lowly scarred man—she accepted him, but he knew he'd never feel like he deserved her. She'd chosen him. It was the only license he needed, though he did it in awe, slowly sitting up, touching her delicately—lifting his hands slowly over her waist—he ached, but dared not go faster—her beauty astonished him with every second he looked at her—he thought he should not stare but her gaze invited him.

He touched her face, brushing his hand down over her brow, slipping back wisps of hair, down to her jaw, cupping her chin in his hand, his thumb against her cheekbone. Her lips were curved in a playful smile. He shook with how amazing it was just to be allowed this close. For her to allow him the privilege to not only see her perfection, but to touch her—he longed for her with a horrible ache but he dared not take this too fast. Dared not rush his act of adoration—to do so would be to disrespect her. The gift she offered him. Her love—her trust—all of her—giving him pleasure beyond imagining.

He caressed her brow, the bridge of her nose, her soft lips, her chin. He ran his hand down over her neck; she leaned back a little, allowing him to touch her collarbone, down over her breasts. Over the gentle slope to the nipple, brushing its tip; it stiffened at his touch. Down to the generous bulge of flesh cradling the nipple, to feel the soft crease beneath the breast, where it met her ribs.

So beautiful. Seeing her in daylight for the first time sent him into a paroxysm of awe. She cupped her breast, and guided him forward, letting him lick her nipple, then put his mouth gently around it. He sucked it; she leaned back, lying down, her legs arched. He leaned over her, still sucking—she moaned in pleasure, and arched her back, letting him get even more of it in his mouth. She guided his hand to the next breast, and he kneaded its soft flesh. His thumb pressed softly against her nipple, pressing it in a little. He kissed it lightly, and then kissed the center of her stomach, over her belly button.

She caressed his face, and pushed him down onto the bed. Leaned over him, kissing his neck. Then down over his sternum to his nipple. Sucked at his nipple, hard. Then, she slid his pants down, and hers as well. He couldn't stand it any longer. But he had to wait—let her take the initiative. She slid down her panties, and then slid his underwear down over his legs, and threw them on the floor.

She took his throbbing member in her hand, pumping it until it ached unbearably, erect and stiff. She let him stay that way for a little, and then lowered herself over him, shimmying down over him so his member fit tight into her. She rocked back and forth, squeezing it, faster and faster—heat, pain, and pleasure building—hotter and hotter, the fire within him bursting to an explosion of love more wonderful than he'd ever known—even those first nights. He waited to release, wanting to give her the most pleasure possible—oh it hurt but he waited then finally released deep into her—she cried out, and he did too, in a symphony that tore through him to his very core.

He lay back, shaking, sweat pouring off of him. She lay down beside him, sweat sheening her perfect body, her breasts heaving up and down in the sunlight. Her flawless, naked body enticing him even now that he was exhausted and spent beyond words. He loved her—oh, so much. Heat flushed through him with each breath. And the wonder of it—of always plunging deeper into the mystery of how amazing she was. To give her pleasure gratified him like nothing else. Took away any guilt he might have that she'd given him this total gift of her body, of her complete trust and joy in him. He hoped he'd given her at least some of the pleasure she'd given him. And by the look in her eyes, as she smiled over at him, told him that he had.

He reminisced with her—and looked forward to many other times they would have together like this. Each time new and different, discovering more about each other. More and deeper into their love.

A love that would never die.