The pre-dawn light was only just beginning to break through the heavy curtains, a sliver of grey in the deep darkness of the bedroom. Wide awake, Shelagh lay as still as possible, listening to the even, deep breaths of her sleeping husband.

She stared at the ceiling, unsure of what to do. For her entire adult life, she had begun each morning with prayers and devotions. These last few mornings since their marriage, however, she had awakened to find Patrick watching her. She smiled as she remembered the look in his eyes, their invitation easily accepted.  Prayers had come later.

This morning she found she lacked the concentration necessary for prayer and Shelagh turned her head to watch her husband’s face as he slept. He looked different, younger. The lines were smoother, his face tranquil. He looked content. She liked to think she knew the reason for this; that she was the reason for this.

During their extended courtship Patrick had shown a tenderness and patience with her, giving her the time she needed to become comfortable with the physical side of their relationship. Ignorant of passion for so long, she had been too preoccupied with the dawning awareness of her own desires to note his response.

Since their marriage, she was more aware of his eagerness for her and finally understood how he must have held back. His desire for her gave her a sense of power she never expected. It excited her, made her feel things she never had before. Patrick needed her, and she was happy let him take fulfilment in her.

He stirred, and the movement drew her eyes to the column of his neck. She watched as his pulse throbbed rhythmically, her breathing growing heavier as she imagined pressing her lips there. Catching her lower lip between her teeth, she tore her eyes from that spot. The path they took along the length of his throat, shadowed by the night’s growth of beard, only increased the growing urgency she felt and was unable to ease.

She closed her eyes again, willing her body to calm. If she could just focus her mind on her meditations, she thought, she could get these feelings under control. It had worked in the past, those long months when she tried to deny her feelings for Patrick, and even during their courtship, when she was learning the physical symptoms of her love.

She resisted the urge to stretch her legs, recalling the delight of the unexpected intimacy of the soles of her feet pressed to the smooth skin at the top of his. She was surprised by the things that triggered her response to him. The feel of the sharp wings of his scapula under her fingers, the long plane of his back, even the sound of his exhale after he drew on a cigarette made her body thrill. His voice would hit a certain timbre, and suddenly her heart would pound.

Trying to calm herself, Shelagh breathed deeply and inhaled his scent. His body, so close, warmed her. Her eyes flickered open, and she shyly studied the firm rounded muscle of his shoulder, the smooth contours of his chest. If he were awake, she knew he would reach for her, make her aware of his desire and gratify her own.

Would he be shocked if he knew what she was feeling right now, she wondered. In the pale light, she blushed at the thought of initiating lovemaking. She couldn’t. Not yet. For so long she had sublimated physical desire into meditation and prayer, service to others. She wasn’t ready to consider this new role.

“Good morning,” he whispered. His hand came up to tangle in her hair, tilting her mouth up for his kiss.

Shelagh exhaled, a sigh of relief, and followed his lead.