Definitely time for some steam. Probably about three kettles, I’d say.

---

 

Shelagh Turner woke slowly, the sound of her new husband’s breathing in her ear. She smiled. His arm lay heavy across her waist, pinning her to him. Barely a week married, she was growing used to his warm body close as she slept.

The early light was already streaming through the net curtains. They had forgotten to draw the drapes closed last night. Shelagh blushed, remembering why, and was grateful they had at least remembered the lock on the door.

“Good morning,” Patrick whispered in her ear.

Shelagh turned her head to see his face close to hers. Before she had a chance to respond, he kissed her, his mouth sleepy and tender. She could feel her body start to awaken.

Pushing away, she sat up, struggling to keep the bedclothes against her body.

“What are you doing?” Her husband asked, leaning back against his pillows.

Shelagh twisted to the edge of the bed, looking over its side. “I’m trying to find my dressing gown.” Her voice was flustered.

Patrick grinned, tugging at the sheet she held so tightly. “You don’t need a dressing gown now. Tim won’t be up for at least an hour.”

“Yes, well now I’m up, I’m up. Best start the day.”

“That’s not the best way to start the day,” Patrick reached around and brought her back next to him, peeling layers of her cocoon from her.

Shelagh felt his hand move over her skin. Surely he didn’t expect anything to happen between them now. It was morning, for goodness sake. “Patrick, don’t be ridiculous. We can’t do that.”

His face pressed against her throat, and Patrick smiled. Without looking up, he could tell she was blushing. He loved that he was learning the signals her body gave, signals she herself was still learning.

“Why not,” he murmured, his lips tasting her throat.

“Patrick,” she scolded, her voice barely a whisper.

“Shelagh,” his voice teased. He had found his way under the final layer of cotton.

Shelagh’s breath caught. “Patrick, it’s morning.” Clearly he must understand what she meant.

“So?”

Apparently he did not.

Embarrassment brought out her bossy side. “Patrick, you’re being ridiculous. You know perfectly well that you’ll have to wait until tonight.”

But Bossy Shelagh was not going to win so easily. Patrick lifted his face to hers and smiled lopsidedly. There was a spark in his eye, and he saw her respond, even as she tried to deny it. He kissed her again, this time not so sleepily, and perhaps not quite so tenderly as before. Shelagh’s body began to yield, but still her mind resisted.

She broke the kiss and said, “If you must,” -Patrick grinned at her shifting the emphasis on acceding to his needs-“you’ll have to close the drapes.”

Patrick’s head came up, his brows came down over his eyes, confused. “Whatever for?”

“Patrick,” again her voice was so quiet he could barely hear her. “The light.”

“What about it?”

“You’ll see.”

Understanding spread over his face. He tucked his finger under her chin, coaxing her to meet his eyes. “Yes,” he answered. “I’ll see my beautiful wife.”

Shelagh turned her face away, her cheeks blooming an even deeper pink. “Patrick…”

“Shelagh, you know I think you’re beautiful. You must. I’ve said it a thousand times.”

“Yes, you’re very kind, dearest.” Still, she would not  look at him.

Patrick lifted his body up on his elbow to better look at his wife. “Shelagh Turner, I am not being kind. Shelagh, look at me.”

Shelagh’s eyelashes fluttered as she tried to control her breathing. Biting her lower lip, she finally turned her face towards his.

“Shelagh, I think you’re so beautiful.” His eyes glittered, as they always did at times of high emotion.

Shelagh smiled, breathing deeply. She slipped her hand out from under the sheets and touched his lined cheek. “You’re very sweet, Patrick. It’s lovely to hear you say such things. But I’m not beautiful.”

He sat back, stunned.

“It’s all the sweeter to hear you say such things because you love me.” Shelagh’s fingers pushed at the fringe falling over his forehead.

“Shelagh, you really must be joking. You have to know how… Shelagh, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

Her voice changed. “Patrick, thank you, but that’s not so. I’ve been told my face is a bit pretty, but that’s because I have good skin and people think my eyes are unusual. I’m too small to be beautiful.”

Patrick’s eyebrows climbed up his forehead. “What on earth are you talking about? Too small?”

Shelagh took his hand in hers and placed them palm to palm, the tips of her fingers barely higher than his second knuckle. “Here. Look at my hand. Timothy‘s hand is bigger than mine. Everything about me is too small. Beautiful women are…well, they’re…womanly. Like Marilyn Monroe or-or- Jane Russell. I’m not at all like that type of woman.”

Patrick had learned a few things about women in his time and was beginning to see where the problem lay.

“And you think that a woman needs to be of…more generous proportions… to be beautiful?” His hand squeezed around hers.

“Patrick-” she stopped then, unable to voice her thought.

Patrick threaded his fingers with hers and held their hands up for her to see. “See?” he smiled, bringing the back of her hand to his lips. “They fit perfectly.” He slid his hand down past her waist to rest on her hip. “Shelagh, you may never have noticed how lovely you are, but the rest of the world has. God, Shelagh, your legs!” His hand slipped along the length of her thigh.

“Patrick, you’re not–my legs are too short!” She squirmed as his fingers caressed the smooth skin of the back of her knee.

“Don’t you dare tell me they’re too short, Shelagh, they’re lovely. When you wrap your legs around me it makes me wild.” He paused, nuzzling his face against her hair as he tried to calm his passion. The thought of her soft curves pressed against him inflamed him. One day, soon, he would feel her weight above him and watch her as they loved each other. Shelagh wasn’t quite ready to be quite so bold, but he had faith in his wife. He drew in a ragged breath. He needed to have her, and soon, but there was still one more thing.

He cupped her cheek and bent to kiss her, slowly and intimately. His hand trailed down her neck, gliding across the smooth skin. Shelagh opened herself to him, her tongue meeting his, lost to the sensation of closeness. She slid her arms around his neck, turning closer to his body. She was surprised when he parted his lips from hers, and protested. She moved to kiss him again when she felt his hand, warm and strong, on her breast. Patrick met her eyes and said, “See? They fit perfectly.”

The breath rushed into her lungs quickly, pushing her more firmly against his palm. He grinned as he watched her eyes flutter shut. She was engulfed in sensation, all concerns about the brightening dawn forgotten.

He gently caressed her breast, his thumb slowly stroking across her sensitive peak. “Your breasts, Shelagh. Your breasts are perfection. Those long months, when I thought I would never have your love, I fought myself. I wouldn’t let myself imagine–but at night, when I slept, I couldn’t stop. I dreamt all these things, but my dreams never came close. You are so much more than I ever dreamt, more than I deserve. So please don’t tell me you’re not beautiful, my love. Let me show you how very beautiful you are.”

 

Later, when time was closing in and the world outside their sanctuary would have to be faced, they lay together, trying to catch their breath. And if the sun was now streaming in through the curtains, and bedclothes were spilled over the edge of their bed, Shelagh did not notice. Her husband thought she was beautiful.